I realized that the amount of weight I want to lose is, for me, more about distance.
The more pounds I lose, the more distance between me and "that girl."
The one I was. The one who haunts my pictures. The one who shows up in my imagination as I look in the mirror. The one who tries to hand me back all the shame... the raw shame... that she carried.
Carries.
Will always carry.
I fight to put pounds of distance between us so that it's harder for her to hand it over, so I don't have to handle it anymore, as long as I'm unwilling to reach accross the distance for it. I want her to keep it all. She has plenty to go around. She has plenty for herself then, now, and forever. And I don't want it. And she's already been carrying it for so long. Maybe if I put a big enough number between her and me... maybe then she'll be out of the frame, and you... I... won't see her anymore.
I think that's why when someone mentions how much I've lost, I don't know how to sort out the compliment. Because what is in there with the nice thing they're saying is a reminder that everyone saw her and she's still lurking behind me. "You look so good!" brings with it a shadow that also says, "Remember how fat you were?"
I do. I remember. God, do I remember.
I think it's still hard because there isn't as great a distance yet as there needs to be. She's close enough to touch me. To force me to help carry her load. Because it's weighing her down so painfully.
I think back to that post from before... where I listed all the things I wanted... all the things that broke my heart... where I dissected out all this shame and begged future me to help me carry it. And here I am, unwilling to help unless I have to. Looking back with spite.
But it's me.
"Remember how fat you were?" they say by accident. I do. But remember how it's still me? Remember how before I put these pounds between us... how it was the same person standing here now? To point at the shame she carried is to point at me today, because things have changed but it's the same person.
She's already hurt and broken, weighed down, hopeless. She doesn't know it will ever get better. She's weak, tired, and just so, so sad. I don't know how to tell her to chin up, that I'm coming to get her. To lighten the load. I don't know how. I pray God forgives me for how I hated her. Yes, hated. Because He loved her as much as He loves me now, and I'm no less broken.
Put it down. Put the shame down and stop picking it up. And stop asking me to hold it. Neither of us have to carry it anymore. No one is asking us to.
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
Tuesday, February 26, 2019
Jelly Roll
I'm in a weird place. And not just because I had cake this afternoon, and am even now wondering why.
But that's a good place to start.
I had loosely planned what is called an egg fast for today and tomorrow. Basically, for us who are too wimpy to all-the-way fast, there are single-food fasts that have similar benefits without it being so hard. Today's was supposed to be eggs.
Only I forgot to bring my prepped eggs with me, so I immediately gave up, and went to get some chicken. I had a very healthy plan. Rotisserie chicken. It sounded good, it WAS good. But to get to the chicken, you have to pass by the bakery. Which I didn't used to be able to do - I'd stop, I'd get a thing or 2, and would love every second eating them, even if I ended up hating myself for it.
Then my life changed, and suddenly I could walk by and ignore them.
Today I couldn't ignore. I got a jelly roll, and decided I wouldn't eat it if it wasn't good. I'm calling the fact that I nearly also got a cookie, but restrained myself, a victory.
... but it was SOOO GOOD...
So I ate half of it... and then had a mental tug-of-war about it. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?"
Anyone watching me would have seen plainly I was in an internal battle. Wobbling back and forth between the trash can and getting back in my car at the Arco station.
Shoulder Angel and Shoulder Devil were duking it out, and before I heard the end of the shouting match, my own hand mechanically forced me to put it in the garbage. I got in the car, part of me going "Heyyyyy, I didn't say you could do that," and part of me, out of breath from the fight, whispering an inaudible thank-you.
It's that question that rings in my ears. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?" I thought that was over. I thought I'd beaten that girl. The one who thinks that because no one's watching it doesn't count. The one who looks to cake to redeem boring, empty days, or to stave off feelings of pointlessness. I thought I'd won that battle.
A few days ago I talked to someone I trust, and they asked me what I "go to" to manage life stress, sadness, fear, etc. That has had me reeling ever since.
