The SCALE

This post has been brewing for 29 years. I was a normal sized child until the age of 7. That year I ballooned like a feature character in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. It wasn't subtle. It was dramatic - like someone pumped me up. For years I couldn't figure out why. As an adult, I know why. It's nothing I want to share on a blog.

My father has always struggled with his weight. My mother has only struggled with those 10 menopause pounds since her late 50s/early 60s. She was stick thin when I was a child and my three other siblings were completely normal sized. It was the 70s and she really had no idea what to do. I think she panicked a little bit. I can understand the tendency. Your child just gained 30 pounds on her little four foot frame and you have no idea why. I don't know what her first instinct was but I do remember the outcome - I was put on a diet. The Scarsdale diet. Just typing the words make me sick. She would periodically weigh me to see if we were making progress. From that moment on, that number on the scale was a mark of how well I was doing and how acceptable I was - to myself and others.

There are times when I have rebelled and ignored the scale completely. Those are the times when I have packed on 20, 30, and even 40 pounds. It would seem that the scale is the key to keeping me accountable then, right? Wrong. In those moments, I knew I was out of control and I didn't want accountability. The only time I approached the scale was when I knew I was ready to 'behave' with food. I was ready to pay the piper.

In those moments, I would weigh obsessively. In the morning naked - after I went to the bathroom, before anything went into my system. I would weigh when I came home from work - stripping down again to see how I did that day. It was glorious when I weighed the same or less than I did in the morning. I had a little freedom to eat because I had been so good. Then I would weigh before I went to bed - panicked by the extra three pounds I put on in three hours. I would think, "I went too far. Why didn't I just stay on track? What is wrong with me?"

There were other moments when I really was 'on program' and I would hop on and nothing had changed or, horror of horrors, I had GAINED weight. I would be so angry and feel so dejected. The world was conspiring against me. This conspiracy was why I was fat - I had done everything I could and the world refused to let me succeed. I was doomed. DOOMED. I might as well eat what I want. Why be deprived and still be fat? If I am doomed to being fat, I'll enjoy life. I'll pretend it doesn't matter. I'll go bake some cookies. That'll help. Up or down, the outcome was the same - a license to eat more food.

A little metal piece of equipment was absolutely ruling over me. I knew I wasn't being healthy mentally or physically but I needed it to define my worth. It's true. I could feel terrific but I would step on that scale and every ounce of joy left my body when it said my weight went up. I could feel awful but a scale moving down meant I was worthy. Worthy of what? Love. From myself. From my family. From others. From food.

Before I started this LAST time, I went through a very long period of introspection with God, myself, and others. There was one particular moment when the 'scales' dropped from my eyes. The scale does not determine my worth, loveability, or even success in living a healthy lifestyle. I must live a healthy lifestyle because I want to be fit, strong, and useful in this world. I want to have children someday and I want to be available to them. I want to enjoy and live my life. I don't need a number on a piece of metal to tell me if I'm doing that well. I know when I'm doing that well. I know when I'm making wise choices. I know when I am moving more. I know when I am using food as love rather than nourishment. I know when I have done the right thing and when I have done the wrong thing - with food, people, and myself. The scale dictates nothing.

I threw the scale away. I marched that piece of high-priced metal out to the curb and I threw it in that big Waste Management bin. VICTORY. It is gone. I considered asking my WW leader not to tell me what I weighed but to only tell me when I had reached major milestones but it seemed like too much explanation to share. Instead, I weighed in this week and it was forever before I looked at it. I didn't care.

This week has been hard because I find myself thinking and saying, "I BETTER LOSE WEIGHT OR I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND." I'm a work in progress. I need to remind myself that I'm making great choices and doing the right things and the scale does not matter. It's part of the program but it can't change the fact that I did a great job this week. Regardless of what it says, I know I have ROCKED IT and I have felt so much better because I have no scale to tell me otherwise. I have made great strides and I am loving myself well. I feel great. Scale, do what you may. I will be fine and will continue living a healthy lifestyle - either way. It's a great day!