Monday morning this thing happened.
I thought about how the previous week the scale read 150.0 pounds even. The exact number. A tenth of a pound less and I would have been able to officially ring some imaginary bell of excellence or success or I don’t even know what.
But the universe needed me to wait. And I get that. I’m down for whatever lessons I need to learn. And so I waited. No sweat.
Then Monday arrived and I limit scale curiosity to once a week because ocd. I woke up and did my regular routine of appreciating my body and feeling my skin and my ribs and my hips. I felt good in my skin. Content.
When I got on the scale, it was almost alarming.
Holy numbers, Batman.
It makes me smile to think of all those years, trying so damn hard to not focus on the number, and the number never budging. Now that I’m keenly focusing on all sorts of other places–really honing in on purpose–the scale freaking jumps. The universe is fun.
This could have been a thing that tripped me up, as it did many times in the past. Such a “win” used to feel terrifying and I had been the girl to sabotage wins. You wanna know what I did this time? How I proceeded after stepping off the scale?
I did the same. damn. thing. I do every day. I follow routine and I stay actively engaged in my health and my family and my well being. I continued to purge my garage and build healthy relationships (Beth came over), and lead with faith and love instead of fear and doubt.
And none of it is fucking easy. It’s work. And some days it feels less work, but still it’s work. Above all else tho, it keeps me safe and happy and gives me the freedom to bring my best self to this world. And for right now, that’s the goal.