Dear Scale, We’re Over

18 Apr

A couple of months ago, I said goodbye to an old friend.  One I’d known for most of my life.

While I wouldn’t say the relationship was especially unhealthy, in hindsight I realize that I was probably putting too much stock in my the feedback I was getting, and maybe letting that feedback dictate the way I felt about myself a bit more frequently than I should have.

Like any goodbye, it wasn’t easy at first, but I’ve grown more and more accustomed to the absence, and although I’ve had my ups and downs about it, I realize now that cutting ties was more liberating than I had ever expected it to be.

Goodbye, scale. It’s been real, but we’re over.


Honestly, I can’t say saying peace out to my scale was some emotionally charged, grandiose parting of ways. In fact, a friend who was doing a company weight loss challenge asked to borrow it, so I lent it to her. Only, I had been thinking of getting rid of it for a while at that point, so after some final internal deliberation I decided to just let her keep the damn thing.

You see, I haven’t been obsessed with numbers on a scale for a long time. But I’m not going to lie – I used it from time to time keep myself in check. But during a particularly stressful time about a year ago, I lost 6 or 7 pounds as the result of not having an appetite. While I wasn’t loving the way it looked (a lot of what I lost was muscle), I found myself sort of pleased with the number that showed up when I weighed myself. That on it’s own already doesn’t make any kind of logical sense, but to add to that, it occurred to me that I went from weighing in every couple of weeks to every couple of days. While the odd pound or two didn’t ruin my day, it did occasionally affect my mood.

The other issue was “fat days” and “skinny days.”  While I’m the first to admit that in no way am I even close to “fat” (I’m just using the common term), I would be lying if I said I’m not like any other woman who has the occasional, PMS-y day where my jeans feel tight and make me grouchy, however, if I got on the scale and weighed less than I anticipated, I was instantly in a better mood. Conversely, there were an occasion or two where I caught sight of myself and was like “yeahhhhh girl,” but would weigh myself a day later, have put on a pound or two -probably water weight, honestly- but suddenly my reflection somehow looked different. And that is pretty messed up, if you really think about it.

Please don’t get me wrong – these instances were few and far between.  But the last time it happened, I realized that letting an arbitrary number dictate how I feel about myself was complete and total bullshit.

So for the record I’m extremely proud of my relationship with food. We are totally, totally cool. Like, it’s one of my largest sources of pride- I can eat a piece of pie and a burger if that’s really what I want and not give it a second thought. Considering that the first 20-something years of my life were spent with an insane preoccupation with dieting (resulting in a lifelong struggle with a yo-yo’ing weight), I find peace knowing that in no way does food dictate my life. I mean, I feel healthy.  So why the hell should I care what a scale says?

Every once in a while I get a little curious and wonder for a moment what I weigh, but my clothes fit the same and I feel good because I take pride in what goes in my body, so it only takes a second to remember that I’m better off without it . After all, beauty is not a number on a scale, and self worth should not come from pants size.

I’m actually a little surprised that I let a number have any impact on my mood, and even if those instances were infrequent, not having it at all has made them non-existent.  And that has been awesome.

The end.








2 Responses to “Dear Scale, We’re Over”

  1. Susan April 18, 2014 at 2:23 pm #

    Great post Meg!!!

  2. Robert Colvin April 18, 2014 at 8:53 pm #

    Great thinking, Meg, and especially great writing. It is always fun to get an inner glimpse of you…

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