I found this picture. I love this picture. It means so much. I have spent days on end weighing myself. I have looked forward to waking up in the morning to step on the scale. I have been afraid to step on the scale. This small machine. This tiny, easily breakable machine has been such an important aspect to my entire life. Why? Why do I listen to it? Why do I let this machine make me feel like shit on some days, and amazing on other days? Am I crazy? My life is not this number, or is it? My family has always been obsessed with weight. Up. Down. Fat. Skinny. My mom has her ways to make this tiny machine her ally. If you weigh yourself in the morning, after you use the rest room… then it is correct. OH and don’t believe the doctors scale. Yes, my mom. Also, if you weigh yourself in the afternoon, you have to subtract at least 2 pounds because you ate already, or you have on some clothing. UGH! This machine. This scale.
My life is not the number on the scale. I love my life. I have my health, an amazing family, wonderful friends, no complaints.
SO, how can I allow this number to decipher how I feel about myself? Was it ingrained in me? Maybe. My parents. My parents parents. I need to change my thinking. Change the record in my head.
Tomorrow, I will not step on the scale, but the next time I do, I will feel good about myself regardless of the number.