I used to eat something. Bland days in my cubicle were magically improved with thoughts of going to get a cookie, a donut, muffin, etc.... But now, it doesn't do the same thing for me as it used to. The emotional attachment isn't what it was. I don't look forward to it, and I can't ignore the aftermath. I can't blissfully and vacantly order and eat a cupcake anymore. It's like a spell broke.
I used to shop. I had a store I loved to shop online for clearance and sale stuff. I was strategic, I knew what I liked and what I was looking for, when the sales were and how to maximize them. It was a hobby, almost. I wouldn't buy often, but I was on there daily to see what was new and what was on sale. But now 54 pounds smaller, that store doesn't work for me anymore. Sure, they carry my size, but my shape has changed enough that their version "my size" isn't flattering on me. Honestly, I don't even know where to shop anymore, plus I can't really afford to. There's no escape. No magic. I'm in a weird in-between place.
I used to binge-watch Netflix. HOURS at a time. Then I moved somewhere that doesn't have sufficient internet to support streaming. I have basic satellite TV, but anyone who is used to watching a whole season of Downton Abbey straight through knows: live TV isn't the same.
The only leftover of my used-to's is mindlessly scrolling through social media. Which I technically hate. But that's another conversation.
Why am I reeling? Because I'm realizing I had all these crutches I employed to keep from growing up emotionally, or from facing the "meh's" of life. And one by one those crutches have fallen away. Imagine a toddler who has had their pacifier, teddy bear, blankie AND bottle taken away. I feel adrift. And reaching for that stupid jelly roll? What was that but me grabbing for an old pacifier?
I have read Andie Mitchell's book "It Was Me All Along" twice. And a HUGE part of what she gets into (second half of the book) is the psychology of having lost the weight. Part of that is food fear, which I don't currently struggle with (a kind of orthorexia). But the rest of it is the panic of not having that emotional crutch anymore, and at last facing the task of emotionally maturing. When I read it, 50 pounds ago, I didn't get what she meant, though I thought I did. I had identified what food was for me, and I thought that was what she'd meant. I did the mental/emotional work first, it seemed, and all that was left was to lose the weight. False.
Ok, so I'm not done. I'm halfway through losing the weight. But still, I'm stripped of that self-soother I readily reached for, and starting to feel weak without it. I'm finding that in many ways I've never known who I am, exactly, as an individual. I've always postponed finding out until I got "thin enough." And I think you can do that for a while, but at 35... I can't put it off any longer.
All those years with crutches... I've atrophied. So my knees are (figuratively) wobbly, and I have to learn to stand without leaning. And it's scary. And it will be tiring. And I won't always feel strong. But it's time.
It's time.
But that's a good place to start.
I had loosely planned what is called an egg fast for today and tomorrow. Basically, for us who are too wimpy to all-the-way fast, there are single-food fasts that have similar benefits without it being so hard. Today's was supposed to be eggs.
Only I forgot to bring my prepped eggs with me, so I immediately gave up, and went to get some chicken. I had a very healthy plan. Rotisserie chicken. It sounded good, it WAS good. But to get to the chicken, you have to pass by the bakery. Which I didn't used to be able to do - I'd stop, I'd get a thing or 2, and would love every second eating them, even if I ended up hating myself for it.
Then my life changed, and suddenly I could walk by and ignore them.
Today I couldn't ignore. I got a jelly roll, and decided I wouldn't eat it if it wasn't good. I'm calling the fact that I nearly also got a cookie, but restrained myself, a victory.
... but it was SOOO GOOD...
So I ate half of it... and then had a mental tug-of-war about it. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?"
Anyone watching me would have seen plainly I was in an internal battle. Wobbling back and forth between the trash can and getting back in my car at the Arco station.
