A few days ago in the early morning, my boyfriend heard a bang coming from the bathroom so intense that he worried that I'd taken a bad fall or something. Not one to get freaked out until he knows the entire situation, he cried out "Are you ok?" in his even-toned-but-still-kinda-irked voice. I hollered back in as calm a voice as I could muster, "Yes! I'm just pounding our scale with my fists because it won't work."
Now before you start to think I'm a maniac, here's the thing about our scale - it's pretty temperamental for an inanimate object. I noticed during the last month or so (as the battery in the thing was slowly dying), sometimes if you jumped on it with enough brute force, it would revive and give you your weight. When that technique recently stopped working, I thought the logical next step was to get down on my hands and knees and see if some more localized pressure with my fists could get it to work. No dice.
As the only person in my household who uses the darn thing (daily, sometimes twice a day if I'm being honest) I was kind of sh---out-of-luck. I'd have to wait until the weekend to get the very specific battery it needed because, well, things like going to work, cooking supper, getting 7 hrs of sleep, take priority. Surely I could wait a few days to weight myself though, right? Ughhh.....
Here's the thing about living without a scale when you're me. Suddenly, ignoring myself and just letting that little magic machine in my bathroom tell me whether I was having a "good" or "bad" day wasn't an option. Suddenly, I couldn't turn to the scale and determine whether it was a wise idea to have a second helping of mac n' cheese or not. Suddenly, that same scale that kept me in line, figured things out for me, saved me from going overboard, was refusing to speak.
Now I had to check in with myself, not the machine. Now I had to listen to the conversations between my brain and body without the scale as a mediator, which, by the way, sounds a little like this:
Body: "Give me some carbs, girlfriend."
Brain: "I'm not sure that's wise, body, we already feel like a sausage in these jeans."
Body: "Fine, take us for a walk then. I'm feeling a bit sluggish and could use the sunshine."
Brain: "I'll strongly consider it. I think that would make both of us just feel so much better."
Body: "Great. Except putting on layers is too much effort for me right now. Screw the walk and let's bake cookies together."
Brain: "Oh body, you sly little munchkin. You had me at bake."
In all seriousness, I give that device way too much authority over my life. I let it be the boss of me and define my self image completely. I never intervene and become my own mediator by asking myself important questions about my body image and overall health. I never say "Okay, so the scale is telling me one thing, but how do I feel today? Why is it that I feel tired? Why am I craving certain types of foods?" Those missed conversations with myself backfire in the long run, as I find myself spiraling out of control whenever I am forced to take a moment and listen to my inner compass. Up until now, the scale has been my compass.
So what's a still scale-less girl to do with all of that body angst and those mixed messages? Well, I could take the easy way out and just be thankful it's getting fixed today. Or I could try something maybe not-so-revolutionary but new in my books - I could try weighing myself less, and listening to myself more. Once a week perhaps? I've lasted this long...
"What's that body? Whatcha say brain? You guys on board?"