Standing in line at the BMV, I looked at my old license picture. The photo wasn’t taken that long ago, because I had to get a new one after I got married. Not much has changed with my appearance; I still wear my hair the same way, I still don’t wear my glasses because I have contacts, and I still love to wear dangling earrings.
Unfortunately, after looking at my picture, I had to notice the big “W”. The standard physical identifiers on a driver’s license are hair color, eye color, height, and weight. I know I am not that “number” anymore. And as much as I tried to pretend it didn’t matter, it did.
A few weeks ago, while visiting a friend, I found out what I weigh currently. The bathroom scale was out in the open. It would have been a great drama had the internal workings of my brain been visible. “To weigh or not to weigh” was the question.
The good angel lost the battle and I gave in to the temptation. I had to know how much I weighed. Having a scale available to me without anyone else seeing me step on it was too much of a lure to resist.
Of course, I didn’t like what I saw on the digital screen. I never like what I see there. No matter how small the number is, it is not good enough for me.
I know can’t handle knowing my weight. After I found out the first time, I wanted to know every second of every day: wondering after every meal if I had gained or lost weight, wondering every morning if my pants would be a little loser, wondering if my actions were contributing to a smaller waistline.
When I step on a scale, my life becomes focused on a number. My goals change and my accomplishments have to do with losing weight. I have a bad day if I eat and a good day if I don’t eat. Nothing else matters expect what that number says, everything else about me fads away from my consciousness. I am no longer a woman, a wife, a painter, a teacher, a helper, a friend, a sister, a daughter…no…I am just a number.
It is safe to say that me and scales don’t get along.
I have a love/hate relationship with the bathroom scale. I hate seeing them. But, I cannot resist its demands. Yet, after I know my weight I want to burn all the scales in the world. I know it’s bad for me, yet I keep doing it. I don’t have a scale in my house, but I encounter them from time to time, like at the gym, the doctor’s office, or a friend’s house.
I don’t go to the gym that often, so that’s not a huge issue. At the doctor, I ask the nurse not to tell me my weight and I stand on the scale backward.
If you want to help me and other girl’s struggling to break-up with the scale, put your weighing machine away someplace where we can’t see it: in a cupboard, under the sink, in a closet, in the trash. (You can do it! I believe in you!)
If you can’t throw away your scale yet, put a posted note on it that says “I am more than this number”. This reminder will help you keep things in perspective.
You are so much more than a number. That number means nothing. You are a beautiful, worthy, deserving child of God. It doesn’t matter how much you weigh or what you look like, God still loves you.