Scale Betrayal

They say the scale doesn’t lie. Maybe they’re right, but even so…

The scale is not my friend, right now.

Every time I get on it, the number creeps up.

Of course I know it’s the night time eating. If I could just part ways with the idea that any reasonable amount of food is going to make me feel sleepy, maybe I would be okay.

I panic when I can’t sleep. That’s the worst thing you can do, but I do it nonetheless. I always have. Even as a kid. When you can’t sleep, stressing out about it tends to exacerbate the problem. That’s what I tell Desmond when he can’t sleep.

Yet I know that when push comes to shove, I’m the same as him. I’m going to put undue pressure on myself to doze.

This is the opposite of what you want. When you can’t sleep, you’re supposed to try to relax, not force it. Let it come to you. It’s counterintuitive, yes, and that’s why it’s so hard.

Alas, I digress. I was talking about the scale.

The scale for me is more than a measure of my weight, but an indicator of how I’m doing in other areas. If I’m steadily gaining weight, you can bet I’m not getting enough water, I’m consuming too much sodium, and I’m not sleeping well—best case scenario.

So I guess I should look at the scale as a necessary evil rather than a mortal enemy. It’s showing me what I’d rather not see, sure, but would I prefer sugar coating? Blindsiding?

At the end of the day, a scale is only a measuring tool. I’m responsible for my choices, well-informed and otherwise. If I’m continually gaining, I have only myself to hold accountable.