I WEIGHED MYSELF!
I was getting dressed. Bra. Underwear. Socks. A body in motion, heading to the guest bedroom, getting on the scale, and weighing myself. No resistance. No thought. Autopilot.
Two days ago, I opened this blog at war - a war between mind and body.
I lied.
Not purposely, of course, but I lied.
There's no war. There's no battle. My f'ing mind is asleep. It offers no resistance to the bad habits...to the sabotage...to the negative.
I know where weighing myself every day will take me. Giving meaning to the scale is a one-way road that dead ends. Sabotage. The first day where the scale says something displeasing is a reason to turn to food.
It took me two whole hours to finally hear my screaming subconscious - you weighed yourself!
I promised myself I would weigh in once a week. Once a week is more than enough. Day 2 is not Day 7.
The scale is a tool.
The hammer that builds a house is a tool. It is the house that has meaning, not the tools that build it.
Hey brain - wake up!
In the meantime, I'm putting up road blocks.
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