“Mom, why do you need five popsicles? That’s f-i–i-i-i-i-v-e popsicles (as he puts his hand outstretched with all 5 fingers lifted in front of his face). I cannot imagine why anyone, especially you, would need five popsicles.”
Just a few minutes before we snuggled into family movie night, after a tough day of Tom having some random form of the stomach bug/ food poisoning (?), Saturday homeschooling took a nose dive before the prayers and pledge of allegiance even began, and yet another dinner created by random leftovers that took even less interest than the normal “Holy crap it’s 4:30 and I have no dinner planned” routine because Tom was not feeling well and the kids had snacked mostly all day. I leaned over and asked Fia if she would like some popsicles together? We have been on a ‘getting healthier’ journey together. Our focus has been pure… eating fewer calories to start the weight loss we both wanted and exercising a few days a week just to feel good and possibly help burn some extra calories… the ones that inherited happened when food scales and measuring equipment are not used. With my most recent bout with food frustration, the last thing I needed was something more to fuss over. In fact, I wish that the right food, a dish that everyone loves and one that also treats our bodies well, would just materialize and serve itself… I hate the thought of eating, much less the demand of selling what I was making to a crew that would much rather have burgers and fries or pizza on the daily. There was a time when I loved kitchen creations. I enjoyed everything from meal planning to grocery shopping to prepping and serving the steaming hot creation I whipped up. Often times I would loosely follow a recipe – to get the key ingredients – but stray in the parts I knew we liked best… the oils that were used, plant-based milk vs cow-based milk, gluten-free options vs gluten-full options, etc. I loved everything about the kitchen from the way the clean sink shined at the end of a hard day, to the heart feeling and smiles I felt feeding my family good, whole, made from scratch (sometimes) dishes. I loved knowing what was in them and understanding the true splurge that ‘junk food’ entailed. Those ‘cheat days’ were treats, but few and far between because – at that time – I had enough bandwidth to analyze what felt good and what didn’t. But, sadly, that’s not where I am right now. This season is wrought with difficulty, itching, indigestion, fatigue, and just a bit of anxiety. It’s unexplained, it’s unexpected, and it’s not welcomed… but it is here, and acknowledging it is one less way it has its hold on me.
And so the popsicle debacle happened. Ugh. How I wish there was an undo button with life. I guess there is a lot to learn from this conflict, and I am sure in the days to come I will continue to overanalyze this and eventually, begrudgingly, come to thank this tough time for it’s lessons… but all I can think of now is – why is everybody – including my own body – against me? In a life that has been driven by making others happy, finding joy in the things others despise, opening my mind and heart up to others who need it… why am I the one that is just getting by, yet not reaping the rewards of such a strict diet?
Ugh, there is that word again… diet. This innocent word conjures up years of struggles. While originating from the Greek word “diaita” meaning “way of life” it has morphed into almost every infomercial, many headlines, and most recently a major component of my mysterious and weird ‘genetic deformity’ diagnosis.
For as long as I can remember I have struggled with my weight. To be more exact, I struggled with the girl I saw in the mirror. Growing up next to a real-life Barbie doll (my older sister) who could eat almost anything, continue to flaunt washboard abs, and fit into her size zero’s (I honestly believe she used to wear a size -2)… and having the silent comparisons that come about from a short-haired freckled chubby childhood was tough. I never looked good in shorts. I always felt them riding up on the inner thigh. Bathing suits always were a source of angst for me… do I go for what everyone else is wearing and look like a fool or go for a more functional approach and shout to the world all that I am hiding. (Sidenote “Mom bathing suits” only amplify these choices.). Then running long-distance track and cross country in college, lining up on the start line, and having peers tell me I look more like a sprinter (because of my ‘thunder thighs). Not to mention the morale I encouraged because, if I was in the race, at least everyone else knew they would not come in last. Being the thick slow girl is hard. I made my way. I chose athletics, despite never really listening to my heart. I don’t wish to change my past for the world, but what I know now is that I am a much better person when I am not faced with the in-your-face competition that sports and athletics throw at you on a daily basis.
So back to the f-i-i-i-i-v-e popsicles. Mitch was just looking out for me. He has heard my struggle with my weight loss. He has heard my dreams and goals. He has been there, with his heart and mind in this with me for the past 2+ years as I have struggled with my weight albeit from medicine (Prednisone and I have a love: hate relationship… how can anything that makes you feel so good… make you feel so bad at the same time? Hunger and insomnia are a dangerous combo, especially with weight loss goals.), my food struggles (having yet another food become unavailable because it throws me into a deadly allergic reaction or makes me itch more), and he sees my apprehension when I am on the pool deck as I rush to jump in so that no one sees the overwhelming evidence of lack of self-control… that my poochy belly and dimply thighs show. I run and jump and hide. He sees that. Kids are smarter than we think.
And so, as I formulate my thoughts and try to sort it all out, I am driven to write this for the world to see. I believe that it is primarily in the shadows and shame and blame that the enemy of our dreams, the taker of our goals, lurks. To me, the devil doesn’t have an overabundance of scary features marked with extra sharp horns, a growling smile, and a fire pit of darkness. No, to me, his appearance is much more cryptic and dangerous, temptation & lack of self-control are there… waiting. And when we give in, when we buckle, and then the cycle of shame follows… he has ‘won’. When we allow for the darkness to come in and stay too long, and our self-talk creates an environment that is void of growth and hope, he has ‘won’. Spiritual warfare is real and the closer we get to our goals, the loader this voice of darkness gets. It was in this five popsicle moment that I realized I could cave and be mad for him calling me out on yet another food I can’t eat.. or this one I shouldn’t eat (I hate the word ‘should’ more on that later) or I could understand his heart for me and my goals. Telling someone they are straying from their set goals, and sharing with them they are deviating from their self-control is hard. I encourage my kids to do hard things. We also all thrive in a more teamlike atmosphere, so I don’t hesitate to let my kids in on my goals and to encourage them to do the hard things like slapping my hand from the cookie jar, or in this case taking the scissors from my 5 five tubes of popsicles and remind me that this is only what I want right now… and that me three weeks from now would be happier if I said no to more sugar.
So, if I can help you out at all. If I can share with you one thing. It would be to take a deep breath, feel into your thoughts… are the people you surround yourself with for your goals or against them. If they are truly for them, then their judgment and criticism is for the good. They are the fans at the side of the road at the beginning of your race cheering you on so you one day see that finish line you so deserve. The struggle is bigger than all of us, we cannot do this alone. Be careful who you surround yourself with because sometimes they may be your biggest fans and even though you miss out on those five popsicles, you get to enjoy a lifetime of personal pride in allowing self-control to redefine your ordinary life.
“I do not understand what I do. I often have the will to do good, but lack the power to acomplish the good I set out to do, but rather the evil I don’t want to do I’m always doing. If I do things I truly do not want to do, then it is not me doing them, but rather the sin who has made its home within me. “
JB Philips translation of Romans 7:15-20