Last Tuesday morning, I braced for the most dreaded appointment of the year. The annual checkup.    

It wasn’t dreaded for the obvious reasons.  The helpless feeling.  The discomfort.  The staring at the ceiling (oh, men, stop cringing).  It was the weigh in.  

I shouldn’t have cared.  It’s just a number. My clothes fit.  I can run a few miles.  I eat mostly healthy.  I should not care.

But I do.  And if the number is not what I want, the self torture will begin.

There are many of us women who live in a constant state of body consciousness.  Not all, but many.  It’s a mentality that forms early on, and try as we may, it’s difficult to shake.

When it comes to our bodies, we play mind games with ourselves.  And when the number on the scale is factored into the equation, it only adds to the suffering.  It can dictate our mood, interfere with logical thoughts and overshadow parts of our day that are supposed to be enjoyable.  Such as eating.

Sure, there does come a point when we start to feel comfortable with our womanly bodies. We reach some kind of general acceptance. We’re fine not looking like the 25-year-olds we see.  Oh heck, let’s be honest… even some of the 30-year-olds we see.  We cut ourselves some slack.  

But it’s only temporary.  When we put on our summer clothes, we are gently reminded that we haven’t lost our winter padding. When we catch a glimpse of ourselves at the gym, we critique every angle.  When we hit another birthday, we realize that all the stories about a slowing metabolism are true. And when we bump into an acquaintance who’s not just thin, but skinny thin, we notice.  We’re impressed.  We want to know their secret.

Maybe it’s a miracle pill.  Or a strictly followed diet regime. Perhaps it’s the effect of the divorce diet.  Or the horrible yet slimming, “someone in my family is gravely ill” meal plan.  We say, “Bless her heart”. “Poor thing”.  And then throw in, “but did you see how skinny she is?”

These critical feelings about our bodies come and go.  But I don’t think they ever fade. We’ve been conditioned to view ourselves a certain way.  It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks. What anyone else tells us. It’s about the image we think is staring back at us.

So this year, why add insult to injury?  

Instead, I devised a plan. As I stepped on the scale, I told myself the number didn’t matter.  What’s important is how I feel. That I’m healthy. That I’m just trying to do the best I can.     

And then, I looked away.  Yes, you read it right.  Looked away.  

I decided that I didn’t want to know.  I didn’t need to know.  I made the choice to temporarily not add any fuel to the crazy, constantly burning fire. At least for that moment.

It was easy to look away. The challenge is when we look closely, being able to see clearly.

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.