We’ve all been there one time or another. Life dishes out more than you think you can handle.
Like when your toddler teethes and wakes every few hours on the week that you have that important meeting.
Or your washer goes out and your kid threatens barf and you can’t even imagine how your are going to cope if he really throws up.
When the car battery dies and you’ve just spent your extra money from your paycheck on something else.
Or the children will not stop arguing and fussing over the simplest of things.
It’s enough to make you crazy.
And then you do something even dumber. You step on the scale.
After months of adding weight training into your fitness routine, you see that not only have you gotten a lot stronger, but you are now up 5 lbs from where you were four months prior.
After texting my husband that I bought a fat tester machine online and telling him that I am about to jump off a cliff, I hit the elliptical defeated.
Near tears I wondered why my clothes still fit but they aren’t loose.
As I turned on my Crisis playlist, I thought about what my husband had said, “keep a food journal”.
The thought of writing every, single thing down that goes into my mouth? Ugh. It reminded me of when I was postpartum and desperate to lose those last 20 lbs.
And then I had an epiphany.
I saw something so clearly about myself.
I am struggling for control this week.
My toddler had his fourth surgery of his short, little 3 years of life. His second set of ear tubes.
This in itself was not a devastatingly stressful time, however, it wasn’t easy for me.
It’s a perfect example of having no control.
I didn’t get to choose the time, the day, or his reaction to the anesthesia.
Though I have to admit I did pull strings and ask a certain anesthesiologist to put him under.
See? I told you I’m struggling for control.
But I digress…
I realized today, maybe for the first time ever, that when things get really out of control then I may look to myself to find faults.
I apparently like to beat myself up and mention to myself and my husband that I’m fat, getting fat, or my butt is rounder and plumper than I’d like it to be.
I nit pick my fitness routine and diet until I am fully defeated.
Really? Is that what I do?
How ridiculous! Why do I do that?
Maybe I do it to put the focus on myself and something that would be “rational” about getting upset about?
Maybe I think that getting mad at myself will distract me about feeling out of control with my kids’ behavior, their fussiness, their medical issues, my stressful work hours?
Wow. Whoa. I get it.
I heard it loud and clear.
But now that I know this about me. What do I do to stop this thought process?
I need to celebrate the fact that I can run a 5K and not fall over dead.
I need to be pleased with my size 4 and size 6 jeans that fit.
But I don’t.
But I want to.
But I’m not sure where to start. Except that I am aware of it.
Awareness is the beginning of change, right?