Poust knew what she was doing when she titled that book. I battle cravings all the time.
Usually I lose.
When I lose, my health suffers and my waistline expands.
When I lose, I feel guilty that I’m not displaying the kind of self-discipline my diabetic child has to employ every minute of every day.
When I feel guilty, I self-medicate by giving in to more of the same cravings that I’m already feeling bad about giving in to.
This book is about health, and mental health, and spiritual health, because those all go hand in hand. I’m still resisting the suggestion that I keep a food journal, because I know what embarrassment would result if I do–even if no one sees it but me. But the author of this book has my number, and I need to find other ways of dealing with my feelings–ways that don’t involve feeding them chocolate.
I didn’t gain this weight overnight, but right now I think I weigh more than I did just before TheKid was born. I know it will take me time to lose it, and I’m going to go for manageable chunks here. I’m hoping I can drop 15 pounds by my birthday in late July. It’s a significant birthday, so it would be great to celebrate it a little lighter and a little healthier and with a better relationship to cookies, gelato and Milky Ways.
Here’s my contribution: You Just Never Know, recounting an afternoon when I was shaking in my boots, out of my element but doing something I loved.
I’m still pushing through those same feelings, and I’m always grateful when someone comes to the rescue–even (especially) when that’s entirely by accident.
It was a rough night last night at the Tech Week Dinners. Nothing bad happened or anything, but through a perfect storm of my usually-barely-controlled social anxiety, a heavy introvert tendency, and my current hormonal state, I really wasn’t dealing with even a small disturbance in the force field I prefer to generate around myself at all times.
And that force field was breached when the sweet and energetic mom who coordinates these dinners asked me to bring the muffin trays to the table where some other moms were setting out bagels. Instant Mom-timidation ensued. I was wearing a red t-shirt, tan capris and running shoes (after all, I was carrying 5-gallon jugs of lemonade, mixing iced tea, and standing for three hours on end. I was dressed for the job, apron and all.) They were wearing fashionable wrap dresses, strappy sandals, and coordinating jewelry. But that’s not all. The Mom-timidators launched into complaints about a lack of tablecloths, centerpieces and matching balloons. For a pancake-and-bacon dinner for 75 teenagers in a high-school cafeteria. Then they started lining up the butter, syrup and jelly in perfectly straight lines.
To be fair, these moms did nothing and said nothing that should have bothered/upset/intimidated me. Really, they didn’t. I’m sure they’re perfectly lovely people, but I can’t know that because I couldn’t stay there. As soon as I could, I got out of the Mom-timidation Sector and went to my Cozy Corner with the big stack-o-beverage coolers and got busy pouring lemonade and iced tea. I vented a bit on Twitter, just to blow off a little steam.
A friend came over at one point to tell me some funny stories of things that had happened to her that day. That was well-timed, though I’m sure she doesn’t know it. (She may have seen those Tweets of Desperation, though). It gave my brain a break from dwelling on my completely irrational response to the Mom-timidation that I was completely aware I was imagining, but couldn’t stop myself from feeling.
When dinner was over, I cleaned up the drink stuff and headed home. It took a while to wind down from my strange emotional response, which I’m seriously hoping didn’t show on my face all evening. And this morning, I got a quick email from the lovely Tech Week Dinner coordinator, thanking me for showing up, stepping up, and jumping in and getting things done. She’s very faithful and very sincere about thanking people. And boy, that 3-sentence email could not have come on a better day.
Yet another friend saw those Tweets of Desperation and tweeted me this morning to make sure I was OK. (yes, and thanks!)
The moral of the story is: you probably never know the effect you are going to have on people. So if you have the chance to do so, have a good effect on someone. Send them that quick “thank you” email. Give that compliment. Tell that funny story. Especially if someone has that Deer-in-the-Headlights look, like I probably did yesterday.
To the folks who came to my rescue, intentionally or not: thank you! I love you!
When I saw that the theme for this week was “Less of Me” I knew which post I had to revisit. I reached back 9 years into the archives for this one.
This used to be part of the homemade hymnal at Our Lady of the Flower Children*:
Less of Me
Let me be a little kinder, let me be a little blinder To the faults of those about me; let me praise a little more Let me be when I am weary just a little bit more cheery Think a little more of others and little less of me
Let me be a little braver when temptations let me waver Let me strive a little harder to be all that I should be Let me be a little meeker with a brother that is weaker Let me think more of my neighbors and a little less of me
Let me be when I am weary just a little bit more cheery Let me serve a little better those that I am striving for Let me be a little meeker to a brother that is weaker Think a little more of others and a little less of me.
I’m not sure of the composer but I think it might be Glen Campbell.
Regardless of who wrote it, it’s a good reminder of what we all can do for Lent. I can’t help but think that the memory of this song was a gift–a reminder from the Lord of what I can and should be doing.
Turns out it is Glen Cambell’s song! I found a video of him performing it with Judy Collins and Hamilton Camp. So here you go–a blast from the past. I think this song makes a wonderful prayer.
Today’s Ponder Point:
Music can touch the heart and soul in a powerful way. What hymn or song has touched your heart and soul this Lent? What lesson does that song teach you?
*The real name of the church was not “Our Lady of the Flower Children.” But it was the late 60s and early 70s, and we went to the Children’s Mass where we sat on folding chairs in the church basement, and, well, you know the rest. The music made a huge impression on me and, I believe, is a very real part of the reason I’m a musician at church today.