The time has come to end a long-standing relationship. It has had its ups and downs, certainly, but in this case, the highs are not a good thing. The last straw came when I was out to dinner with friends, and the following sentence came out of my mouth “…but only in the morning. After I go to the bathroom. And totally naked.” Mostly, there were a lot of knowing nods and reluctant agreement. Therefore, it is time. I am breaking up with my scale.
I have long had an unhealthy relationship with the three digit number carelessly spat out in a rude, uncaring way. The sleek digital device, sitting nonchalantly in the corner of the bathroom, just waiting to ruin my morning. It never seems to celebrate the losses with me, it just sits there, day after day, sharing the stark reality of a too-tight pair of shorts.
Finally, I’ve had enough. Therefore, I have banished the scale from my consciousness. I haven’t stepped on that cold, glass surface in nearly two weeks – a record for me, and it has felt marvelous. Each morning I wake up, choose not to step on the scale, and gleefully go about the rest of my day. That may mean salad for lunch or a carb-filled sandwich, but I am not constantly thinking about the number from earlier in the day. It is quite liberating.
This is not to say that I will never step on the scale again. I will. I have to know. Sheer curiosity will get the better of me. But I will not let it dictate my day. A pound or two one way or the other will not matter, because my clothes will fit (almost) the same, and if I do lose a few pounds, I will notice it in there first. See? No need for that scale.
Bottom line: I may feel the urge to step on the scale periodically, yet it will not wield any power over me. Adios, my old nemesis. I am officially done.
