I Broke the Scale


On April 1, 2015 I tore three torn ligaments and ended up in a big, ol’ boot. Fast-forward almost one month later as I’d had my initial visit with the orthopedist, received injections and was in the midst of required physical therapy and I notice my clothes taking on the role of a toddler who has missed his mommy for far too long. They were CLINGY!  The culprit? Steroids!


Three months later and I’m the (un)proud owner of 15 pounds that didn’t belong to me before April and while yes, my foot is out of the boot and on the road to healing, part of me was mad as the dickens that it had to come at that cost. So what did I do? Glad you asked. In hindsight, I think I became obsessed with the scale. I would weigh in the morning, avoid those helpful treatments which included steroids as much as possible, weigh at night, weigh after weighing (you know when you step on, see the weight, step off and step on again?) and weigh some more. Nothing was changing on the scale and I knew that, but it seemed I couldn’t stop stepping on the scale. It was like the more I saw the number I had not seen in years the more disappointed I became, yet I still continued to step up to see if I would see it. This, mind you, is while my foot was on the mend which meant that each calisthenic “up/down” came at the tune of a grunt or sigh because of the reason I was that way in the first place.

About three weeks had passed since my last physical therapy treatment, a few of the pounds had come off (Praise Jesus!), my foot was healing and I was still randomly stepping up and down on the scale like an Alabama State University drum major during his finest Magic City Classic field show. Then the scale broke! Yes ma’am. Yes sir. Right in the middle of me tapping my toe to warm it up to tell me what the latest number was I believe the Lord shut it down so I couldn’t be bothered by it anymore.


You see, steroids and I have had a love/hate relationship at least since 2002. While I’ve had many more bouts and rounds with medicines and illnesses which have caused weight gain since then I’ve also seen my body bounce back and be rid of the pounds. This time should have been no different. A month or so ago it wasn’t. I’d never been a “get on the scale all the time” kinda girl. It was as if, for a split second, I must have bought into the lie that things couldn’t get better as they’d always done. So I subjected myself to the taunts of some digital numbers.

The proven ability to bounce back should have been enough for me. That’s my resume, my DNA, my track record. That undeniable fact wasn’t enough for a hot minute. Now it is. No more being bothered by the unwanted growth. I’ll just be grateful that I can sashay in heels again. No more huffing and puffing through my closet mad because some of my favorite Wal-Mart or Ross Dress for Less sundresses from season 2014 don’t fit. I’ll just be grateful for the ones I resurrected from season 2010 or 2012. Whether it be my weight, waiting on God, dealing with difficult people, uncertainty with the future or anything remotely related there shall be no more obsessing over things I can’t control or shouldn’t even want to. I’ll just remember the testimonies of my past and prepare for even greater in the future. So this morning, instead of stepping on the scale I did squats. I passed on a cold Co-Cola (Coke in southern terms), ate a tasty meal at Season’s 52 under 500 calories and asked for a small slither of cake at my sister/friend’s birthday dinner last night. To top it off, I breezed by the dresses in my closets which are temporarily retired and whipped out a cute little number given to me by my sister/friend Shun. I wrapped a belt around that sucker real, real tight to accentuate my (tinier) waist and shall continue to let my hips and thighs to do what they do until they get to where I want them to be.



Don’t Stop Loving You

I was recently watching an episode of the Steve Harvey Talk Show while he was interviewing Whitney Way Thore. Whitney is now becoming famous for her No Body Shame campaign, which is often called No B.S. I just love saying “No B.S.”! Anywho, Whitney details her journey with weight and took to YouTube to share some of her major dance moves that could put an “In Living Color” Fly Girl to shame. She can move, y’all! Check her out below.


More than the dance, it was her attitude and candor that captivated me. Through all her ups and downs she’d arrived at a place of self-love and acceptance.

Fast-forward to the week of my birthday and my bestie, Edith Arms sent an old photo from my 20s that showed me at one of my lowest adult weights. I was too thin. My arm looked to be just an ounce or two bigger than the wing of a pigeon.  With the exception of the time I went to the Student Health Center to be placed on a weight-gain plan by-in-large, I had no clue how small I was. Take a look at how I looked.20140315_165635 (2)

(That’s me at 115lbs as a 20-something-year-old. For a person that is 5 feet, 9 inches tall, that is thin. OAN, If you see the not-to-be-named “boyfriend at the time” pictured above tell him he’s made it to the big time in one of my blog posts.)

Rewind back a few months ago to me searching for pictures of myself for a #TBT (Throwback Thursday) and I found some reminders of my unwanted relationship with the other side of the scale also known as the 200s…as in pounds. I cringed when I saw the pictures, but oddly enough I don’t remember at all feeling too bad about myself when I actually was this way. Just like my thin years, through my thicker years, yes, I was aware of the weight gain. Yes, I definitely wanted to be smaller and yes, I wanted to be healthier, but I never stopped loving me and seeing me how I wanted to be.

Through medical trials, a hint of laziness, genes or whatever, I just can’t recall beating myself up for not being where I wanted to be. Now, absolutely, there were times I was frustrated to no end about clothes, or going from the smallest to the not-so-smallest in my circle, or had a bit of beach trepidation, but it didn’t stop me from loving me. Through the wiggles, jiggles, “oh mys” and “what in the world is going on with the scale” I decided to love me. Look at all I had to love:


(Say cheese! It’s me, at a 225lbs and smiling. Check out those rosy red cheeks and that hot red hair too!)

Me at 225lbs

(Here I am at 215lbs and still smiling.)


(My sister’s wedding was a special day. I was not only on a cane, but in a size 20 dress and still cheesing.)

The thing about when I was larger, as with the thing about weigh back then when I was too tiny, is that I didn’t let how I looked define who I was, or how I carried myself. Call me crazy. Call me caught up in what my Daddy (God) and daddy (Sylvester Scott) have said about me, but after a brief fling with low-self esteem in my teen years I just decided to love me even when I didn’t like what I would see.

I’ll be honest and say that my physical body is still not where I would desire it to be. Suzanne Somers and I have a regularly scheduled meeting with a Thigh Master. Recently turning 42, I realize I’m getting older and want to take care of some minor problems before they become major. I’d love to be able to go into any store and be certain that my size is available. I’d love to break up with the cellulite on my thighs. Plus, I’d love to be one of those people passed around with “ohhhs and ahhhs” on facebook as a “fit at 50” or “Can you believe she’s this age”. But for now, I’m super cool with Angela and love her regardless.

I thank Whitney Way Thore for the gentle reminder of tolerating no B.S., especially when it comes from within. Regardless where you are in the scale of life don’t stop loving you.