I want to make a public confession that I have weighed a few times over the last two months. The first entry I posted here is all about scales being evil. I actually wrote that several months ago. I still believe it, but I want to be honest about where I am in this process.
It started when I decided to do a Whole30 back in August. The plan suggests that you weigh in at the beginning and at the end as well as take pictures and measurements. I didn’t do the measurements or pics, but I capitulated on the weighing. I’m not really sure why. I think a lot of it had to do with some group mentality. I was doing it with my husband, a couple friends of mine and also a community of people on the web who were starting on August 1st. I pictured getting to the end and there being lots celebrating and virtual high-fives going around. I didn’t want to miss out on anything. Alcoholic, much?
I weighed in on August 1st and immediately regretted it. I had lost weight since the last time I remembered weighing, and I think it triggered a reward feedback loop. I wanted to weigh the next day and the next. I resisted. I think I said that I wasn’t going to weigh in at the end, but I did. Again I lost weight, and again that made me want to weigh more. It bums me out because despite everything I have learned and put into practice recently, the neural pathway of weight loss = good girl still exists. I weighed once last week and once this week, and just need to stop. The scale isn’t moving, and I actually don’t think I really care. What am I hoping to get by stepping on? I PR’d all over the place at Crossfit last week, so I know I’m getting fitter.
My husband refuses to get rid of the scale. I know if I tucked it away, he’d go hunting for it immediately. And really, his relationship with the scale is none of my business. I must remember that no weight on that scale will ever make me feel as good as not needing the scale to assign a number value to my worth.