How much weight have you lost? That’s a question I hear rather frequently. I often answer with “I don’t know” or “I don’t focus on that because it messes with my mind”, but the truth is I do know, but I don’t want you to know because that’s not the number that matters.
The number on the scale does not define who I am. Not to me. And it shouldn’t to you.
But there are numbers that do matter–the numbers that measure progress, that measure health. These aren’t even clothing sizes. Don’t get me wrong: the day I realized I could wear a size 16 top from Coldwater Creek I felt as though I had won the lottery. A size 16 top, well that’s darn near normal, and I can still recall the giddiness the day I bought that bright yellow tank top.
Last weekend, after my not-so-sweet cat Alien, bit me on the hand, leaving me with a nasty infection, I discovered I had reached a number that represents real progress–a number that DOES matter.
Two days after the bite, completely stressed out with a swollen hand that felt hot to the touch, I knew I needed to go to the doctor, so off I went. I don’t particularly care for going to the doctor. Plus, I figured with the stress I’d been under my blood pressure would sure be off the charts and the doctor would want me to go on medication. That’s how my mind works.
Imagine my surprise and delight when the tech took my blood pressure and it measured 120/74! “That can’t be,” I thought to myself. I asked the tech to check it again, and the reading was the same. I don’t recall ever having had such a “normal” blood pressure, especially under “abnormal” circumstances.
In that moment I knew, I knew: that’s the number that matters–that’s the number that means my body wants to live, wants to thrive, wants me to continue working at coming fully alive.
So, you still wanna know how much weight I’ve lost? I won’t tell you. But I’ll be happy to show you a pic or two and tell you my most recent blood pressure reading.