Oh scale. I hate you.

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I want to claim that I have a love-hate relationship with the scale, but we all know that isn’t true. It’s purely a hate-hate thing.

In fact, as I embark on this blog —  a project I currently refuse to confess to anyone but my husband — I am not entirely sure how to handle the scale. My scale, which is currently buried under a loveseat in my bedroom and which has been so incredibly unfair to me the last couple of times I have set my feet upon it, is the object of my complete loathing.

I am open to the opinions of others as far as what has worked for them, but I know I have to write this story on my own. Eventually I will have a story to tell about how I handled the issue of the scale, but for now I feel insecure and scared when I think about “weighing in.”

I’m all for accountability, but I am not all for weekly humiliation drills. There must be a happy medium somewhere therein.

 

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