I forgot that the number on the scale doesn't define me
I sucked in my stomach (as if that would make a difference) and glanced again. And the number was still the same.
And for a few moments I let the world cave in around me.
Just me and the scale and the number that I am told defines me.
But then I blink my eyes and my reflection stares back at me. I am ruddy faced and breathing shallow. I am pulling myself together.
Because I remember I am in a different age, fighting a battle until the scale stops mattering, a crusader for body positivity.
And I wonder how anyone ever imagined that a number on a scale could weigh the number of times they smiled at a stranger.
I remember that there are a million beautiful women who have made it their mission to rid the world of this pursuit of the perfect body, and to instead find happiness in being oneself.
So I take another glance at the number and step off the scale.
And I walk out without another glance.