Diagnosed Pre-diabetic and scaling to "good enough"

Blogger: Kristen
Blog: KK On My Mind

I've always struggled to scrape my way up to what I thought was "good enough" in the looks department. Every morning I would check myself out in my bathroom mirror, which, conveniently, only reflected back my
image from the waist up. Good enough might just be achievable, I thought, if I smiled a certain way, or tilted my head just so.  As if it were possible to freeze myself in one perfect pose and command the world to see me that way.

I grew up watching my mother relentlessly pursue skinny.  Regular eating was not part of her routine.  A diabetic, she had two constant companions: her blood glucose meter, and a bag of Jelly Bellies. Spot candy treatments were her main form of sustenance – which, administered in the right amount, and in the right timing, could pull her out of a plummeting blood sugar and plop her safely in the normal zone. That was a big, unpredictable "if."  I pursued upping her food intake with as much gusto as she put into minimizing it.  I hated this skinny thing she seemed willing to throw her health away for.  I hated the policeman it turned me into.  In my own life, I shunned skinny.  I was equally blind to the toll my choices would take on my own health.

Eight months ago, I learned I was pre-diabetic, and it was like my thirteen-year-old self reached out from the 80's to slap me. (more after the jump)

My doctor sent me to a nutritionist. That woman taught me everything I didn't care to know about food choices. Portion sizes.  Exercise. Moderation.  I didn't believe her and her endless enthusiasm.   But, I did believe the scale she suggested I buy, when the numbers started backing down like a watch wound back. The insurmountable, it seemed, might just not be so insurmountable.

So, now I own two scales: one to stand on, and one to measure my food with. I have normal blood sugars.  I have running shoes I actually use for running and not just because I hope people will think I run if I wear them.  I don't have any skinny jeans, but I do have jeans I fit into 34 pounds ago that I occasionally slip into without bothering to unbutton them.  That's a kick.

This is no fairy tale where I now profess to shun all temptation to equate my self worth with what the scale reads, or what the mirror screams back at me.  The reality is, I have a profound weakness for sweet potato fries doused in sea salt, among (many) other things.  I have learned, though, to keep my health in front of me where I can see it, and to go easy on myself. I have this second, and the choice I make in it. And if it turns out that choice wasn't so good, I've got sixty chances a minute stretched out in front of me do it differently.

And that, my friends, is good enough.