A good friend called me last night because she hadn’t seen me post anything to this blog since I talked about the car accident. Every night over the last week I’ve meant to write a post, but I always found a reason not to.
Her sweet, loving concern gave me a wake up call. I realized that I’ve been wallowing for the last week. First there was the accident. Even though I wasn’t seriously injured and I was mostly incredibly grateful and seeing the bright side, I experienced some residual emotions while my body gradually got over the twinges and soreness. My energy level was much lower than normal for several days, which was probably from the combination of physical stress to my body and the emotional drain. This rolled into Mothers Day which, frankly, is never a great day for me since I am not a mom and I always miss my mom a lot, particularly on this day. To cap off that already difficult time, I dropped an empty bottle on my foot and cut my toe. The wound didn’t need stitches and, thankfully, no bones broke, but it hurt like the devil – particularly if I wore close toed shoes or sneakers.
I believe I’ve mentioned that, in addition to getting the injections in my knee, I’ve been suffering from plantar fasciitis in my left heel. It has hurt to walk for six weeks. Frequently in that same time period, the heel has hurt even when I just have the slightest pressure on it when lying in bed. Between the knee injections and the heel pain, I haven’t been able to do Tai Chi and taking the dogs for our twice daily walks has been torturous.
Monday rolled around and I got the less-than-pleasing news that it will probably take at least a month before my car is repaired. Yes, I have my older SUV, for which I’m incredibly grateful, but given my already less-than-stellar mood, the thought of this dragging on for four weeks just compounded things.
So, blah blah blah. Whine whine whine. Bitch bitch bitch. Wallow wallow wallow.
You know, I don’t like to be around people who are negative and who complain a lot. Pity parties are not my idea of fun… particularly when I’m the hostess. Self-pity brings out the worst in me. First off, it’s a miserable energy state in which to exist and then, it’s a giant food and eating trigger. It doesn’t matter how much I tell myself that it is impossible to eat away the sadness or truly use food to smother any feeling, this is, unfortunately, my go-to response. When my positive personality and attitude take a dive, I mistakenly think that food will buoy me back up.
When I’m wallowing, I also have to cop to a certain amount of “f*#k it” in my attitude, like I don’t care.
That’s bull of course. I do care. Even when I snack and then get upset with myself for eating off the plan, I still care. Unfortunately, I have a hard time effectively using the caring to alter the poor behavior in that moment.
Since I’m not willing to chuck it all, give up on myself and eat my way into oblivion, it’s seriously past time for last-call at this pity party. There honestly is no payoff for me to allow it to continue. Tonight I’m putting a time limit on the wallow. I have dinner plans with a friend for tomorrow night and I’m heading into a weekend. So, I’m basically telling myself to suck it up and move on.
I have too much good in my life with endless potential for more. There is no more space on my calendar for being a downer in my own life any longer.
Weighty Matters 