Enoughness, Part One.

 

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I would be sipping a La Croix, of course.

 

I’m going to blame all of this on Harry and Meghan’s wedding.

And on Lifetime television, which is to blame for so many, many things.

Also, on my children because why not?

Perhaps the dog was involved too.

So, last night as I was sitting on the couch, trying to write an article about prayer and other highly spiritual matters, I flipped on the television (I know. It’s not the best practice to have the tellie on whilst trying to write but it was 8 pm and let’s face it, I wasn’t aiming for a Pulitzer at that point. I was hoping to stay awake and also somewhat intelligible, all at the same time. Thus: Project Runway! It keeps me awake because Heidi’s voice is just scratchy enough in the background to keep the synapses firing. I don’t really watch, folks. I just listen to them cattily eye each other’s work while I type away, until the runway show where they’ve created a wedding gown out of tinfoil and dog food (and yes that has actually happened on that show)

Oh wow. I just put a parenthesis inside a parenthesis without really realizing it. Perhaps I should get back on track. Not even gonna fix it though. I’m gonna own my nutball grammar. That’s how I roll.

Back to me and the couch and scrolling through Lifetime. There it was: that terribly accurate movie about Harry and Meghan. It was just sitting there, in my cue, with the actor/Harry looking all handsome and red-headed and British and royal but yet still rebellious AND sensitive all at ONCE. Yes, also, Meghan actress was great. But HARRY. That’s the stuff, right there. And so, I clicked on it.

But, as so often happens when I just watch something (I put the Pulitzer wanna-be article aside, folks. Harry/actor needed my undivided) I started to feel a bit… peckish.

Ok, that’s not really true. I had a great dinner. I was totally full, actually. But I just wanted to munch, you know?

And then… I ate our kitchen.

If I’d had the chance, and it wouldn’t have been weird, I woulda gone next door (but only during a commercial break!) and eaten their kitchen too.

I am not even going to trouble you with the details of what I inhaled, but let’s just say that Cool Ranch Doritos were involved and I actually don’t even LIKE Cool Ranch Doritos. In fact, I would say? Not much of anything that I scarfed down last night (during the commercial breaks! Of which there were a lot! Unfortunately!) was really all that yummy. I dunno. Is a half of a hamburger bun smeared with honey, yummy? It seemed kinda pathetic, my bun, and all it’s honey.

Backstory: Wayyyyyy back in November I told you about some changes I wanted to make for me. Issues with health and food and my ability to procrastinate so hard on some things that it could be my own Olympic event where I could win GOLD. Which, if you think about it, isn’t so bad… a gold medal and all. But I wouldn’t ever get around to actually winning it.

So, November, I started to do a few things, reallllllly slowly:

  1. I started a running program again. It had been sorta willy nilly until then and did you know? If you try to run three miles willy nilly your thighs say things like, “I don’t UNDERSTAND why you are DOING this to me! This is just mean! Let’s stop right now.”  Thighs that argue? Never good.
  2. I tried to understand that I am actually really and for once and for all a REAL WRITER. Did I mention that BOOK TWO IS COMING OUT? I know. It shocks me still.
  3. I tried to understand food.
  4. And me. Me + food.
  5. Y’all. It’s complicated.

What I’m trying to say here is that I had finally gotten to the point where I needed to address some stuff in my life. And life, as it tends to be, made this hard.

(My husband would like to insert here that it wasn’t “life” it was ME. I make things harder than I need them to be. He says this to me once in a while and I roll my eyes at him and flounce out of the room in a huff. I would like to establish again that it was LIFE that did this to me, and my tendency to overthink and mull and perhaps worry a bit too much had NOTHING to do with it. Flounce flounce flounce. )

The hard truth of it was this: I had gained a heck of a lot of weight and I’m short and I was feeling rather awful about it all – both physically and mentally. You know the feeling. When you avoid reflective surfaces and your pants start saying prayers before you tug them on, and walking the dog makes you question why you have a dog.

Pair all that with this whole public persona thing that goes along with being an author of now TWO books (coming out in August, I promise. I did not make this up). = negative self talk and some really bad choices involving fried chicken.

Y’all. I have issues.

I know this comes as life-shattering news to you.

I think it all sorta stems from the being an alcoholic thing, but I want to tread lightly there, because far too many people in recovery get sober and then think, “Well then! Let’s fix ALL the things!”

No. Nope. NOPETY-NOPE, sober people. Slow down. Getting sober is hard enough.

But, I have some years in recovery, now. And it was time. My heart was telling me. And if I had learned anything in recovery it’s that when your heart says things like, “Dana? You are making yourself sad. Let’s work on this,” I have to listen.

And now it’s May. Seven months later. And last night I ate New Jersey. What can I say? I TOLD YOU I WAS MESSED UP.

