Scales

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I often refer to myself as a parking lot therapy session. For whatever reason, I choose to emotionally unravel while parked next to a minivan. In the spirit of reciprocity, some people share their soul with me as we lean into a Honda CRV. I guess in true mom mode the comings and goings of my life determine the setting. And lately, it’s parking lot pandemonium.

As evidenced by the title of this blog, I like to talk. And I see a real need for people to create and contribute to exchanges. But there’s something a lot of people don’t like to discuss or delve into, which is the weight we carry.

To begin, this isn’t solely about the physical weight, but since it’s the most obvious association I suppose it’s important to initiate the topic.  Talking or writing about weight is uncomfortable. It’s not easy to admit or decipher how five pounds turned into ten, twenty, or thirty. And while we’ve come so far in terms of body positivity, the stigmas attached to one’s physicality are real, heavy, and long-lasting.

This world is fast-paced and forever forward thinking. What’s next or where to are common attitudes in all things. But herein lies the problem for me as the client or consumer. I need to get to a place where I acknowledge where I’ve been while celebrating where I am. This is almost more important than where I’m going. For me, carpe diem is more than a saying. It’s a parking place for purpose and promises. It’s where I need to be in order to go anywhere.

I have a scale in my bathroom. I used to weigh myself every morning and evening. Not surprisingly, there was never a noticeable difference. The act itself was disingenuous because unless I weighed in less than yesterday, it meant nothing to me. I only liked weighing in if the number showed me what I wanted to be and not who I was.

My trainers recently instructed me to surrender the scale. The numbers didn’t help me park my positivity. In a world forever on the go, centered on driving if you will, we rarely park.

I was speeding through this process and while rushing to get it all done nothing was getting done right. I wasn’t shedding weight, I wasn’t writing well, and I wasn’t enjoying anything.

The scale wasn’t going to help me. Because the scale doesn’t showcase how I feel, the muscles I’m gaining, and the fear I’m eliminating. The scale is not gauging the growth so pivotal for all evolutions. And it’s definitely not pausing to ponder.

Just as important as anyone’s physical weight is the emotional aspect of any said measurement. Knowing what we can carry, understanding and respecting the weight of different duties, and feeling strong in creating spaces and stories allows for some solid parallel parking.

But enough with the analogies and descriptions. I’m feeling like a woman who did some serious kettlebell swings and burpees today. There’s something to be said about finding the right space. Park, ponder, and plank. No scale can measure my joy.

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