Broken Scale

I was reading one of my favorite blogs: Eat the Damn Cake (admit it, it's a great title full of excellent advice! Just eat it, it's CAKE!) and was alerted to a great cause, Body Image Warrior Week, so I am dedicating this post to that cause and joining as a supporter. 


I stepped on the scale Monday morning, as I do every Monday morning.  It's a silly ritual, if my pants fit there's really no reason to know how much I weigh.  And if my pants don't fit then the number on the scale isn't going to change that fact.  But I do it any way.
And then, when I don't like the number, I suck in my stomach.  And I look at the number again, truly expecting it to have changed! Because when I suck in my stomach I look thinner so I must have lost weight.  It's obvious the scale is broken.
Then the internal dialogue begins--"you don't look good, you are so ugly, that number on the scale means you are hideous."  So I suck my stomach in tighter and I separate my legs just a little bit more so that my thighs aren't touching and I stand there in my duck legged, rib cage protruding feeling all good about myself.  But I can't walk. And truly, I can't breathe. How attractive is that?
So, this past Monday when the number on the scale didn't change no matter how far in I sucked my stomach I let it out, and I stood up straight even though my thighs touched. And I thought about how much sexier it was to have a slightly rounded belly and thighs that weren't afraid of leaning on one another.
I have worn the same size pants for the past 13 years.  I am considered "average" size.  My doctor does not worry about my weight.  I am muscular and strong.  I have never been teased about being fat.  I have never been afraid of eating dessert or having that second IPA.  My pants get tight, I increase my activity and my pants fit.
And yet every Monday I get on the scale and I suck in my stomach when I don't like the number.