I have, also, lost quite a bit of weight since November. I have found muscles again. It has been a process.  A long one. It has involved not a diet or a plan or rice cakes or any of that. It’s involved me trying to figure out me, and that’s not been a heck of a lot harder than eating rice cakes.

Progress, not perfection folks.

I am going to write more about this. I need to. I might even tell you what I did and why and how and all that stuff (people always want to know the ins and outs, and I get that). I just wanted to talk about it what I’ve been figuring out.

It has to do with understanding Enoughness. And yes, that’s a made up word but it’s my blog.

So, this morning, as I am sipping my coffee and contemplating a run with thighs that don’t argue back so much as they did in November, I thought I’d tell you one part of the journey that has finally, FINALLY  made sense to me. And it’s this:

When you eat New Jersey, you don’t have to eat the entire eastern seaboard too.

And you can forgive yourself.

And also? It’s a metaphorical New Jersey, so there’s thank God for that.

 

 

Oh and also? I’m just gonna leave this right here:

 

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I MEAN….IT’S UNCANNY.

 

I will now start referring to myself as, Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Momsie.

Has a ring to it, no?

Flounce, flounce, flounce

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Dream A Little Dream With Me.

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Still working on my Change All the Things Big November Plan, and it’s going… sort of ok.

I know, guys! Did that introduction not KNOCK the SOCKS off of you!? Are you not just totally on the edge of your seat? Without SOCKS???

Ok, truth:

Trying to rehab anything is very hard. I mean, have you ever watched Intervention? Not to make light of a serious topic (I never do that. Ok, well yes I do, all the time, but you know my heart’s in the right place. Plus, I am a walking Intervention, so I can poke fun at myself) but trying to get something back from a state of disrepair is HARD.

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Here are the things I have been working on:

  1. Food and all things food related. Like, not eating all the sugar in the house because I am stressed. Case in point: Halloween candy that belongs to my sweet children is STILL belonging to the children and has not been touched by me since that fateful night. I am kind of proud of myself on that one.
  2. Stress level. I am beginning to really appreciate breaking tasks down, and organizing and not waiting until the last minute to get a writing deadline done. And yes, I hear you, editors, cackling away at me. No lie, my mom will plan to make chocolate chip cookies on Friday, and on MONDAY she starts planning ahead by setting a bowl out on the counter. A bowl. She is hard core.
  3. I really really need to stop watching stupid youtube videos. Like, this is just stupid. It’s stupid and bad and stupid. Every time I watch a youtube video (unless it’s Francis Chan) my IQ drops and a cute kitty video dies and I start writing “stupid” too much. Or something like that.

#3 is really not my fault. It all started because I was all #2, and then, I thought, “Hey! Let’s watch cute kitty videos! It will make me laugh and feel better and chortle chortle chortle and the next thing you know, it’s five hours later. It’s physics. An object at rest remains at rest, blah blabbity blah blah blah.

So, the other day I was talking with my sister and she said something really really interesting. She said that her husband asked her, all out of the blue, “Hey, what are your dreams?”

First of all, this now has taken my sister’s husband and put him in the Husband Hall of Fame because holy matrimony that is just the sweetest thing EVER. Like, right now, I am sitting next to my husband and I’m giving him the side eye. And I’m thinking, He never asked me what my dreams are. Huh. I wonder why? Does he not care? Clearly he doesn’t care. My sister’s husband cares.

Ok, reeling it in. Getting off track.

Here’s why the November’s Big Huge Colossal Plan to Change So Much Stuff is occurring:

I need to learn how to dream again.

When I first published my book, I felt like I was floating about in a really happy floaty place called: I Have Always Dreamed of This.

It’s a really nice place. It was all pink and fuzzy and blissful.

Well, actually at times it was also really frenetic and stressful but for the most part I was floaty-floaty.

And then, time passed and I landed back on earth, which is fine and good because we really can’t float all the time. That would be weird and I would never be able to drive my children anywhere, which as you moms all know, that is the reason for my existence.

In the past months I have forgotten all about dreams.

It’s ok. That happens. There’s children and costumes for children (hello October) and appointments and all sorts of animals to take care of who kept getting sick, and I forgot why I like writing. It got buried underneath a pile of laundry, I tell you.

In my life, God comes first. Then the husband, who doesn’t ever ask me about my dreams, then the kids.

And then, somewhere along the way, I forgot that writing and creativity needed to be up there too, somewhere above the laundry. And all sorts of other stuff started to fill in the holes.

I didn’t really realize any of this, when I started out on my Make It All Totally Super Awesome Novemberness. I thought I just wanted to lose a little weight. But instead? This has been a lot of thinking and turning things over in my head.

Funny how that works, eh? Walking away from carbs and eating a whole lotta kale has led to a full fledged epiphany, y’all.

Who knew? Who really knew that kale had that kind of power?

So, I’m halfway through November. I’m finding my groove again. I haven’t eaten sugar for two weeks and I have not died.

