Destination Discipline

I lost my car twice yesterday, and gave thanks to the maker of the clicker that allows me to honk the horn when I’m close. Both times I couldn’t help but flush with embarrassment. What sane person forgets where they park, not just once, but twice? It’s not like I was parking somewhere foreign, like the airport or a shopping mall.

The first time I got lost in the parking garage at work. The second was in a very small grocery store lot. I felt as if everyone was looking at me as I approached the wrong car, turned in circles several times, and then resorted to the clicker again. Obviously my brain wasn’t functioning correctly.

After I found my car the second time, my eldest son gave me a stern lecture over the phone about how I never listen to him. I had dared to ask if he was coming home for dinner which resulted in a, “Mom, I told you I’m at Grandma’s house! Don’t you remember?” I just had to sigh and tell him the truth; no. My brain has been in idle for several days and won’t click into gear. Such is the drudgery of depression, that sickening darkness that swamps my body in a thick haze while I slowly suffocate.

For the past week I have been moving forward one painful step at a time, each task deliberate, if moderately unsteady. I do the things I know I need to do whether I feel like it or not. I continue to eat healthy meals, exercise and sleep… and cry while I wait for it to end.

I have been making conscious decisions to do what I know to be right rather than seek comfort in empty frills. Yesterday this culminated in reading scripture over and over. I could barely understand what I was reading, until I came across a few sentences that reminded me of the comfort I have found there before. “So we do not lose heart, though our outer self is wasting away.” I had memorized this some time ago, and as I read the words they penetrated the scar tissue over my heart and massaged the weak muscle beneath. In that moment I felt the blood flow again to that numb and half-dead part of me and I remembered the grace given to me countless times before. Let me be clear, I did not feel better. But God reminded me that his promises to me ring clear. His words have a power that mystifies me.

This morning I made an impromptu decision to ride my bicycle. I had planned something different but I felt a calling to go into the outside world and breathe in the cool air. I had an idea that maybe there was something I needed to see and experience that would not be found on my usual routine. I pushed through the numbness and into the colorless world, seeking out beauty in the darkness with my headlamp. 5:00am is a very dark time indeed. And this is what I found…

I found a sunrise that splashed color across the horizon in layers of color that were not unlike a sky-wide rainbow that became more brilliant with each second until the sun crested. On the side of the road I happened across the most beautiful red fox I have ever seen.

He trotted beside me for a few seconds with this regal plume of a tail and I was transfixed with him as he slipped into the brush. I wandered into the wetlands and discovered a big blue heron who seemed not at all anxious to be so close. He lifted his head and pushed into the air with a graceful sweep of his wings that fills me with a sense of rapture even now as I write this. The sun was barely up as I pushed along the bike trail and saw two little heads moving through the water with a distinct wake behind them. Otters! Their whiskers were heavy with water as they paddled furiously to escape the alien creature who was encroaching on their territory.

And then I saw it, the most curious bird I have ever seen. It stood in the water, black and tall, and I was so filled with wonder that I stopped my bike to stare. He saw me too—entirely too close for comfort—and he peered at me through the reeds, obviously trying to decide if I was threat enough to make him abandon his breakfast table. His silhouette reminds me of the grace that is given when we choose to follow the spirits leading. We wonder if we should stay or go, run or walk, lie down and die or push forward into the unknown. Creation provides a canvass for my questions, and while I don’t always find the answers I seek, I find comfort in knowing it is never unsafe to ask.

I don’t have my depression figured out. Sometimes I can guess at triggers, other times it creeps up and whacks me over the head while all I can do is nurse the bruise. Today I found real relief and I am so grateful to God. His comfort is real and enigmatic and I never take it for granted.

II Corinthians 4:16-18 “So we do not lose heart, though our outer self is wasting away. Our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison. As we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but things that are unseen are eternal.”

Yesterday was a particularly difficult day. I woke to the lethargy of depression and all my plans clunked like an overheated jalopy. I climbed out of bed and onto the couch where I stayed until my children imploded. They like to do that when mom is incapacitated. Still, I felt like life was speeding by without me while I nursed my worn out body with sobs of despair. The stress of the week had finally caught up with me and I was the bear with its foot caught in a particularly grisly trap. All my striving was met with, “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” Big sigh. “I want to, but I just can’t!”

So I began to bake. Baking is my soothing exercise. It’s what I do when all else fails. Bake and cry. I probably sound pathetic to you at this moment. Sorry about that. It’s just life, and I’m walking through it the same as everyone else. For every good day there must be a down day. I’ve come to expect them–even embrace them–as the tide of life I’m swimming in. So I made homemade bread(whole wheat) and pizza dough(also whole wheat) for dinner. Then I went to the store and bought a big basket full of food. When baking doesn’t cut it, buying food does! But I probably didn’t buy what you think I bought. More on that in a minute.

