Go Ahead: Toss Your Big-Girl Panties
Even today, when frustration was high, I tried to talk myself into being close to something utterly adult. I really did. I know all the right things to say. The laundry list of “be-here-now’s” meant to calm myself down. The affirmations I would like to believe…but don’t. At one point in my life I had read so many self-help…”You-could-get-your-life-together-if -you-would-only-do-THIS” books, I decided to stack them on my bathroom scale. Sure enough, they weighed more than I did.
Especially after a series of WTF days, don’t you just feel like throwing yourself on the floor and having a good kicking/screaming fit like a 2-year old in the mall. Right?
And, as far as those big girl panties. Don’t you think they are highly overrated? And so judgmental. Ugh, I mean really. Like telling yourself to just shut up and get over yourself. I say POOIE on that idea. If you are always telling yourself to suck it up, get over it….chances are you will never get over whatever the IT is. And, you will find yourself getting in the habit of stuffing IT, along with all the other ITS, dismissing your deepest needs, for years, only to have an absolute shit-fit about something ridiculously unrelated, …for example, like when the extra spaghetti sauce you poured over your Stouffer’s Family-size Lasagna, explodes in the microwave. We explode over THAT.
And, hard as I try, I’ll admit it…I turn to the only thing that has soothed me with such profound results. No, not KIT KATS. Those are stashed in the glove compartment only for mildly frustrating days.
I’m talking Grand Kahuna, stomp your feet days, “I’m-not-taking-this-any-more-days”…coming after three or four or ten straight nights of waking up to your teeth. Grinding.
Drum roll, please. Here’s my truest confession about “dealing” with life when it has flipped completely upside down. Apple Fritters. From 7-11.
I watch my creative rationalizing juices swing into action. If I buy them, while filling my gas tank, I’m multi-tasking, no? Life Balance. Feeding the car and myself the necessities required for proper operation.
When no one sees me do it, and I eat the whole stale, grease-soaked, sugar encrusted blob of dough while hunkered down in the car, on a side street, nowhere near my neighborhood, and lick all the sugar off my lips and carefully smack it off each finger, brushing the crumbs off my black shirt, I’ve just cleaned up my act. A little grooming. Yes?
When I go the extra mile and hand-vac those pesky, tell-tale left-over sugary nubs, and thereby render the interior of my car, spotless…..the calories have also disappeared.
Of course they have.
This whole process from empty tanks, to fill-er up, to hiding the evidence can feel like 30-45 minutes of freedom from every “should” I’ve ever invented for my life.
Even though I know the rush of sugar and the thrill of being sneaky, and perpetrating a “cover-up” without going to prison is going to pass….something in that still-14-year-old psyche, feels triumph.
Know what I mean? Sometimes it is just necessary to fall down on the job of your life’s many pursuits of perfection. Sometimes we need to release the pressure valve on the inner Insta-Pot so we don’t have exploding green beans raining from the ceiling.
Sometimes we just need a day to eat fritters in the car. Then look at ourselves in the rearview mirror, not with disgust, but with love, compassion, and deep affection, and say,
“HEY! I’m HUMAN and I’m having A DAY." And laugh.
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