I like to think that I'm pretty happy with myself, or at least realistic. Of course I've had some body image woes in the past, which is probably so prevalent as to be cliche among women (and increasingly men) these days, but nevertheless I like me. Though I'll admit I probably obsess a little over some things, such as uncertainty about what clothing best suits my body type, and this is reflected in my knitting and my rambling about knitting, I'm pretty cheerful about the body I have and the rest of me that comes with it. Usually.
Why is it, then, that when I weighed myself on a whim the other day, and the scale said I was ten pounds lighter than I expected, I felt jubilant?
For one thing, I'm pretty sure the scale is broken. Oh, that's always the excuse, but I truly don't think it's possible for me to have lost so much weight since I last weighed myself. I can't remember when I last weighed myself, since I don't do it too often. I've been pretty much the same weight since first year university, as far as I can tell, and that suits me fine. Anyway, my clothes don't fit me any differently.
All that aside, why does someone who is unabashedly happy about her body and her weight feel so excited and happy upon "discovering" a surprise weightloss? Am I that wrapped up in the cultural stereotype and the supposedly universal western female obsession with skinny? I thought I wasn't. This is troubling to me.
I'll go to the gym tomorrow and start bulking up, or something.