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Ohhhhh, the scale.
Sometimes IT’S YOUR BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD AND YOU LOVE IT SO MUCH YOU WANT TO THROW IT A TICKER TAPE PARADE THROUGH THE CITY STREETS.
Other times IT IS YOUR WORST ENEMY AND CLEARLY OUT TO GET YOU AND YOU WANT TO SMASH IT INTO A MILLION PIECES AND THEN GO CRY AND DROWN YOURSELF IN A PINT OF ICE CREAM.
Um. I mean, other times the number doesn’t really work in your favor.
I always liked to think I had a pretty decent relationship with the scale. Especially lately. Okay, so maybe I was weighing myself once a day, and very rarely twice, but it’s not like I let it affect my mood or anything. That is, even if the number was up a bit I didn’t get upset or go into a restrictive mode or exercise more to compensate.
That burning desire she talked about? That’s me every morning.
So I decided to experiment and put the scale away for a week. That’s it. One little ol’ week. Seven days. Puhlease. I can totes do that and did, in fact, at the beginning of my journey. Back when I first started on Weight Watchers way back when I only ever weighed myself on my weekly weigh-in day so, duh, I so totally got this.
I lasted five days.
And, lemme tell ya, the relief I felt at stepping on and seeing the number… I imagine it’s not unlike the feeling a smoker has after a failed attempt at quitting, when they take that first puff after so many missed cigarettes.
Funny thing is, I didn’t even really care what the number was. I just
wanted needed to weigh myself.
Most people weigh in frequently as a means of checking to see if they are still “on track” but so many things can cause the scale to fluctuate. The scale can be a good tool, but it shouldn’t be your only means of measuring success. Which I’ve said many, many times here on the blog but somehow I had inadvertently allowed it creep back in as my only guiding force. The really scary part is I didn’t even realize it had happened.
Part of this whole accepting my body thing means learning to trust myself. Specifically trusting my food choices. Interestingly, over the past week and a half I have noticed that intuitive eating has started to happen more and more often. That voice we all have that tells us when we are full and should stop eating has gained a lotta volume as of late.
But only as long as I don’t actually listen for it. As long as I just eat intuitively without giving it thought I’m fine. But the second I become aware of it, I start to make some, eh, not as good choices. It’s so bizarre and there is clearly something going on there that I need to get to the root of eventually. My point, however, is that I can be trusted. I just need to learn how to actually trust myself. Which, it turns out, is a helluva lot harder than I realized.
The scale and I have a long sordid history. I don’t know if I could ever fully give it up — the idea of doing that terrifies the ever loving shit out of me, not gonna lie. But, again, the fact that I become paralyzed with fear at the idea of never knowing what I weigh ever again is proof that I’ve gotten myself into an unhealthy cycle with the scale that I need to slowly work on breaking.
It’s gonna be a long and winding road, kids.
Love from the ashes,