Shoulder Angel and Shoulder Devil were duking it out, and before I heard the end of the shouting match, my own hand mechanically forced me to put it in the garbage. I got in the car, part of me going "Heyyyyy, I didn't say you could do that," and part of me, out of breath from the fight, whispering an inaudible thank-you.
It's that question that rings in my ears. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?" I thought that was over. I thought I'd beaten that girl. The one who thinks that because no one's watching it doesn't count. The one who looks to cake to redeem boring, empty days, or to stave off feelings of pointlessness. I thought I'd won that battle.
A few days ago I talked to someone I trust, and they asked me what I "go to" to manage life stress, sadness, fear, etc. That has had me reeling ever since.
I used to eat something. Bland days in my cubicle were magically improved with thoughts of going to get a cookie, a donut, muffin, etc.... But now, it doesn't do the same thing for me as it used to. The emotional attachment isn't what it was. I don't look forward to it, and I can't ignore the aftermath. I can't blissfully and vacantly order and eat a cupcake anymore. It's like a spell broke.
I used to shop. I had a store I loved to shop online for clearance and sale stuff. I was strategic, I knew what I liked and what I was looking for, when the sales were and how to maximize them. It was a hobby, almost. I wouldn't buy often, but I was on there daily to see what was new and what was on sale. But now 54 pounds smaller, that store doesn't work for me anymore. Sure, they carry my size, but my shape has changed enough that their version "my size" isn't flattering on me. Honestly, I don't even know where to shop anymore, plus I can't really afford to. There's no escape. No magic. I'm in a weird in-between place.
I used to binge-watch Netflix. HOURS at a time. Then I moved somewhere that doesn't have sufficient internet to support streaming. I have basic satellite TV, but anyone who is used to watching a whole season of Downton Abbey straight through knows: live TV isn't the same.
The only leftover of my used-to's is mindlessly scrolling through social media. Which I technically hate. But that's another conversation.
Why am I reeling? Because I'm realizing I had all these crutches I employed to keep from growing up emotionally, or from facing the "meh's" of life. And one by one those crutches have fallen away. Imagine a toddler who has had their pacifier, teddy bear, blankie AND bottle taken away. I feel adrift. And reaching for that stupid jelly roll? What was that but me grabbing for an old pacifier?
I have read Andie Mitchell's book "It Was Me All Along" twice. And a HUGE part of what she gets into (second half of the book) is the psychology of having lost the weight. Part of that is food fear, which I don't currently struggle with (a kind of orthorexia). But the rest of it is the panic of not having that emotional crutch anymore, and at last facing the task of emotionally maturing. When I read it, 50 pounds ago, I didn't get what she meant, though I thought I did. I had identified what food was for me, and I thought that was what she'd meant. I did the mental/emotional work first, it seemed, and all that was left was to lose the weight. False.
Ok, so I'm not done. I'm halfway through losing the weight. But still, I'm stripped of that self-soother I readily reached for, and starting to feel weak without it. I'm finding that in many ways I've never known who I am, exactly, as an individual. I've always postponed finding out until I got "thin enough." And I think you can do that for a while, but at 35... I can't put it off any longer.
All those years with crutches... I've atrophied. So my knees are (figuratively) wobbly, and I have to learn to stand without leaning. And it's scary. And it will be tiring. And I won't always feel strong. But it's time.
It's time.
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Worth It
Every day... EVERY DAY.... I have the thought, “Why is it taking so long for me? Why do some have their bodies transform in a month or 2, and yet my progress is so gradual?”
And I have to say back, every day, that the path is still worth it.
When I reach my goal, even if it takes me a year or more, it won’t be worth less to me than if it happened over night. It might be more precious to me, in fact. I won’t loath the slowness then, will I? How absurd that would be! I won't look down at my new self and say "What took you so long?!" (except, maybe, when I think of all the wasted years that came long before).
No. I'll say to myself, "At last."
I’ll only celebrate the victory.
