Monday, March 25, 2013

The skinny on the not so skinny

I made a decision today.  A very scary, mind numbing, ridiculous decision, and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet.  I had to sleep on it, think about it, eat some ice cream cake while I pondered it, and drink a glass (or three) of wine in order to come to terms with it.

I am throwing out my scale.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.  Thankfully, it still tasted like ice cream cake and Muscato.

I have spent the last year OBSESSING over the number on the scale.  I could literally put on an outfit, look in the mirror and think I looked good, then stepped on the scale, saw the number, took off my clothes and put on a nice stretchy pair of yoga pants.  And why?  Because although my mirrored perception labeled me as anything BUT fat, the scale said otherwise.  The scale....the stupid, black, plastic, LYING bitch of a scale told me to stop eating ice cream cake and drinking wine and thinking I can wear skinny jeans or leggings.  The scale judges me, taunts me and calls me names like Heifer, Fatty and Lard Ass.  The scale tells me that all of my decisions are bad one.  That all the hours I log running, gym-ing and yoga-ing aren't enough.  That I'M not enough.  And these judgements are not the things I want to teach my blossoming, easily influenced teenage daughter. 

I have to allow myself to love who I am.  No matter the weight or the size.  I have to accept my curves, my "love handles", my thighs and my big butt. I have to accept that I have given birth, grown a little older, survived cancer, and sometimes eaten a few too many chocolate, macadamia cookies.  I have to step off the scale, grab a sledge hammer and beat that bitch down, the same way that she has beaten me down for the last year.

I'm ok.  No really, I am.  A little rounder.  A little less guilty over that ice cream cake and wine.  A little more accepting of my short comings.  A little bit stronger.  A little less afraid to chase my dreams (and the occasional ice cream truck).  I.  Am.  Ok.

Or at least I will be once I smash that damn scale to pieces.  And then I will toast to it with a nice glass of Muscato as I wear my skinny jeans while sitting in front of a full size mirror.  Suck on that you judgemental, digital bitch.


  1. How I feel is so much more important than some damned number. You go, girl!!!!!!

  2. Did ya smash it? Huh? Did ya? I want pictures. Yay for you.