My husband and I decided to be grown-ups and buy life insurance. It was actually a relatively painless process and definitively needed to be done. I’m worried now, though. Why, you might ask? The expense? The paperwork?
No. On Saturday the nurse is coming to do the health scan. I’m generally pretty healthy. My PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) is being treated, I’m controlling my eating disorder as best I can, and I work hard at controlling my stress level. In general I’m very happy. But there is one thing I dread in this world: being weighed. I loathe being weighed. It doesn’t matter who does it–doctor, adviser, trainer, whatever–I hate other people knowing what I weigh. I will put off making doctor’s appointments to avoid it. I will avoid the gym to avoid it. I’ve been worrying about this weigh-in since we scheduled it, and I don’t even know this person, nor will I ever see her again, but I don’t want to see her at all.
I know this is completely irrational and wholly counterproductive. The whole point of going to a doctor or gym is to get help and be healthier, but I still can’t stand it. I don’t mind knowing what I weigh and getting a benchmark, I just don’t want anyone else to know.
I remember going through this in high school gym class, when they would do a BMI workup. Trust me, there is nothing worse than being a teenage girl, being measured by a smug gym teacher in front of a group of other teenage girls, and having the teacher cheerfully announce, “Wow, you’ve got a lot of work to do!” I remember wanting to spontaneously burst into flames and die, but you never get a break like that when you need it. I think underneath it all I’m dreading a moment like that. That perhaps this nurse will say, “Wow, what a fatass!”
They’re not going to, I know. I keep telling myself this. But that teenage girl inside is terrified.
I have to give myself credit. I haven’t binged in a long time. I drink a lot of water and eat more vegetables. I don’t have seconds. I try very hard not to talk badly about myself in front of my kids. I try to exercise with my daughter. I’ll even be seen in public in a swimsuit (though I still have trouble wearing shorts. I don’t know. Irrational and counterproductive.) I’m looking for a new exercise class I can afford–I loved Turbokick best, but I am having trouble finding one.
I’m still stressed about it, though. Is that just weird?