When I was living an unhealthy lifestyle, a sure fire pick-me-up was fast food and sweets. A typical bad day might have looked like 1000 calories of toaster strudels(they are so tasty you can’t eat just 2), followed by lunch at White Castle with a giant chocolate shake, a bag of Nestle Caramel Treasures and Papa John’s pizza for dinner. And cookies. Yes, there would have been at least 12 cookies before bed. Just typing those sentences makes me feel gross. After consuming the equivalent of ten zillion calories, I would cry myself to sleep and wonder why my life was so horrible. I honestly didn’t understand the affect all that sugar had on my body nor how to break myself from that dreadful cycle.

So many people go on a diet, lose weight and then regain it. The hope of smaller pants or a pretty dress drive them to mercilessly restrict calories until they reach their desired goal. Then they celebrate, much to the disdain of the new pants. Those trendy jeans are hardly broken in when the seams began to stretch and moan. They seem to cry, “Why? Why did you do this to me? You have no self-control! Why didn’t you just leave me at the store? It’s not fair!” Or maybe that’s just my pants that talk back at me. I am so guilty of carefully folding my “brand-new-too-small” clothing into a tub that is carefully stored in the basement as my “lovelies” wait for me to lose those dreaded 10 pounds. If I am wise I take the time to remind myself why I went on this journey in the first place. Living an “out-of-control” lifestyle stinks. As in, stinky goat cheese, stinks!

Living a healthy lifestyle is not just about losing weight. To begin the journey the right way, one must ask oneself why they wish to change. The reason must be important enough to go through the personal sacrifice that is necessary to achieve our goals. That reason must also sustain us through the trials and discomforts of life. Otherwise, we will return to bad habits with gusto and lose all the ground we gained. My reason was a desperate desire to learn discipline. I felt so out of control, spinning like a top over the same ruts and crashing, only to spin and crash again. When I am having a bad day, I am tempted to return to those old habits. But I always come back to that moment that is burned on my brain–that moment when I stood in front of my closet and nothing fit, and all I could do was stand there and cry. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was two-hundred and something pounds and I couldn’t go to church because the only pants I had were too small and I was too humiliated to squeeze into them. When I am tempted to give up and eat gasp–White Castle–I just take a little jog down memory road. Then, most importantly, I pray for strength to keep walking the path to better health.

Facing any addiction calls for a very serious shift in mentality. Food is too important to me to approach it with anything less than a 100% attitude adjustment. I knew when I began my journey that I couldn’t just go on a diet. I also assumed failure was stalking me at every turn. This made me extremely vigilant. When someone asked me the other day if I have a “cheat day” I responded with an emphatic, “No!” I’m not looking for opportunities to cheat. I made a commitment to live a healthier lifestyle. Commitments are promises that are meant to be kept. Imagine if I stood up to state my vows to my spouse and said, “I love you, but I can’t wait for my cheat day.” He might re-think his choice of spouse. Everyone makes mistakes now and again. But do I plan my mistakes? Um, no.

I walked into the grocery store yesterday(Aldi is my affordable, fresh produce center of choice) with all my healthy habits intact. So even though I felt terrible, years of practicing discipline helped me to make good choices rather than emotionally induced choices. I know by practicing discipline that putting fresh vegetables and fruit into my body makes it feel better. Also, I forced myself to exercise in the afternoon. I didn’t choose something grueling, just some light movement to get the blood flowing to my brain. I didn’t feel fantastic afterwards, but I felt more human than I did when I began.

Why do I choose to live a healthy lifestyle? Because I’m never going back to the way I was. I’m not talking about size or weight. I’m talking about the desperation that came from living an emotionally and physically unhinged life. The way I look at it is this, every day I have the opportunity to face my flaws and beat the hell out of them. Will they wallop me sometimes in return? Sure. But by God’s grace I’m going to wallop them right back.

This morning I pondered perfection. As in, could I ever possibly achieve it. I was squeezing into my girdle(i.e. hosiery) when my youngest child said to me, “Mom, when are you going to lose some weight?” I blinked and blinked again. Did he really say that? I know I’ve told him before that such comments hurt my feelings.

Small children give us the gift of candor without respect to our feelings mainly because they don’t know any different. If I were to say what he said to me to the average person on the street, however, I would most likely end up with a bloody nose. Still, I have been doubting myself all day. When did I give him the idea that it was okay to comment on my body shape? Do I imply that I’m overweight or was he simply noticing my lumpiness? His words felt like a slap in the face and I honestly didn’t have the words to respond, so I kindly gave him his breakfast—homemade muffins that I am not “allowed” to eat—and departed for work.

My young male child(age 6) has never known what it is to carry a baby in his tummy, to experience stretch marks or labor pains. He has never felt the need to go on a diet because his clothes don’t fit or endured the averted eyes of strangers in elevators. He only knows his mom has a flabby tummy and he does not. Therefore something is wrong with her. Why is it our basic human assumption to assess people on their physical appearance, as if any of us had a modicum of control over making our bodies? Beautiful or ugly, strong or weak, feeble minded or intelligent, we do not knit our cells together. We do not determine the number of fingers or toes or, for that matter, the color of our eyes. It does seem as though some of us take great pains to change our bodies because we are dissatisfied in some way with the beautiful gift we have been given, which begs the question, is bodily perfection attainable?

