Get back on the scale
When the scale stopped working shortly after my son was born, someone shoved it under the couch where it remained for nearly three years. Today I pulled it out, took out the battery, went to the hardware store, found a replacement and–voila–the scale blinked its big, bright digital eyes at me once again. No big deal, right?
One would think. Except that for for three years, this simple task seemed insurmountable. The central processing system of my mind was completely overloaded with all that I was responsible for: supporting a family, mothering an infant, promoting a book, writing and then promoting another. And, because I had no resources to devote to solving this small problem, I accepted the scale's defunct status as final. The secondary benefit, of course, was that I did not have to weigh myself. In my mind, this small loophole of no-scale sidestepped the accountability of being in relationship with my body.
I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't exercising–heck, I barely had time to shower–and I was riding on the fumes of simple carbs and chai tea lattes to get me through each day physically and emotionally. If I didn't know what I weighed, some voice in me argued, I was somehow off the hook of reclaiming the lightness and vitality that had for many years before my marriage and pregnancy been the norm. And I wasn't ready to let go of the little lifeboat of comfort that sugar had stepped into my life to provide.
Those years without the scale, I thought I was saving myself from the pain of the facts. But as it turns out, the pain inflicted by my imagination, and a few choice words from my husband, was far worse than the facts. Because the size of my post-childbirth stomach had become a point of contention in my marriage, in my mind, my undesirability had become beyond measure. When I got on the scale as a single woman once again, I was surprised to find that I weighed far less than I had imagined. Shaped differently without a doubt, I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight and probably had been for years. Just by getting on the scale, I had lost the mental weight I'd been carrying in an instant. And, I was finally ready to take action to invite a vibrant life force to return to my body.
What does this have to do with you and your writing life, you might ask? Everything. Because I'll bet you the chai tea latte I skipped this morning that you are avoiding something in your writing life with as much skill and justification as I was avoiding my scale. You can't manage what you don't measure, as the old adage goes. And by putting your head in the sand, you are depriving yourself of opportunities to meet your writing life head-on. Sure, it's uncomfortable to sit down with your submission binder and see that you haven't sent work out for eight months after you were flatlined by your last rejection. It may be no fun to dig out that unfinished piece that you hid in the back of your file cabinet after the 13th round of edits.
But the truth is also the very best medicine. And facing every dusty corner of your broken promises and sloppy habits is the best hope you've got of creating the writing life you want. In fact, chances are good that as it simmered in your file cabinet, your plot knot may have simply untangled itself such that you know exactly how to finish that abandoned story. And, your submission binder might feel inviting after a long hiatus. And maybe, just maybe when you get around to sorting that pile of unopened mail, you may find that you've been awarded the grant you applied for six months ago. At worst, you'll have a bit more perspective and emotional distance to perceive what needs doing next to move you toward what you want most.
It's never too late to get back on the scale, measure how you're living up to your goals for your writing life, and then take informed action. Buddah is reported to have said, "What you are is what you have been. What you'll be is what you do now." I dare you to take that big belly of yours, the rejection letter, the story of I-can't-do-it, and take one, small step in some new direction. Whether it's a new story you tell yourself, a new choice you make or action you take, I promise you'll feel worlds lighter.
