Now that it's day 2 of my TV fast, I'm beginning to run out of cleaning projects, so I'm going to have to get more creative. This is exactly what the fast is designed to do - drag me kicking and screaming from my stasis. But it's mental fists a-flyin' while I try to punch my way out of my rut.
Wanna guess what else is in a rut? The scale. The holiday season was tough, but I thought I got through it OK. When I hopped back on the scale upon my return, it was up ten pounds from before I left. That is a terrifying feeling - knowing how hard you've worked to move in one direction, and how long it took. And seeing it reverse in a matter of days. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I didn't like it.
I've lost about four pounds since that weigh-in. My progress is compounded, I'm sure, by the lack of exercise. As I've mentioned before, I've haven't been exercising (flu, depression, flu, simultaneous surgery recovery and depression) all year with the exception of one week between the first depression and the second flu. And I am STILL not healed enough to work out today. It's really bugging me that it's taking so long.
Food hasn't been ideal, either. Not terrible, but not mindful. It's been a little too erratic -- waiting too long to eat and getting too hungry, for instance. I'd indulge in a craving moderately, but indulge another craving the next day. That adds up. So although I'm down from where I was at the beginning of the year, I feel frustrated with myself. And when I feel frustrated with myself, I talk shit about myself.
Hell, I talk shit about myself even when I feel good. An example. This Christmas, I had a blast playing Just Dance III with my nieces and nephews. It was great to get moving after holiday meals, and dancing is such a playful way to connect with family. I was kicking butt (I am seriously good at it) and after awhile, I got warm and wanted to remove my jacket. But it meant that I'd be shaking my arms to the beat, and I know what that looks like in the mirror... I spent three days a week at Slimmons last year, watching my arms jiggle in the mirror. And as I lost progressively more weight, the jiggling didn't get better... it got worse. You see "before/after" pictures everywhere you turn (lately even on billboards) but you don't hear so much about the challenges of skin and sagging. Which, with 70(-minus-twelve) pounds lost, are now my challenges. So, as I took off my jacket, I tried to make a joke about it. "OK, everybody. Flying squirrel alert!" I got some puzzled looks, so I explained that my upper arms sag, that if I jumped, I could fly like a flying squirrel. I expect laughs. All I got was some firm eye contact from my niece M, who pointedly asked me to cut out the negative self-talk. So wise for a thirteen-year-old.
It hit me hard. It's true... sometimes I make jokes about myself, and it's one way I can make light of life when it's challenging. But it's also one way I can tear myself down. And I need to stop tearing myself down.
That's why, this week, I'm working on building myself up. Turning off the TV and the phone. Cooking and savoring healthy and nourishing meals. Writing, on the blog and for my portfolio. Centering. Generally turning on the creative juices. Or trying to summon them, at least. I still feel stifled and just plain off... but less so than last week. Little steps are still progress.
The best I've felt so far was last night, when - after a long day of laundry and showtunes - I decided to decorate a pretty shelf we mounted last fall. I loaded it up with my Disneyland collection. It was a creative act, and a little out of my ordinary, and it felt... satisfying.
|Thanks again, Dad, for helping us mount the shelf.|
|Annotated version, for the nerds.|
I hope you will you do something that satisfies you today. Something that helps you take care of you.