I don’t know why — just go ahead and call me crazy now — but I’ve been getting on the scale about thirteen times too many this week.

I know, I know, I know.

I completely know better than to do this to myself. Call it a form of self torture.
Every now and then, despite my own preaching of, “don’t go by what the scale says”, I 1000% go against this and step my ass on one. Or four.

Because I’ve literally been on four different scales within six days. Hoping, praying to the scale gods that the number just can’t be right. Each time it comes out the same, I go off … seeking another scale, positive that this time, this time will be different.

But it’s not and then I slip into the blackhole of scale weight worthlessness.

Ridiculous. Utterly and totally ridiculous.

And then I get mad at myself — mad at the scales, at food, at my body. At this thing we even call, “weight.”

Amazing how one word — one single word that was created to represent an “idea” of health, of body holds so much power over us.

Somehow, People … some how … I’ve gained some pounds within a month. I don’t even know how this is possible. I’m the type where if I gain even two pounds, I feel it.

So to somehow magically combusted up by five … well, it was nothing short of a horror. I know the whole “muscle weighs more than fat” … but, at the same time, the number is there.

Staring me down. Or often, first resulting in an “Error” message. Nothing makes me feel more heifferish than that. As though the damn thing can’t even handle all of me standing on it.

And the thing of it all is, I had been feeling good — REALLY good. I thought, if anything, maybe I was looking thinner. And then I have to go do something as stupid as weigh myself.

Why? I’m telling you … self inflicted torture. Some aspect of my subconscious must really enjoy it.

What really gets me is that when it comes down to it, this is just a number. A god damn number. How can I allow something so irrelevant, in many ways, have this much control over me?

I was thinking how if I had gotten on the scale and the number had been the same, or lower, how happy, how absolutely elated I would have been.

What bullshit is that?

It proved,  that I simply cannot allow this to continue to have a hold on me. I need to love myself. More. A hell of a lot more.

This is what My Guru told me yesterday morning. As I was telling him {okay and every and anyone else who would listen to me} my scale woes. Or more like complaining. Or really like a rant.

He looked at me, hit his hand on a machine and said so loudly and firmly that it made me jump, “you listen to me and you listen real carefully.”

And like a small child who goes wide eyed and quiet, I lowered my gaze and listened.

“You need to love yourself more. So maybe you gained a few pounds. What does this matter. Really matter? It doesn’t. Stop it. All of this nonsense. Stop it and start with loving you, all of you. Love the things you don’t like. It might take a while, but you will eventually. Love your body and the strength it has. Just love yourself everyday.”

Here I’ve been focused on my actions coming from a place of love, and of loving others … but what about me, what about us?

How much do we truly love ourselves?

Prior to today, I would have said I had a great deal of love for me — all of me. Yet Guru gently and directly showed me that I don’t.

That I criticize, that I am so hard and picky on myself in ways that are doing more harm than good.

And it’s not just with my body. I beat myself up over dumb things, too. I need to let myself off the hook. And start embracing me, all of me.

Love the imperfections. Even the cellulite. Since I have yet to embrace that. I might have to slowly work my way up to that one … who can honestly say they love their cellulite and dimpled thighs? Right. But. Hey, I’m going to get there … um, at some point? Hopefully?

This weight thing has been a sticking point for me almost my entire life. It’s time to let it go. So maybe I did put on a few pounds. F it.

I am healthy. My body is strong and vibrant. And, I like to eat. I will not deprive of myself of good food … or the candy. What kind of life would that be?

And another thing! I’m done, done talking about my weight. I’m only going to talk highly of my body. Focus on the things I do like.

It might be challenging, but I am going to love myself, more pounds or less pounds. I’m still me.

And still enough. And happy.