See that thing in the trash can? It's my scale...

Like most people who battle their weight, I have a love/hate relationship with the scale.

There are times the little piece of glass sitting in my bathroom has made me smile. Other times it's made me ecstatic. Other times, the scale has made me cry. Or left me frustrated and baffled.

It's been an exhausting roller-coaster relationship, but I couldn't break free. It's strange because I know that if a man, friend, boss or any other human treated me that way, I'd end that relationship and move on.

But the scale cast a spell on me. I was powerless to free myself.

Today though, I did. I finally tossed the scale away and it will torture me no more.

I know what you're thinking...CCC, how can you stay on track and try to lose weight without a scale? Here's how...and more importantly, why I need to do it this way...

Whenever I've tried to lose weight, I become obsessive about the scale. I'd hop on every morning and the number I'd see would dictate how I felt that day--thrilled, content, depressed, frustrated. Since re-joining Weight Watchers, I fell right into that behavior pattern and this past week, I realized it was just no good.

I missed my weigh-in last week because I was out of town so I figured I'd be making stupendous progress and my weigh-in today would be fabulous. But the scale in my bathroom refused to budge. One especially gloomy morning (okay, yesterday), the scale had the nerve to tell me I'd gained weight. It paid dearly when I kicked it, screamed at it and banished it to the bathroom cabinet.

But this morning, I dragged my dear "friend" out, almost apologetically and stepped on, hopeful that pound would be gone. It wasn't and suddenly, I was fighting back the tears convinced I was a failure and that once again, an attempt to lose weight would be foiled by a plateau...and one that came so quickly to boot.

I tried to console myself. I overanalyzed every bite I'd taken over the course of the past two weeks and wondered if I had some mysterious medical condition that was causing my body to latch on to fat.

After all, my scale kept telling me that fat wasn't going away, right? I struggled internally with whether or not to go to my Weight Watchers meeting and face the music on their scale. I decided though that I would go...and continue trying to work through my issues.

I got to my meeting, stepped on the scale and sighed, preparing myself for the inevitable, "What happened?" question. I refused to look up and see the number myself.

But the question never came. Instead, the weigher was almost chipper and said, "Hey! You had a great week! Good job!"

I looked up and there it was...I number I hadn't seen in months and one that was a few pounds lighter than I'd seen on my own scale. I was ELATED.

I had lost weight. While eating out. While celebrating my anniversary. While not working out the week I was gone. My hard work, my self control, my efforts--they paid off.

As soon as my Weight Watchers meeting was over, I called Mr. CCC and immediately shared my news. And I told him before I got home, that I wanted the scale gone. Not hidden under the cabinet. I'd look there.

I wanted it gone, gone, gone. And Mr. CCC, ever the supportive husband, dutifully complied.

The abusive relationship is over. I'm free.

From here on out, I'm following Weight Watchers to a tee--and that means weighing myself once a week. I understand now why that's what they recommend. Far be it from me to question their wisdom...

(And for the record--I lost two pounds since my last meeting. That brings my five-week WW total to 8, but more importantly...means I've FINALLY lost 20 pounds since I first started trying to lose weight a few months ago...Hooray!)