The scale and I have finally bid farewell. It was time to end a very unhealthy relationship.
Each morning I would dread meeting up with the scale. I didn’t ever like what the scale had to say. Even though the scale spoke the truth, I always heard something different.
Under my “normal” weight= I can eat anything I want today. No need to worry about healthy foods and feeding my your body right. If I weigh less than “normal” I’m fine. Eat a piece of cake (or two), drink a soda, go out to dinner with Zach. But don’t forget, the scale will still be here tomorrow morning.
And the next day when I was above my “normal” weight I would hear, “You are a cow! You lack discipline. Why don’t you care about yourself? You are unattractive. Your weight is a physical manifestation of your weak character and selfish heart.”
Yes, that’s really and truly what I heard every.single.time I stepped on the scale.
I came to dread it. It wasn’t doing me any favors. I was living under the pretense that by stepping on the scale, I was keeping my weight in check. I even tricked myself into thinking it would help me lose weight. How is that possible when every time I would dip a little lower, it would give me “permission” to eat a little more, be a little lax?
The big thing, though, wasn’t whether or not the scale told me to eat. It’s that I let the scale tell me how I felt about myself. I let the scale tell me what kind of day I would have.
I’ve put it away now. It’s only been a few days, but I’m forcing myself to look in the mirror, see how I feel, take care of myself because I want to and I care about myself, and I’m letting my clothes (and how I feel in them) talk to me from now on.