This is just a little dose of encouragement in the “loving the process as much as the results” battle. Every time I step on the scale and I'm not where I used to be, even if I'm not where I want to be yet, and even if I'm not as far as I'd hoped yet, I have to conciously love how far I’ve come. Even when I'm only a third of the way to my goal. I'm doing it. It's happening.
Just. Keep. Going.
Moreover, I repeat to myself daily that even if I never lost another pound (not likely - I have a lot I can still lose!), I am happy with how I eat, how I feel, and what I know I'm doing for my future self who will one day inherit this body. Even if what I have now is all I get out of living this new way, it is still worth doing.
And I have to say back, every day, that the path is still worth it.
When I reach my goal, even if it takes me a year or more, it won’t be worth less to me than if it happened over night. It might be more precious to me, in fact. I won’t loath the slowness then, will I? How absurd that would be! I won't look down at my new self and say "What took you so long?!" (except, maybe, when I think of all the wasted years that came long before).
No. I'll say to myself, "At last."
I’ll only celebrate the victory.
This is just a little dose of encouragement in the “loving the process as much as the results” battle. Every time I step on the scale and I'm not where I used to be, even if I'm not where I want to be yet, and even if I'm not as far as I'd hoped yet, I have to conciously love how far I’ve come. Even when I'm only a third of the way to my goal. I'm doing it. It's happening.
Just. Keep. Going.
Moreover, I repeat to myself daily that even if I never lost another pound (not likely - I have a lot I can still lose!), I am happy with how I eat, how I feel, and what I know I'm doing for my future self who will one day inherit this body. Even if what I have now is all I get out of living this new way, it is still worth doing.
Thursday, June 21, 2018
Missing, Hoping, and What Isn't Even Real
There is a blogger, Andie Mitchell, that lost 135 lbs.
She has one post called "What I Miss From 135 lbs Ago," and the sound of it resonates in my head all the time, and I feel like for those on here that are emotional eaters, it is deeply impactful.
I hear Andie's words, which I discovered years ago, every time I think to myself, “Do I really think I can be happy without always having permission to have whatever I want? Do I really think I can sustain saying no to cupcakes?” Even just now I was thinking to myself "I'm going to MISS cereal. Is it really gone.... forever?"
I think about how much I love to bake and love what I bake, and the power to treat myself whenever I’ve got the time and the ambition and the ingredients (which is always). I think about the sincere and profound joy that going out to eat and ordering to my heart's content brings me. I think of cookies and cupcakes and beautiful party foods, and holidays made of full tables and full plates and full bellies.
And I wonder… can I be happy seeing all of those things differently? Really?
And I, honestly every time, hear her say (in what I imagine to be her voice, speaking directly to me) of missing "the reckless abandon." And I realize that the missing is part of it-- that the missing isn't a unique and unbearable experience to rescue myself from.
And I remember that what I think I’m giving up was never real life. It was never any more than an illusion. And it isn’t happiness. The third cupcake, the biggest slice of cake, and the fresh bread at the bakery (eaten while still warm, nearly in its entirety, in the car on the way home to make dinner) were never mine to have. Even when I had them.
And they were always sneakily cruel to me. Ultimately those moments were stealing the happiness out of so many other moments to come.
But I will miss having no idea how many carbs I’ve consumed, I’ll miss the not caring. I’ll miss it all as if it was all a beautiful dream, but in exchange what I want is a real life.
(much of this is a comment that I posted on the blog post I'm referencing).
She has one post called "What I Miss From 135 lbs Ago," and the sound of it resonates in my head all the time, and I feel like for those on here that are emotional eaters, it is deeply impactful.
I hear Andie's words, which I discovered years ago, every time I think to myself, “Do I really think I can be happy without always having permission to have whatever I want? Do I really think I can sustain saying no to cupcakes?” Even just now I was thinking to myself "I'm going to MISS cereal. Is it really gone.... forever?"
