Why I Threw Out My Scale

… and that’s not the only thing.

I’ve been on a tear lately. Thankfully, it’s not the kind of tear that involves copious amounts of wine (although there has been some) or too much shopping (but, same). 

I’ve been on a decluttering tear of getting rid of things that don’t serve me.

It started almost immediately upon coming back from a trip to Rhode Island a few weeks back. I went to visit one of my best friends from college outside of Providence. She lives in a home that looks like it belongs in the pages of Architectural Digest. It’s doused in neutrals, always smells like fresh hydrangea, every single item has a very specific spot, and there’s a dock in her backyard to boot — complete with two strategically placed, idyllic Adirondack chairs. At first, I thought that going to stay with her rather than renting my own place would save me some money. Until I got home, felt inspired by her minimalism, and decided to start getting rid of stuff. A lot of stuff. Cue some essential apartment updating. 

Out with the mahogany high-top dining table that I inherited from my old neighbors.
Out with the once-white rug from Amazon that’s now … not white.
Out with the IKEA bookshelf-turned-TV-stand that I had since 2010.
Out with the slightly lopsided chest of living room drawers, courtesy of one of my sorority sisters.
Out with the meh bedside table that Mom bought me from Christmas Tree Shops.
Out with the “nipple light” above my bed.

You get the idea. 

As the purge continued and I slowly replaced the old with new, I began going through all of my storage bins, too. You know, the ones that often accumulate junk and fit perfectly inside said IKEA bookshelf-turned-TV-stand. The ones that things get lost inside, and often forgotten. Considering I hadn’t touched the inner contents of said bins in Sandlot-style for-ev-er, I knew that most of it could be tossed. So, I started emptying each container one-by-one, triggering a lot of feelings in the process. 

A custom-engraved rose gold Nike FuelBand that I wore my first couple years of living in New York.
An archive of family Christmas cards.
An MP3 player made for swimming.
A crisp white Kappa Kappa Gamma T-shirt.
And — oh dear — the mementos from relationships passed; 
flower delivery notes, books, photos, cards — you name it.

By the end of one particular decluttering afternoon, I’d accumulated two black trash bags worth of stuff that just needed out. Some of it was hard to let go of. Before taking the bags down the four flights of stairs to the trash room, I looked back in my apartment to see if I had forgotten anything.

This part, it felt kind of like a movie. It sounds lame, I know. Just like the night freshman year of college, the Weight Watchers-branded scale sticking out from under my bed caught my eye. I walked to the bed, leaned over, and picked it up. The branding and small lines that once made this particular device so recognizable had rubbed off. Although I’ve used the scale in the past few months, I felt in that moment an intense desire to get rid of it. 

Looking at that scale made me feel instantly anxious. It reminded me of so many times in my life when I was obsessed with what it said. Times when I felt lesser than because of the three small numbers that populated on the screen alongside my toes. I reflected on the mornings years ago where I’d hop on immediately after a run, knowing that I’d get some sort of a dopamine hit from seeing a “better” number than the day before. 

Fuck that “better” number, I thought to myself.

I sauntered back to the door, scale in hand, and dropped it into one of the garbage bags. I dropped both in the closet downstairs, turned around, and slowly made my way back up. Closing my apartment door behind me, I stood there and let out a big exhale.

Maybe I’ll get another scale, soon.
But for now, it felt really good to let go of that burden, too. 

—
PROMPT: What’s one thing you could get rid of today that would make you feel instantly lighter?