The hot pink post-it note

A good friend of mine, and fellow WW'er, showed me a picture she keeps of herself in her wallet. It was taken before she dropped 90+ pounds (and counting!). I don't have a picture. I have a hot pink post-it note.

I've been heavy my entire life. Fat, chubby, plump, big-boned, obese, zaftig. Whatever you call it, I've been it. Who can forget the humiliation of being labeled "obese" the first time I stepped on the Wii Fit with my son (and he wondered why I didn't like it)? My weight has fluctuated over the years. The only time I was something resembling "thin" was after six months in Israel during college. Ate what I wanted and walked/hiked everywhere. Best. Diet. Ever.

I've spent a lifetime avoiding scales and their evil numbers. You might call it denial....I prefer to look at is a talent. I was GOOD at avoiding the scale at the doctor's office. And it's easier than one would think. I avoided doctors like the plague BECAUSE of the scale and only went when desperate. I was usually sick and so miserable that the nurses didn't bother arguing with me when I refused the scale. They shrugged their shoulders and led me down the hall.

The only time in my life that I wasn't able to talk my way out of a mandatory weigh-in was when pregnant and/or at my annual exam. Under these circumstances I knew there were legitimate medical reasons for being weighed because I was pregnant. Even then, I never looked at the number. (Once the doctor left me in the room with my chart and I was too chicken-shit to look at what was written inside out of fear that I would see what I weighed). Being pregnant was, surprisingly, the only time in my life that I didn't worry about my weight. In my warped little world, I was gaining weight for a reason. So I adopted a don't ask, don't tell attitude. I figured that if my weight and/or weight gain was an issue someone would tell me. Plus weight is a tough subject for me to talk about without bursting into tears. Throw in a double dose of hormones and you've got a potential disaster in Exam Room 3.

Which is how I managed to get through two pregnancies, and deliver three kids (twins) without ever knowing:

1. How much I weighed when I got knocked up.

2. How much I gained while knocked up.

3. How much I weighed when I delivered.

So in the spirit of taking responsibility, life changes, and accepting harsh realities, I took the bull by the horns.

Just before the holidays I called my doctor's office and asked these questions. I just decided that I needed to know. I needed the perspective. I needed to know where I had been and where I was in order to understand where I wanted to go. So I asked. The numbers were what I expected. And they weren't pretty. My immediate reaction was shame (which quickly turned to relief when I thought about what I weigh now). But I was prepared. I could never have done this six months ago....or even two months ago. But now I know. And I'm glad I do.

I wrote the answers down on a hot pink post-it note that now lives in my wallet. My friend carries her fat picture. I carry a hot pink post-it. Whatever works.