Let’s talk about something every woman over 50 knows all too well:
Hormones and the scale have teamed up to gaslight us.

I swear, there was a time in my life when I could work out hard, eat whatever I wanted, and the scale would politely stay in its lane. Now? I so much as look at a carb and the scale jumps three pounds like it’s trying to win a prize.

And don’t even get me started on hormones.
One day I’m fine.
The next day I’m retaining enough water to qualify as a small reservoir.
The day after that I’m crying because I dropped a sock.

Meanwhile, the scale is over there acting like it’s the ultimate authority on my health. As if a number knows anything about my strength, my muscle, my energy, or the fact that I can still pick up my grandbabies and reach the top shelf without calling for backup.

Here’s the truth I’m learning — slowly, stubbornly, and with a lot of side‑eye at my bathroom scale:

Muscle matters more than the number.

Especially in our 50s.
Muscle is hormones.
Muscle is metabolism.
Muscle is confidence.
Muscle is being able to carry all the groceries in one trip because we refuse to make two.

Hormones are not the enemy — they’re just dramatic.

They’re loud.
They’re unpredictable.
They’re like that one friend who cries at commercials and then laughs two seconds later.
But they’re also telling us something:
We need to train smarter, eat smarter, rest smarter, and give ourselves a little grace.

And the scale?

The scale is a tool — not a judge, not a verdict, not a moral compass.
It doesn’t get to tell me if I’m doing “good” or “bad.”
It doesn’t get to define my progress.
It doesn’t get to ruin my day unless I hand it the power.

And honestly? I’m done handing it anything.

Because here’s what I can measure:

• How strong I feel
• How well I sleep
• How steady my mood is
• How my clothes fit
• How much energy I have
• How proud I am of myself for showing up
• How many grandbabies I can scoop up without throwing my back out

Those are the numbers that matter.

So yes — I’m a grandma who lifts.
I’m a woman in her 50s navigating hormones that act like toddlers with car keys.
And I’m someone who is learning, day by day, to stop letting the scale run the show.

Because I’m not here to be smaller.
I’m here to be stronger.

And that’s a number the scale will never understand.