Additionally, those that know me know that 630 AM and I are not compatible. There's really never a good reason to be up at that time. I've tested this theory several times and it always bears out to be true.
Today is Wednesday. I weigh myself every Wednesday morning. I am pretty disciplined about this. I do *not* weigh myself more than once a week. I have fallen into that trap and it's tough to claw one's way out of it. Even if I am feeling antsy on Monday, I wait until Wednesday. I don't normally follow rules that closely, but this one I have.
Let me preface what's about to happen by saying I didn't think I did poorly this past week vis a vis food consumption. At the same time, I ate McDonald's for breakfast two mornings (I usually eat at home) and I had a couple of their iced coffees. I adhered to my two-dessert-a-week rule.
All in all, while I was not perfect I didn't feel like I went too far afield.
Imagine my surprise and dismay, then, when the animated Wii balance board informed me happily that I had gained 2.5 pounds. Impossible, I thought, and restarted the system. Checking it for the second and third time yielded the same results.
I would love to report that I took this all in stride, that my year and a half long journey has made me calm and reasonable. I wish I could say what followed was a zen-like state, where I shrugged and said with a flick of my hand, "no biggie, I'll get it next time."
Dear reader, if you are my Facebook friend you know that my reaction was far less calm than that. The status update was a scathing indictment on my abilities to complete a goal and ended with the words "I hate myself."
I cried in the shower and used the "f" word to punctuate an angry prayer to God. I was angry that my family can't seem to catch a break, that my husband can't find a job that's more satisfying and pays better, etc., etc. I locked the door to my bedroom and to the bathroom just to ensure that my kids wouldn't hear it.
Meanwhile, I was short with my kids (because they were there and easy targets), stomped around the house and was generally grumpy. I didn't want to drop Bekah off at school because I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't want to have to fake that I was having a good day or that I felt good.
Luckily, it was my last day of work at my church (I watch the kids while women do Bible study). I had texted my beautiful friend Jen last night to confirm that today was our last day. "Yes!!," she replied, "I'm excited to catch up with you." That was kind of neat because I'm always excited but no one really wants to see a 36-year-old woman jumping around all the time.
When I walked into the nursery, she could tell right away that everything wasn't okay. I told her about the weight gain and we talked about it.
Meanwhile, all sorts of kind words, words of encouragement, songs of praise and worship and similar beautiful sentiment were being weaved into the comments section of my ugly status update. One person, an acquaintance from middle and high school, said he'd love to chat on Messenger about some things I could do. A dear friend from college reminded me that I have a beautiful family who loves me. Another friend from MOPS wanted to know if I wanted to meet with her and another friend next week to encourage one another and help each other meet our goals.
I was blessed by a message from another friend, whom I've known well for 10 plus years, who told me that even though we don't talk all the time, she considers me a very dear friend and would walk through fire for me.
My BFF (who recently had a beautiful baby boy, her third) sent me a text with a prayer asking God to be with me. I have been trying to give her space but I miss her bunches. I am hoping to take her up on her offer to come and hang out with her and that precious baby.
I had a chance to play with the parachute at church. Doug (my youngest) and the other two youngest kids were laughing hysterically as I kept letting the parachute fall over them. I tried to let that displace the ugly feelings I had for myself.
The truth is, I did end up getting lunch from Wendy's. I don't feel guilty about it because it happens so infrequently. I realize it feels disingenuous to complain about weight gain and then eat crappy food, but it was the only toe I put over the line. I'm currently sipping a strawberry-blueberry smoothie that has no additional sweeteners and am planning a sensible dinner of my homemade spaghetti sauce and quinoa meatballs.
I am exhausted by the emotion I spent this morning. I don't feel bad about dropping the f-bomb with the man upstairs because at least it was honest. I have more work to do on projects tonight that are not entirely enjoyable, but I'm going to force myself to do it. I am running a load of laundry. I am cooking dinner. I went to get Jeremy even though I just wanted him to walk home on his own. It ended up paying off with a great conversation with another mom.
I wish I could report to my readers that years of recovery and therapy and medication would offset the ugly self-talk. Instead, I'll report to you that even a day that begins with ugly self-talk can be redeemed. Vulnerability can lead to people ministering to you, which is great because school-aged and preschool-aged kids can't (and I wouldn't expect them to).
Namaste.
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