I woke up after a nice long stretch of sleep pleased as punch that Little L slept from 7:30 to 6:30. I brushed my teeth, peed, then stripped down and stepped on the scale, just like I do every morning, convinced that, despite yesterday’s rant, all my hard work would have finally paid off a little.
Yeah. Not so much.
In fact the number was higher than it was yesterday. Yes. Higher. Leaving me all of 0.4lbs lighter than the day I started Tweightloss. My team is going to be so proud of me. Not.
My mood instantly turned and I found myself right back in the grip of the anger and frustration that acted as my muse yesterday afternoon. I ranted and raved about nothing and everything until M pointed out I was being a bitch, but even knowing I was out of line didn’t help. I wanted to break something, make lots of noise, and then collapse and cry it out.
So I harnessed my foul mood and destructive energy and I got to work on some home improvement projects we’d been ignoring for too long. I hung up a couple pictures, relishing each and every BAM of the hammer. I regrouted the bathtub, embracing the calming focus required for the job. And then I took Little L with me to Home Depot to gather some more supplies. We came home and I fixed the gate to the garden and propped up our drooping peach tree.
I’ll be honest. By the time I left for Home Depot my mood had already greatly improved, aided by a walk and ice cream with some friends. Home Depot was cathartic, getting stuff done was even better. I can’t remember the last time I got so much done around the house. It felt grand to turn my focus outwards.
And now I’m here on my couch. Drained. I feel like I ran a marathon. Or fought my way out of quick sand. I feel dumb that I let something so trivial govern my emotions for the last two days. I feel ridiculous for going all ape shit here. I wasted two days torturing myself about a measly 15lbs. I’m not dying. I’m not sick. My pants don’t fit properly. Clearly I need a little perspective.
I’m going to try hard to remember that I’m doing the right thing even if my scale doesn’t reflect the hard work I’m doing. I’m also going to try to kick my scale habit and only step on once or twice a week. It scares me how much that number influences my attitude for the day. It’s not healthy to be that obsessed. Maybe my pants will soon fit better, maybe they won’t. But at least next time I pick up a hammer it will be because I really want to hang a painting, not because I want to smash something in anger.
Wish me luck. Kicking the scale habit isn’t going to be easy.