I think about how much I love to bake and love what I bake, and the power to treat myself whenever I’ve got the time and the ambition and the ingredients (which is always). I think about the sincere and profound joy that going out to eat and ordering to my heart's content brings me. I think of cookies and cupcakes and beautiful party foods, and holidays made of full tables and full plates and full bellies.
And I wonder… can I be happy seeing all of those things differently? Really?
And I, honestly every time, hear her say (in what I imagine to be her voice, speaking directly to me) of missing "the reckless abandon." And I realize that the missing is part of it-- that the missing isn't a unique and unbearable experience to rescue myself from.
And I remember that what I think I’m giving up was never real life. It was never any more than an illusion. And it isn’t happiness. The third cupcake, the biggest slice of cake, and the fresh bread at the bakery (eaten while still warm, nearly in its entirety, in the car on the way home to make dinner) were never mine to have. Even when I had them.
And they were always sneakily cruel to me. Ultimately those moments were stealing the happiness out of so many other moments to come.
But I will miss having no idea how many carbs I’ve consumed, I’ll miss the not caring. I’ll miss it all as if it was all a beautiful dream, but in exchange what I want is a real life.
(much of this is a comment that I posted on the blog post I'm referencing).
Tuesday, June 19, 2018
Backstreet's Back... Alright!
Stupid title. Sorry. Whatever.
How about another round of "I just re-read my blog and feel like a loser?"
I'm 34, we did not end up buying that house or any other house. I didn't successfully rejoin Medifast, and dang am I happy I didn't. I did, however, spend the last 3 years in the "desert" I talked about.
Funny thing about the Hebrews in the desert-- they didn't go back to the Promised Land. That's a little nuance I forgot. They all died off. God allowed the NEXT generation into the Promised Land because of the lack of faith in the previous generation. There's a dying to self metaphor there, but I'll leave it all there for now.
So what happened in the last 3 years? A lot.
The job I had that made me crazy stressed and feel worthless all the time came to an end (I got canned, by God's grace and mercy). I got a long overdue break. I started working for a boss and in a job that is not only well suited for me, but calls on my specific skill set. It also is building life into me in ways that are hard to explain. Imagine that a perk of your job was a highly skilled life coach, and that life coach was also your boss.
I continued my hobby in studying and researching nutrition-- Paleo, Keto, etc.-- and applying little to none of it. Why? I like pancakes, I guess. And pasta. And feeling like garbage, apparently.
Full disclosure, I literally just went through and commented on my blog posts because it frustrated me a lot. Not frustrated at me now. Frustrated by how narrow my understanding of things was, and how darned hard I was on myself for not having willpower. You know what? I don't think there is such thing as willpower. I don't. There are a million factors nutritionally, physically, physiologically, emotionally, pychologically that go into food choices. Willpower is at best short, infrequent, unpredictable, unreliable, and subjective. It always runs out, and when it does, you fall on old understandings.
So I'm at the beginning again, kind of. I'm knocking on 30 lbs lost since February through a way of eating that is based on the real needs of the body and the nutrition we are designed to thrive on. Bonus, the things that rob me of health? They actually taste kind of weird now that I've been off of them for a few months. They make me feel gross and sick, and I don't just avoid harmful foods out of sheer and non-existent willpower. I avoid them because of the harm I feel.
And for the first time, each and every choice I make shows up on the scale. I have never been able to say that before.
I have posted some cool stuff on a group page, and I plan to re-post them here in time.
Here's to taking care of myself in the ways that matter, and weightloss being a natural byproduct rather than the thing I punish myself to obtain.
How about another round of "I just re-read my blog and feel like a loser?"
I'm 34, we did not end up buying that house or any other house. I didn't successfully rejoin Medifast, and dang am I happy I didn't. I did, however, spend the last 3 years in the "desert" I talked about.
Funny thing about the Hebrews in the desert-- they didn't go back to the Promised Land. That's a little nuance I forgot. They all died off. God allowed the NEXT generation into the Promised Land because of the lack of faith in the previous generation. There's a dying to self metaphor there, but I'll leave it all there for now.
