Why I Don’t Weigh Myself Anymore
When I was a child, the weighing scale seemed magical to me. Each time I would see one, I would be itching to jump on it and learn that one thing about my body. When I was walking through Nairobi town going to catch a matatu to uni, I would see those guys with the machines lined up on the street. All I needed was a few coins to measure my weight, but I didn’t want to share that experience with them. It felt like a private thing. So, for as long as I can remember, I wanted one of those scales for my home.
I think that the first time I bought a weighing scale was when I was maybe 3 months pregnant. I had been seeing them at Miniso and always hesitated to buy one. I found an excuse each time. It was either too expensive (it really wasn’t), I wouldn’t find space for it (it’s the size of my laptop so that’s a lie) or my favorite excuse, I didn’t need to always know how much I weighed, it didn’t matter. (lol)
Anyway, when I was three months pregnant, I confidently walked into Miniso and picked one up.
Why did I finally think that this was the perfect time to get one? Well, I was pregnant, my weight was definitely going to change. I was going to get bigger. Spoiler alert, I was insecure but I tried to put a positive spin on it. I wanted to see just how much weight I would add and how beautifully it would melt away after my baby was born. It was a game, a game that I did not want to admit I would lose. I couldn’t lose, right?
My weight hadn’t changed much in the time prior to my pregnancy. I was stuck at 60Kgs for quite some time. I wore that number as a badge of honour I guess. I marvelled at consistency of my body, considering that I wasn't doing anything deliberate to maintain that weight. When my husband proposed back in 2018, I set out some goals to achieve before our wedding, one of them being to maintain that weight and tone my body.
It was as if the universe remembered me immediately that thought crossed my mind. I became fully aware of my body and all the areas it was beginning to bulge. Suddenly, clothes felt tighter. My arms felt flabbier. My thighs were vibrating more than usual. Was that a roll beginning to form on my stomach? Wait, was I adding weight?
I decided to go to the gym and avert any incoming disaster. My wedding dress was already being made, no time to change measurements now! The gym had a scale tucked behind a wall. When you stood on it, you eye met a catchy message stuck on the wall. I can’t remember what it said, all I knew is that it didn’t apply to me. I didn’t need a motivational quote about accepting my weight, I was okay with it (lol)
First day on the scale, my weight clocked 60Kg, phew!
I spent three months in the gym doing leg work, arm strengthening, core building and all that good stuff, but nothing changed. Every couple of weeks I would go to the weighing scale tucked behind the wall and the number was always the same. It didn’t go down—but it didn’t go up either. Was I pleased? I don’t think so. I did feel stronger but I also convinced myself that the little I did averted some time of (made up) crisis.
When the big day arrived, I was so pleased that my dress fit like a glove. In all honesty, it was a little bit tight.
I felt two rips as I entered the car that would take me to my wedding. It’s not something that a bride wants to feel for sure, but for some reason, it didn’t matter. I was going to marry the love of my life. By the time the day ended, I counted two or three more rips. It still didn’t matter. Maybe deep down in my subconscious I knew that my body was changing but it didn't matter as much as the precious moment I was in.
I was getting married, ripped dress or not!
For the first three months of my pregnancy, my weight didn’t change much. I still recognised my body in the mirror. By the time I was 7 months along, my weight was in a free fall. I think I was adding 2kgs every month. I would stand on that little pink scale and see that number go up. I mean, it made sense. I was growing a whole new human inside my body.
Towards the end of my pregnancy, we attended birth class. During one session, the instructor passed around a little bag with some water bottles. It was heavy. She said that that was equivalent to the weight we were carrying around in our bodies. There was one line in the information booklet she gave us that said, on average, a pregnant woman adds 12kgs throughout her pregnancy. This is attributed to the baby, the placenta, amniotic fluid and the extra blood flowing through the body. I left that session feeling proud. My body was magical, somehow accommodating all this newness with grace.
By the time I gave birth, I was 72kgs, exactly at the 12kg mark. For sure, once I was done, surely I would go back to the 60kgs right - LOL!
For weeks after I gave birth, I would steal a glance at the mirror and look at my body. My tummy was odd. It looked dark and deflated, much like a ballon, one week after the party was over. I kept looking at the weighing scale that lay gathering dust under my dressing table. I didn’t want to pick it up. I didn’t want it to tell me what I already knew. I definitely hadn't lost any significant pregnancy weight. Maybe next month?
