I always used to look on in disbelief when my colleagues would get their panties in a twist when they step on the scales to be greeted by an unsatisfactory number. Depression and despair would often shine brightly through and my chubbier self would not understand and go munch on a mint aero.

To be honest, it wasn’t a great way to be hence why I decided to turn my life around and I’m 16kg lighter for it. However, I’m still not satisfied. I am a comfortable size 12, but I would really like to be a ten which means I need to lose another 6kg.

But dear God was I stuck. I was eating well and doing strenuous exercise twice a week. But those damn scales wouldn’t budge. I started getting up at 5am to use my cross-trainer. I thought, ok next weigh-in there should surely be a difference.

So the day comes, I have a giddy moment and I step on the scales. I look down and….

I was actually up by 500grms.

What. The. Fuck. What the flying fuck! All this goddam sacrifice and waking up earlier that early for nothing! I was majorly pissed. And disheartened. And sad. My trainer was telling me not to worry and a whole lot of other things but I wasn’t even listening. That number upset me to the core. I told my trainer to give me five minutes and I ran to the bathroom and had a mini, quietly tearful meltdown in the toilet cubicle. I thought of all sorts of negative thoughts, one of which was my face on a pig’s body. Maybe I shouldn’t eat fruit anymore because it has sugar. Maybe I shouldn’t eat cottage cheese because it has lactose.

I ended up getting a nutritional consultation. I had to keep a food diary for a week and write down any morsel that entered my mouth. In the end, it turned out I was not doing much wrong. We tweaked some issues and I have been uber strict with my diet for the past two weeks.

Weigh day was yesterday and….results! I lost another kilo. I was elated. I was motivated to work as hard as humanly possible. I was in a super mood all afternoon. Yeay me!

Yet another feeling crept upon me. I have become one of those women. One of those women whose disposition is altered by the number on the scales.

And although I like a trimmer physical appearance, I’m not sure I like who I have become. I think about everything that I eat. I never nonchalantly buy a cookie and eat it. If I want to eat pizza, I have to plan a ‘cheat meal’ around it. When I’m given a tiny amaretto cookie with my cappuccino, I leave it on the saucer. When I go jogging past cafe’s, I see people drink hot chocolate like its no big deal. But for me it would be a big deal. I ask myself if normal people are like this. Do they calculate calories and train like fiends? The answer is no. And they all seem to be thinner than me.

And I know some of you may comment with ‘its not about thinness but about being healthy.’ I suppose that’s true. But anyone out there who says they wouldn’t like to be thin is a liar. And I am very healthy. Perfectly healthy. But now I want to be vain and superficial: I want to be hot.

And I hate myself for these superficial desires that are wreaking havoc on my psyche. I am an accomplished young woman. I know better. So why do I want to be a size ten so badly? What real difference will it make? I don’t know. It is completely irrational.

One thing I try to remember:


My sister often says that thin people aren’t happy. I never truly understood what she was on about until a little while ago. It’s not that I’m unhappy, quite the opposite. But still- I understand what she’s getting at. It all about finding a balance- body, mind and spirit.

And with that bit of hippy mumbo jumbo, I leave you with what I’ll be eating tomorrow for lunch at work, shrimp and avocado salad: