What am I going to do with it, deadlift myself at the gym? Prescribe myself some properly dosed medication? Check myself as luggage at the airport? Of course not, that’s ridiculous. And so is weighing myself.

There is absolutely no reason why I need to check in with a scale and know what I weigh. I am already aware of my body and how it feels and how it fits in my clothes. Why do I need a number?

If I knew my weight, I already know what I’d do with it: I would obsess. I’d read way too far into each tiny loss or gain. I’d weigh in first thing in the morning and last thing before I went to bed and probably a few times in between. I’d cross-check the information across any scale I could get my feet on.

I’d restrict myself in shame when I saw a high number. I’d rage-binge when I got stuck in a plateau. I’d set reckless weight goals that have nothing to do with the body I live in and everything to do with the society I live in.

There are some things in this life that deserve a second chance every few years as you get older: Olives. Naps. Jazz. BUT NOT SCALES. Scales are perpetually, dependably terrible.

Weighing yourself isn’t about watching your health. It’s about selling scales. Crafty ad men sold us a load of malarkey, as ad men are paid to do, but we are paying the price.

If you are struggling with food and body image, you gotta throw your scale away. Set it ablaze in the backyard if that’s legal where you live. Don’t put it on a high shelf from which it will continue to taunt you. Don’t give it away to someone else, because it is a demon. Just get rid of it.

Find out what life is like without weigh-ins, and take a huge step toward reclaiming your power from the diet industry. Your scale is not holding you accountable. It is holding you hostage.