I was so pleased to report, a week ago, that I was implementing a comprehensive plan to attend to my health and wellbeing now and into the future. So how’s it going? Success continues, but like most best-laid plans, the results are spotty.

The most inconsistent part is the weight loss. That is the most easily measured component of the plan and the one that stirs the most wishful thinking. I found myself dreaming once again of being way thinner than I’d been in years. I could lose those 20 pounds before Christmas! I would need new clothes before Thanksgiving!

I’d bought the hype and promises.

I allowed myself to hope, even though I knew that losing weight has always been difficult for me and has become more difficult as I age and lose and regain weight. I entertained these hopes even though I knew that my eating patterns were already healthful and that I didn’t have major changes to make, only tweaks.

The hope dictated my expectations as I stepped on the scales each morning. The scales, in turn, set my mood for the day. Scales down, mood up. Scales up, mood down, as simple as that.

Today was a scales-up day. And while Noom’s automatons assure me that this happens and is nothing to be concerned about, it made me mad. And sad. I have been doing everything right! And still I am up half a pound from yesterday.

This has happened often since I set out on this journey. I’m getting sick of being jerked around by the silly bathroom scales and the fact that my body has a mind of its own about how to compose its mass from day to day.

I went to my AI journaling assistant, Manifestor, to complain. I discovered that I last groused about being frustrated about weight loss three weeks ago. In those three weeks I had lost a pound and a half. The Manifestor Companion gave me a pat on the back for recognizing this and being determined to keep with the program.

So I am losing weight, just not as quickly as I hoped, but totally consistent with my past weight-loss efforts. Half a pound a week, for me, is normal.

The killjoys have been 1) my expectation that this time it would be quicker and easier and 2) the ups and downs revealed by the daily weigh-ins, which I’ve never done before. It doesn’t help that Noom heaps on the praise when you reach a new low even though you bounce back up the very next day. I’ve thought about stopping the daily weigh-ins but decided, instead, to use the quirkiness of the scales to liberate myself from false hopes.

As I was out on my dawn, pre-coffee walk today I paid attention to how my half-a-pound-heavier body was feeling. It was feeling good! The ducks in the river cheered me up, too. Wellbeing is harder to measure than weight but more important, especially if you don’t let the scales dictate your mood.

By the time I got back to the house, which was fragrant with the coffee my husband had made, my anger at the stupid scales was gone. In its place was satisfaction, gratitude, and a vow to keep listening to my body. That’s giving me cause for real hope.