Bathroom Scales Don’t Determine Your Self-Esteem and Confidence – The Long Climb Back

September 10, 2017.

That was the day I told my ex-husband our sixteen-year marriage was over.

One-year later, this was the number on my scale. But it’s just a number.

My closet is full of clothes from my broadcasting days. I used to squeeze into them, fearing I’d bust the zipper. Or not bother because I couldn’t hoist them passed my hips.

Now? I’ve lost over 20 lbs. And those clothes either fit or they’re too loose. I’ve lost almost four inches from my hips. One and a half on my waist. I have noticeable tone. I didn’t starve myself. I’m just eat healthier. Boring, but healthier.

A former co-worker of my ex-husband’s told him, “No offence, but she looks better without you.” And that was a mega compliment. From a young age, I’ve been self-conscious about my appearance. It’s inn my nature.

Even on August 2, when I was released from my job as a marketing manager, it didn’t affect my self-esteem. At least for five days, anyway.

Because, here’s the painful truth:

A number on a scale? Lower numbers on a measuring tape? Sometimes they can’t protect you when someone destroys your self-esteem and confidence. Especially when you were in a state of rebuilding.

Six weeks ago, my world was literally rocked.

All the self-esteem and confidence I gained? Disappeared in a flash. I started to question was I thin enough? Pretty enough? Smart enough? Sexy enough? Toned enough? Was I thin, pretty, smart, sexy and toned at all? Or was I fooling myself. Weeks later, the hurtful “whys” still spin in my head.

Today is also 27 years since my first seizure – which led to a brain tumour diagnosis, followed by another diagnosis two years later. Emotions flooded back from that time.

Two brain tumours. Countless seizures. The second time, I survived when the odds were against me. And I couldn’t remember the date or my name. At the time, I was miserable and ungrateful to be alive.

But I am alive. I am a survivor. I battled aphasia. Drew a circle when my neurosurgeon asked for a square. I did and said things I’m not proud of, but we all have regrets.

Eventually, I bounced back like a 10-year-old in a bouncy castle.

And these six weeks? They’ll turn into seven. Then eight, and etc. With time, like my second scar, it’ll be another painful memory. My self-esteem and confidence will return. Again.

I’m realizing, whether I was 150 lbs or 129.5 lbs – or more – I shouldn’t doubt my worth. Or my self-esteem or confidence.

Because I am enough.

I was always enough.

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