In fact, I feel very much alive.

Thanks for listening my friends. I’m now off to snack on some kale pudding.

Just kidding. Kale and I are not at the pudding stage. That’s just crazy.

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Too many kale jokes?

Nah. You can never have too many kale jokes.

 

 

Failure is So the Option

I am working my way through November,  in the midst of trying to overhaul my eating habits, my exercise routines, my writing regimen…

You know, the whole shebang. I want to change my utter existence.

Ok, that’s not true. I think my life has a lot of solid footing, really. But here’s the thing: when we start out (ok, when I start out) on a Make It Better routine we (I) tend to get a little nuts.

Honestly? I am an all or nothing kind of girl. Kinda like this:

You see what I’m getting at here.

I failed.

Here is why:

I LOVE APPLE COBBLER. AND THEN I MADE SOME, FOR MY BOYS, AND I HAD A LITTLE SMIDGEN OFF THE CORNER, JUST A TEENSY BITE I PROMISE.

And I was off to the cobbler races. If there was such a thing. And evidently, there was for me.

Sugar and me are still working it out. Sugar’s all like, “It is clear that you and I will NEVER BE APART. You need me, girl. And IIIIIIIIIII will always love YOUUUUUUUUUUU!!”

Etcetera.

And I’m all, “I am a horrible lump of lumpy badness. Bad Momsie! BAD! I need to go eat a molten chocolate cake to feel better.”

Ok, I’m working on this. I have some ideas for yummy treats to help with the cobbler urges. I also need to embrace the mind blowing idea that having a wee portion of said cobbler CAN ACTUALLY be done. I know, right? Do you mean to tell me that you can eat just a SMALL BIT of something tasty? And that’s IT? That’s just weird.

What can I say? I have issues.

What do you tell yourself when you mess it all up? Do you throw in the towel? Do you keep going? Do you vow to be good in ALL the things? Do you drive yourself crazy? Do you ask a lot of questions and irritate your readers??

 

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Enough, Already.

Linking up with my favorite people over at Five Minute Friday. The theme?

It’s a good one.

Totally fitting.

Kinda scary accurate, actually.

It’s like Kate Motaung totally knows me. That poor woman.

 

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Ok, so this week I explained to you my Congo fast, right? I think we’re at almost half way, and so far it’s been a piece of cake.

Cake. I miss you.

And, if you know me at all, you realize that all this glib talk of pastry is just a call for help. This is tough, people.

This Congo fast? There’s not really a truly hungry element here. I am not starving. In fact, the author of the book we’re using, Chris Seay, makes it very clear that quantity is fine. It’s just WHAT we’re eating makes me kinda… itchy for cake. It’s not a hunger we’re dealing with here. It’s a restlessness.

So, also: I cheated.

Last Saturday, something snapped and that night I found myself scarfing graham crackers, off-brand cheezits from Dollar General, and marshmallows.

Y’ALL. I DON’T EVEN LIKE MARSHMALLOWS.

Also, my husband was in the other room, and I found myself SHOVING FOOD IN MAH MOUTH as silently as possible, like a stealthy chipmunk.

A very guilty chipmunk.

So, way back, long ago, when this whole thing started (that was thirteen days ago, my friends. It seems like it was 2014), my friend Kate (Aka the master manipulator who totally bamboozled me into this whole thing) told me it was ok to write about all this. Wow, that is a humdinger of a sentence.

I asked her if the Congo fast had a place in my blog. Would writing about it be too “HEY LOOK AT ME I AM FASTING HOW COOL AM I? SUPER CHRISTIAN WOMAN IN DA HOUUUUUUUSE.” Because whenever I blog about anything I like to channel 80’s hip hop diction. It’s how I roll, yo.

Kate said it would be fine. It might help others and there’s always accountability.

Sigh. Accountability Shmacountability.

So, I had two choices today. I could tell you how marvelous the whole Lenten Congo Fastapalozza is a spiritual walk in the park. And… therefore…

This would be me:c4ecc05d66ba61b6ce0a2590f6efd0e8_well-isnt-that-special-feb-19-well-isnt-that-special-meme_736-649.jpg

Instead, I am gonna fess up and tell you how a graham cracker and some stale marshmallows broke me like a twig.

Oh my goodness. GUYS. I just realized. I  coulda at least made a S’MORE with my rebellion. WHAT is wrong with me? If I’m gonna screw up I should make it COUNT.

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MY PRESHUS.

 

See? Isn’t it a good thing I’m being accountable here? Because then you are welcome to watch me unravel before your eyes. I’m a cautionary tale, in human form.

I’ll keep you posted. Hopefully there will be no more marshmallow shenanigans.

THE POINT:

I have Enough. We all have more than Enough. We don’t even know. I was so used to always having MORE than Enough that I lost sight of Who is Enough.

Enough is enough.

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