I carry with me weight unneeded. This weight in the literal and metaphorical sense, I carry. It surrounds me, envelops me and tricks me into thinking it is a part of me. It is not.
This weight wants to keep me busy. It wants to keep me thinking I have to lose it…that I am unworthy with it, and yet doomed to have it forever. This weight wants to make me question my beauty, my purpose my place. I will not.
And all these extra pounds I carry are a way of keeping you at bay. They give me physical space to keep us that much further apart. And then in my mind they keep me away from who I really am. For how can I be that shining, loving child of Spirit with all this weight?
Because this weight isn’t too many chips, cookies or lattes. It isn’t about about laziness, sleepiness or inertia.
This weight is guilt, shame and loneliness. When I feel separate, I push away the voice of love. I look for it in food. When I feel like I’ve done a million wrongs, I curl up and cry with something sweet. And when I don’t feel worthy, I try my best to prove it: I submit to the sound of the call of the cupboard, instead of the sound of compassion.
How can I deserve compassion when I did this to myself? I did a bad, bad thing and there’s no one else to blame. And these are the thoughts that will keep me here, clinging to the scale, clutching to the numbers. So is this where I want to be?
It is not.
And at some point I decide that I’m willing to listen. I choose to show myself some love, some kindness, some understanding. And with that willingness, the weight unneeded drops slowly. Feelings are felt; prayers are prayed, bodies are listened to.
And all of a sudden this bad, bad thing doesn’t seem so bad anymore. It seems to lose its power, its significance. Indeed, it begins to lose its weight.