Yesterday I had the pleasure of speaking with a friend at a family function. I explained to her the exact moment I realized I would never be “skinny.” I was three months into my journey, had lost about 40 pounds and was experiencing a plateau. I was at work and ended up walking behind a very cute girl in a short skirt. She was probably a size 4 and had long shapely legs. Her blond ponytail wagged as she walked and she was probably the envy of my male colleagues. I thought she was perfect and I wanted to look like her. After that encounter I remember walking to the bathroom and sobbing. I realized that no matter how much weight I lost, I would never be 20 years old or pre-pregnancy again(not that I was thin before my babies). I don’t want to sound melodramatic, but I actually felt like my heart was being forced through a meat grinder. Why was I going through all the trouble to restrict all of my favorite foods when I would never look like her? Hindsight tells me it was a crisis I had to face to determine my future, but it was extremely painful to realize that sans extensive surgery, I would most likely never have a flat stomach.

Many people hang their health on this argument. They decide to accept their body as it is because they want to eat their favorite foods in the quantities they desire. They decide to stay heavy or unhealthy because life isn’t worth living under a strict regimen of diet and exercise because they will never achieve physical perfection. Whatever the reason, they reject a “healthy lifestyle” and decide healthy people “suck.” Or maybe that was just me. I only know that I wanted to quit and very nearly did.

I look back on that experience as a defining moment in my journey. I also remember the moment one of my friends approached me and asked what was wrong, and encouraged me to keep trying and not to give up. This dear friend reminded me that I was loved no matter what my body was shaped like. So like my gentle friend, I would like to share here a few things to remember as you take your own journey to better health.

A job worth doing is worth doing well. It seems simplistic to say this, but it feels true. I didn’t cheat because I chose not to. I wanted to arrive at my destination honestly and stay there. I am sincerely proud of my accomplishments and I am reaping the benefits. To my great delight, I was able to roller skate with my son yesterday. If my only goal was quality time with my children, this journey was worth it. So what if I’m a lumpy cheese? I’m lumpy and proud of it! This lumpy cheese roller skated with her 50+ pound child on her back when he got too tired to walk.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Pretty people aren’t necessarily happy people. I attend church with a “thin and pretty” woman who struggles with crippling depression and anxiety. Before I knew her I condemned her as one of those “perfect” people. She has a handsome husband and 2 gorgeous children. She is musically talented and has a great job. When I came to know her, I was indicted by her gracious spirit. She loved me in ways I never thought possible. She saw my pain and sickness, and offered ideas to help. She told me she would be a place of refuge should I ever reach a moment of despair, and then proved it by comforting me when I was there. My friendship with her and many others has revealed the sickness of my own troubled soul. If I have learned anything it is this, I am guilty of judging others through the lens of my flaws. When I look at others as having “arrived,” I lie to myself. No one has “arrived,” least of all me.

Bad habits are hard to break. I had to fight for my life to break a lifetime of bad habits. Some habits will forever haunt me because I cannot erase the memory of emotional crutches that comforted me. As a miserable teenager, I sought comfort in candy and books. Any time I read I feel the need to eat something sweet. I consider each battle won a positive step toward winning the war but I will always be at war with my body. Telling it no when it says yes. Pinching it in the buttocks when it insists on wussing out. Giving it the “Three Stooges eye-doink-of-death” when it won’t stop craving cookie dough. The fantastic news is…

Good habits have power too. My husband and I have this on-going discussion about bacon. I used to eat a lot of bacon. BLT’s, crispy bacon with waffles or pancakes, pizza with bacon. Seriously, who doesn’t love bacon? I quit buying bacon early on in my journey for reasons that are obvious(it’s very high in fat and sodium). After years of not buying it, I just don’t think about it because I no longer crave it. For that reason, I forget to buy it. And bacon is one thing my sweetie cannot not live without.

Perfection is a myth. Okay, so maybe the title of this blog is misleading. I don’t consider perfection as a living human being in the least bit attainable. But the good news is I’m not alone. This is what I should have said to my little one this morning. Does my wobbly tummy make you less likely to love me? Does a big belly make me love you less? As we traverse this journey of life, we all need to determine what is most important to us. If one hinges their quality of life on vanity, what will they feel like as they age and have to manage the person in the mirror? I have accepted the reality that if I am fortunate enough to live to old age, my body will stoop no matter how hard I try to stand tall. Gravity wins every time.

Practice Perfect Kindness. My son didn’t mean to be insensitive. I know this because I asked him when I arrived home. “Why did you say I was fat?” He promised me that he never said that and I supposed its true. He had a quick glimpse of my belly and freaked out a little bit. Shoot, I do the same thing when I look in the mirror. I reminded him that we need to be careful with our words because they can hurt others. He said he was very sorry and gave me a hug.

I have learned many things on my journey through life, the least of which is that I will never have a perfect body. In the grand scheme of things that’s probably a good thing. It keeps me humble. However, I am striving every day to perfect my heart.