I am that person who only gets on a scale when I am in a doctor's office. I really have no choice but to submit to the nurse who tells me to take off my shoes and step up onto the big white metallic monster that is looming in the corner over my shoulder. The only reason I do cooperate is because I know that this same nurse will likely administer some form of blood test or immunization later in the appointment, and I don't want to be on her bad side early on. Sometimes I look- sometimes I pretend to look but gaze just above the number. But today I looked.
This morning - this sunny, summer, Monday morning -- I stood barefoot in my bathroom and stepped on my own smaller metallic monster. It did not growl at me. It did not even roar. It simply whispered what I have been refusing to hear -- my truth-- it was time to face my scale, my issues, my fears, and my failures. It said to me that I must see what is in front of me today before I can emerge from beneath it. Today's message was short. It was simple. It was ugly. It was 278.
