Hanging in the Balance

Here is the devil I need to make friends with today.

In my house the record keeper of infamy, the scale, has been used for everything but its function. It is an extra shelf on the floor so magazines can be piled on top of it. Scale batteries are never replaced so it is dark if stepped on which it never is. Even better, I've tossed scales in the garage hiding them where I can't easily get to them. There, they molder and rust, unloved, forgotten. Matching my yo-yo weight loss to the loathsome devices, I must have purchased, dumped out and repurchased white scales, clear scales, electronic high points, to fit my bathroom decor and mental readiness. When I've purchased a new one, I fantasized I was turning over a new leaf and readying myself for a different weight loss plan or iconic transformation. "Fat" chance. Over the years I have thrown out fifty in the various Spring clean-ups, probably 100 if I allow for the truth.

When my excess weight is not recorded by sight, in the mirror or on the scale, it doesn't exist in my mind. There is always the comforting thought, I will diet tomorrow. Tomorrow is pushed farther back into next year. Next year never comes. Until there is recognition and fear, the decision to do something is pushed away. But sometimes, the light comes: forgiveness for my ugly fat is accepted, a particle of self-love and acceptance is received and a miracle occurs. I make the decision to diet. This is a long time coming. And though it may come, after initial weight loss, it will leave.