The Scale: Agony or Ecstasy?

I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the scale for most of my life.

For years, the scale wielded enormous power over me. The scale controlled whether I had a good day or a bad day. The scale dictated whether I was happy or sad. The scale determined my level my self-esteem and self-worth and self-confidence. If the number on the scale was a number I liked, I was happy. If the number on the scale was a number that I didn’t like, I was sad, or depressed, or frustrated, or hopeless, or angry.

That scale was my sovereign. I was its servant.

And the scale determined whether I was winning or losing the battle of the bulge. Usually, I lost.

As I began to transform my thoughts about my body, I began to transform my thoughts about the scale as well, and I found other ways to measure my progress.

I knew I was doing well when I began. . .

. . . to measure my success by considering how I felt rather the number of pounds I weighed.

. . . to feel like I was brimming over with energy and vitality.

. . . to eat when I was hungry and stop when I was satisfied.

. . . to move a little bit more than I had been moving.

. . . to feel my clothes getting a little looser.

. . . to take pride in the number of fruits and vegetables I was eating each day.

. . . to look forward to my daily walks (which morphed into daily runs).

. . . to receive complements from my friends on how I looked.

. . . to tie my esteem to my inherent spiritual core rather than an external physical measuring device.

. . . to feel good about myself because I was alive!

Up Next: Stress Eating

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