So what happened in the last 3 years? A lot.
The job I had that made me crazy stressed and feel worthless all the time came to an end (I got canned, by God's grace and mercy). I got a long overdue break. I started working for a boss and in a job that is not only well suited for me, but calls on my specific skill set. It also is building life into me in ways that are hard to explain. Imagine that a perk of your job was a highly skilled life coach, and that life coach was also your boss.
I continued my hobby in studying and researching nutrition-- Paleo, Keto, etc.-- and applying little to none of it. Why? I like pancakes, I guess. And pasta. And feeling like garbage, apparently.
Full disclosure, I literally just went through and commented on my blog posts because it frustrated me a lot. Not frustrated at me now. Frustrated by how narrow my understanding of things was, and how darned hard I was on myself for not having willpower. You know what? I don't think there is such thing as willpower. I don't. There are a million factors nutritionally, physically, physiologically, emotionally, pychologically that go into food choices. Willpower is at best short, infrequent, unpredictable, unreliable, and subjective. It always runs out, and when it does, you fall on old understandings.
So I'm at the beginning again, kind of. I'm knocking on 30 lbs lost since February through a way of eating that is based on the real needs of the body and the nutrition we are designed to thrive on. Bonus, the things that rob me of health? They actually taste kind of weird now that I've been off of them for a few months. They make me feel gross and sick, and I don't just avoid harmful foods out of sheer and non-existent willpower. I avoid them because of the harm I feel.
And for the first time, each and every choice I make shows up on the scale. I have never been able to say that before.
I have posted some cool stuff on a group page, and I plan to re-post them here in time.
Here's to taking care of myself in the ways that matter, and weightloss being a natural byproduct rather than the thing I punish myself to obtain.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Cleaning House
So, my next focus (inspired by a book I'm reading) is on boxes of regret, and the doing away therewith.
Here's what I mean: I am currently reading a book on de-cluttering your house, and, by extension, your life. It asserts that most clean-up plans are really just storage solutions that rely on grit and determination to maintain. There's no storage solution that's user-friendly enough to keep my mail from piling up, or my laundry from getting crazy, or my makeup from re-distributing itself about the house. Still other plans that do emphasize purging belongings, it says, only scratch the surface in purging that which is trash, or that which you do not want. Yet another idea that it debunks is the idea that we need to de-clutter as a new, gradual, daily discipline: emptying a closet at a time over months, or purging a bag of stuff a week, or continuously de-cluttering important surfaces. It reminded me (and I'm fairly certain this book was written as a personal letter to me) that those who have sufficient discipline to defeat clutter this way have sufficient discipline to never have been cluttered in the first place. 100% accurate-- if I had it in me to keep up with this plan, I wouldn't be in this mess (literally, ha).
What, then, does the book offer as a solution? Rather than getting rid of what we don't want, we keep only what we do want. Which seems redundant, but think about it-- a room of stuff is probably a third stuff that has meaning and value and purpose in our lives, and a third stuff we'd readily get rid of by some means or another (sell/toss/donate). But that middle third is made up of stuff we keep for other reasons, which can include fizzled plans, big intentions, guilt, duty, misunderstood need, lament... regret.... the art project we didn't start, the papers we mean to file properly, the books we hope to read, the gifts people gave us that we wouldn't have bough ourselves, things that cost a lot but never found their place, things you thought you wanted at the time, things you meant to fix but replaced, things that aren't quite used up... the list goes on and on. Essentially, it's the things you feel you ought to keep. None of that, in her words, sparks joy (or any other positive emotional response). This is the mass of items that makes the difference, based on her philosophy. It is what is kept in most cleanup efforts, and what causes the re-appearace of clutter after a short time, and what her method says must go. To the gradual de-clutter plan, she counters that this effort must all be done in one go in order to successfully de-clutter once and for all.
