I have bad knees…and a weak hip. Thyroid problems run in my family and my immune system reacts poorly to a laundry list of medications. Growing up, I had crap self-esteem and a heavy physique. I teach yoga and meditate, but sometimes I swear like a sailor. Buffalo sauce is my kryptonite and--more often than not--I push myself to the limit because I’m an overachiever.
And three weeks ago, I quit drinking coffee.
Being Pretty is in no way being perfect. That’s boring and dated and blah. So with that imperfection, I have my ups and my downs—those good days and bad—and I’m not always on my best behavior. But I know that my health and my well-being are paramount. I can’t take care of others (even the cats!) if I’m not taking care of myself! But I come from a long historical line of women who put themselves last in order to “better” the world for others. HOGWASH! CODSWALLOP! BOULDER DASH, I say! We shouldn’t be waiting until we are diagnosed to take charge…but if that was your wake-up call: GOOD. Put yourself in the driver’s seat of your own cross-country road trip to wellness. This is the time people, I promise you.
But I digress…because today I’m making confession. My weight had always been my gripe. When I was at my heaviest to the days of Healthy, Pretty, SEXY numbers on that scale…there would always be that twinge of fear in the back of my mind, “what happens if/when I gain?” And then the inner conversation starts:
“But I’m doing everything right…”
“...I changed my diet completely...”
“...I exercise every day.”
These were proven facts of my own awesomeness, yet I would turn them around to find a way to make myself not good enough: excuses to binge, to cry, to watch old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer over and over and over again. Soon enough, I’d be in a ball on the couch having my third serving of who-knows-what because it just feels so darn good.
10 minutes into that feeling good….it feels awful.
This was my spiral. The path I was ALLOWING myself to take by blaming the world, the exercise, or the food for my own pitfalls. How was I ever going to really confront what was going on inside (mind and body) and move beyond that heartbreak, if I always allowed myself to take the easy way out. I wasn’t taking charge of my life; I was running from the responsibility of it.
Luckily sometimes, it all just clicks.
Deprivation is not a form of caring.
Over-exercising DJ-Tanner-style-to-look-like-magazine-models is not loving yourself. (Yes, that was a "Full House ref.)
Eating to fill a criterion instead of fuel and fulfill your body is NONSENSE.
So taking the time to learn about what I was putting in my body, what was coming out (yeah, I mean poop) and how all of that was FULFILLING my needs. I won’t lie…the smell of a mile-high plate of Buffalo Wings still lures my brain to those dark evil places of salty goodness—but when I break those bad boys down in my mind and I see what’s really going into my body…it slaps me back to reality before I choose between ranch and bleu cheese.
Thus brings us to today, my Pretties…the time that I gave up coffee.
A crutch I’ve held on to for a long, long, long time. But with the stress of a new job, moving, general life nonsense, my GI tract started hinting that something needed to change, and that change needed to begin with ditching my java dependency. (This point of clarity was kicked into overdrive when fellow Pretty Girl Jaclyn gave it to me straight!) I will admit, there were three days of wicked migraines that I never want to experience again as my body began to flush out the excess toxins. I still have to keep herbal tea and a butt-load of water on me at all times in case that café-con-leche vixen comes sauntering up to me unawares. But it’s about making choices, right? It’s about being the one who is in control.
- "I don't need coffee!"
The headaches are gone. I’m not taking part in calories that I obviously didn’t need. I don’t drink soda or other evil-goody-drinks, so I have completely cut out those burn-out sugar lows mid-day because there’s no caffeine/sucrose/high fructose catalyst. Challenging myself to chug those last ounces of water before I refill the bottle is enough of a jolt for me. But I will reiterate that “deprivation is not a form of caring.” If a Sunday morning comes where my husband and I are getting snugged up for the morning, he whips out the French press and my heart beats only for a Colombian roast: I won’t deny myself the pleasure…that would turn this choice back into a punishment. But maybe it’s half a cup…or possibly it’s a decaf blend that I snuck in the house when the hubs wasn’t looking. (shhhhhh!)
The choices don’t stop when you decide to get healthy.
The choices don’t stop when you slip up.
The choices don’t stop when you reach your “goal.”
The choices are constant...and they are yours always. Isn’t that amazing?!
xoxox, Rachel
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