The Scale’s Fall From Grace

It is dangerous for so much to rest on the outcome of stepping on a bathroom scale.

Entire days lost to self-flagellation. Previously happy marriages suddenly in peril. Because of an assessment of our worth, a measure of our success or failure reduced to a number on a gadget. A hateful, lying gadget.

The scale is out. No more lying liar scale for me.

(FromThe Cake Diaries 2005-ish)

When I stopped weighing myself, I turned to pants size to keep track of my success and failure as a person. Banishing the scale was such a freeing act of rebellion. And then I stepped right back into the trap of using a number to measure my worth.

For years, it didn’t occur to me to ask myself how I was feeling, if my body was healthy, if movement felt like happiness or punishment. I didn’t check in with my body to see if it was hungry or what it was hungry for. I ate foods that didn’t settle well in my body because they were “healthy”, totally disregarding all the cues my body was giving me as to what it did or didn’t need. 

I didn’t seek to separate out feelings from food; physical hunger from emotional starvation, my love for cake from my hatred of my body.

I still don’t use a bathroom scale because well, they’re lying liars. No. I don’t use a bathroom scale because it’s unhealthy for me to use one. The number gets all stuck in my head and roots around causing hate and discontent.

I’m only now becoming accustomed to asking myself questions about how I feel. Whether I’m hungry. What I want to eat ~ and why.

I think cake is beautiful. And I’m still excited to see a gorgeous cake. I’m getting used to the idea that we can coexist. That it is not my enemy, nor is it my savior. It is just a cake.

 

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