I feel like I now know why there isn't a solution or system or unpronouncable IKEA shelving unit in the world that can rein in my clutter for more than a week. It's that middle third of stuff-- it fills the drawers and cubbies and cabinets and bins, and it leaves no room for the things that get used and ultimately left around.
What does that have to do with what's weighing on me? Everything. It relates to my dwelling on the past, and limiting my future success based on my past failure. It is the box of regret that's been sitting in my dining room for months.
In a brief but determined cleanup effort over the weekend (spurned on by a chapter of reading), I came upon a box that put a lump in my throat and a burn in the bottom of my stomach-- an entire month of un-used, still good, could change my life if only I was determined enough Medifast food. I knew it was there, and I've felt it staring at me all this time-- it was filled with somedays, eventuallys, why didn't I succeed's, why did I fail's, why have I never's, and why can't I ever's. When I closed it up, I didn't realize I'd packed all of that in there, along with my sense of potential and hopes and dreams. For all my studying and investing in real, whole nutrition and healthy ways to lose weight, I always think "yeah, but if I could just go back on Medifast, that would be easier, and I already spent the money." But then I don't want to do that (for many reasons), so this box stops me out every time-- like the fact that it was still there and still "good" kept me from fully trying anything else. So I could either go ahead and do it, and endure the brittle hair and nails, the gastrointestinal distress, and the exhaustion; or I could leave it there to make me feel inferior; or I can get rid of it.
So I'm getting rid of it.
I'm not saying it's a bad system, or that it doesn't work, or that others shouldn't try it: it has changed and saved lives. I'm not even saying that it definitely is not my solution-- I may well end up going back to Medifast one day-- who can know? But this box, right now, today, is serving only to keep me from growing and moving forward. Until I deal with it one way or another, I will be stuck exactly where I am. It sparks no joy, and clutters my mind and my heart and my life. If I ever come back to Medifast, it will be with a new box with new potential, that hasn't been packed with regret and broken hope.
As for now, this box has served it's role in my life and we both need to move on.
Makes me think of Hebrews 12:1, and throwing off that which entangles us-- sins and failures that hold us back from running with endurance. And also this:
Here's what I mean: I am currently reading a book on de-cluttering your house, and, by extension, your life. It asserts that most clean-up plans are really just storage solutions that rely on grit and determination to maintain. There's no storage solution that's user-friendly enough to keep my mail from piling up, or my laundry from getting crazy, or my makeup from re-distributing itself about the house. Still other plans that do emphasize purging belongings, it says, only scratch the surface in purging that which is trash, or that which you do not want. Yet another idea that it debunks is the idea that we need to de-clutter as a new, gradual, daily discipline: emptying a closet at a time over months, or purging a bag of stuff a week, or continuously de-cluttering important surfaces. It reminded me (and I'm fairly certain this book was written as a personal letter to me) that those who have sufficient discipline to defeat clutter this way have sufficient discipline to never have been cluttered in the first place. 100% accurate-- if I had it in me to keep up with this plan, I wouldn't be in this mess (literally, ha).
What, then, does the book offer as a solution? Rather than getting rid of what we don't want, we keep only what we do want. Which seems redundant, but think about it-- a room of stuff is probably a third stuff that has meaning and value and purpose in our lives, and a third stuff we'd readily get rid of by some means or another (sell/toss/donate). But that middle third is made up of stuff we keep for other reasons, which can include fizzled plans, big intentions, guilt, duty, misunderstood need, lament... regret.... the art project we didn't start, the papers we mean to file properly, the books we hope to read, the gifts people gave us that we wouldn't have bough ourselves, things that cost a lot but never found their place, things you thought you wanted at the time, things you meant to fix but replaced, things that aren't quite used up... the list goes on and on. Essentially, it's the things you feel you ought to keep. None of that, in her words, sparks joy (or any other positive emotional response). This is the mass of items that makes the difference, based on her philosophy. It is what is kept in most cleanup efforts, and what causes the re-appearace of clutter after a short time, and what her method says must go. To the gradual de-clutter plan, she counters that this effort must all be done in one go in order to successfully de-clutter once and for all.