I kept pushing it from month to month, telling myself that the longer I wait the more impressed I would be by the change. Was I doing anything specific to lose the weight, no. I was waiting for it to just fall off, isn’t that the promise?
In October, 5 months after I had given birth, I decided to dust that scale and step on it. I was turning 28 in a few days. I had started wearing some of my older clothes, those that I wore before my belly tripped, no, quadrupled in size. My C-Section scare was not tender, I hadn't felt it for a long time. I was sleeping better, I was eating better. It was now time to see where I was.
67Kgs…hmm…well definitely a loss, but not the number I was waiting for.
I am sure you are thinking that I was quite naive. You are right.
Although I knew that pregnancy weight just doesn’t disappear, I secretly hoped it would for me. Why? Was I special in any way? No, I was just optimistic and never truly had to work at my weight before. I didn't want to. Previously, I just went with the flow and this time, that wouldn’t cut it.
I took the step towards exercising.
I hate sweating! I particularly hate the burning sensation that one gets in their lungs from the tiniest bit of strenuous exercising. I was used to low impact exercises, ie prenatal yoga, walking 3KMs or the odd 5Ks here or there, but actual exertion completely puts me off. Not sure how my husband does it. He wakes up to run at the crack of dawn most days in the week, and he comes back HAPPY! Pure sorcery!
Was this what I had to do to get back to my preferred number on that scale?
Well I tried.
I started walking for longer. This worked for one or two days, but I quickly learnt that the midday sun was not my friend. Unfortunately, that was the only time my daughter napped for a long time. I had to change tack.
I found a pool nearby.
I like swimming, I always have. It’s the one form of exercise that I actually do not mind. Maybe it's because I don’t feel the sweat on my face, or that I learnt how to control my breath so that I now don’t have to gasp for air. Surely three or four sessions of this will help my body get in shape and drop that number right?
And I did. I swam for almost two months straight, 2-3 days a week, 30 minutes at a time.
I held out, I did not pick up that scale, at least not yet. I did look at the mirror. My tummy stopped looking like a deflated ballon, it looked more like a really old pillow, wrinkly, uneven but definitely not big. I joke that I can ‘pack it’ in a high waisted trouser and it looks firmer and ‘flatter’. Let’s not even talk about my boobs. Since I didn’t prefer wearing a bra at home, I would tuck my t-shirt under my breasts to avoid feeling them when rub against my stomach. They didn’t do that before, I wasn't a fan.
After two months, I took out the weighing scale and held my breath.
66Kgs - are you kidding me?
Don’t read this and think I didn’t try and change the most important part of this journey— the food.
Those who truly know me know that I love my food. I cook everyday and love trying new recipes. I don’t eat junk food or fast food. I have nothing against it, I just don’t seek it out. I am also not a sweet tooth, so no cakes (in spite of my love for baking),no fizzy drinks or ice cream for me.
During those cold months when I didn’t feel like going to the pool to freeze, I decided to try go on a diet - Keto. It wasn’t very different from what I usually ate, I just had to give up my honey, rice and beloved Ugali. I had heard great things about the magic of Keto. I stocked up my fridge and dove in
A month later, I stood on the scale - 66kgs
For the first time in a really long time, it didn’t matter.
What I failed to notice all this time as I was focusing on the scale is that I had gotten comfortable with my body. I didn’t notice that didn’t need to tuck my shirt under my breasts anymore. I didn’t notice that I bought clothes that actually fit instead of trying out clothes that I WANTED to fit. I didn't notice that I liked the fullness in my thighs. I didn’t notice that I felt sexy in a bikini, something I never felt before.
I didn’t notice that I had found myself again, a different version, a better version even!
Why did that number bother me so much?
I told myself that I wanted to start at the same weight for all my future pregnancies, that way, by the time I was done giving birth, my body would be back to normal. That was just insanity, who sets goals like that? Why did I expect my body to go ‘back to normal’ after such a transformative process in my life.
That process was normal, everything at has happened since is normal, my weight is normal, my body is normal. It’s not new, it’s just doing its job.
The weighing scale still lies under my dressing table. My daughter occasionally sees it, pulls it out and tries to step on it. She can't get on it easily just yet, so I help her out. She doesn’t know what it does, she also doesn’t know why mummy obsessed with this thing so much. Maybe the more used to it she is, the less obsessed she would be about it, the less obsessed about her weight she would be. I don't know
So—no, I don’t weigh myself anymore, I don’t see the need too.
Just like that morning when I felt by dress rip as I was headed to my wedding, I simply don’t care right now, I have more important things to take care of.