I feel like I now know why there isn't a solution or system or unpronouncable IKEA shelving unit in the world that can rein in my clutter for more than a week. It's that middle third of stuff-- it fills the drawers and cubbies and cabinets and bins, and it leaves no room for the things that get used and ultimately left around.
What does that have to do with what's weighing on me? Everything. It relates to my dwelling on the past, and limiting my future success based on my past failure. It is the box of regret that's been sitting in my dining room for months.
In a brief but determined cleanup effort over the weekend (spurned on by a chapter of reading), I came upon a box that put a lump in my throat and a burn in the bottom of my stomach-- an entire month of un-used, still good, could change my life if only I was determined enough Medifast food. I knew it was there, and I've felt it staring at me all this time-- it was filled with somedays, eventuallys, why didn't I succeed's, why did I fail's, why have I never's, and why can't I ever's. When I closed it up, I didn't realize I'd packed all of that in there, along with my sense of potential and hopes and dreams. For all my studying and investing in real, whole nutrition and healthy ways to lose weight, I always think "yeah, but if I could just go back on Medifast, that would be easier, and I already spent the money." But then I don't want to do that (for many reasons), so this box stops me out every time-- like the fact that it was still there and still "good" kept me from fully trying anything else. So I could either go ahead and do it, and endure the brittle hair and nails, the gastrointestinal distress, and the exhaustion; or I could leave it there to make me feel inferior; or I can get rid of it.
So I'm getting rid of it.
I'm not saying it's a bad system, or that it doesn't work, or that others shouldn't try it: it has changed and saved lives. I'm not even saying that it definitely is not my solution-- I may well end up going back to Medifast one day-- who can know? But this box, right now, today, is serving only to keep me from growing and moving forward. Until I deal with it one way or another, I will be stuck exactly where I am. It sparks no joy, and clutters my mind and my heart and my life. If I ever come back to Medifast, it will be with a new box with new potential, that hasn't been packed with regret and broken hope.
As for now, this box has served it's role in my life and we both need to move on.
Makes me think of Hebrews 12:1, and throwing off that which entangles us-- sins and failures that hold us back from running with endurance. And also this:
Philippians 3:13-14New American
Standard Bible (NASB)
13 Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it
yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching
forward to what lies ahead, 14 I press on toward the
goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.
Obviously, this speaks of Godly living in the freedom of our redemption in Christ, but it sure sounds applicable to me.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Wondering and Wandering
The Hebrews wandered in the desert for 40 years with the
wrong perspective, the wrong attitude, and the wrong expectations.
I kind of
wonder if that is what this has been—my desert. My time of refining. I just finished
re-reading every word I’ve written here, and I can’t help but feel like a fool—how
high my expectations were for so long, and how far I have fallen since then. I’m
back at ground zero, having gotten to the wall around my personal Promised Land and
having been overwhelmed by the task still ahead. And so back to the desert I went
to wander and reflect. God has done wonders and miracles, and I’d nearly made
it, but I let doubt overtake hope, and I turned away.
Today we had a meeting at work, and the VP, of all people, today said the most
inspirational thing I’ve heard in a really long time:
“Don’t let your future be defined by your past. Let it be
defined by your intent, and by your dreams.”
Simple, trite, cliché… maybe in some ways. But honestly, it
may be the key to everything I am battling.I can honestly say that most of the time, I define my future based upon my past and my present, which for me only undermines all the hopes I have in life.
I may not be in the Promised Land yet, but for as many times as I have failed, and may stumble in the future, one day I'll make it. It will be awesome.
I may not be in the Promised Land yet, but for as many times as I have failed, and may stumble in the future, one day I'll make it. It will be awesome.
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