Un-Balancing Act

It means a great deal to me when I hear another mother say how hard things are, how tired she is, or how overextended the family schedule has become. There's a feeling of kinship knowing I am not the only one that doesn't have it all "together". Still, though, it somehow makes me question my own resolve. They have more kids then me - of course they are tired! They commute to work each day, no wonder they struggle to get a great dinner on the table. All those sports they tote the kids around to must be exhausting! What's my excuse? I have one child, work from home, have very few responsibilities that require my time away from my family.... I must be lazy right? Why is it that one moment I can take pride in an accomplishment but in the next split second feel a deep sense of inadequacy? Was I trained this way? Is this something else I should blame on my mother? My commitment to myself this week will be to relish in my accomplishments. Whether it is making a great d...

5 months ago when I set out to accomplish what seemed like a simple fitness task, I blatantly proclaimed that "it's not like I want to run in an organized event or anything." The routine seemed mundane at first, a boring repetition of short jogs on the same route. I tried to fast forward and failed because there's clearly a method behind the plan. There was a time I laid in a hospital bed feeling sorry for myself because the feeling of being paralyzed made me long for the ability to accomplish something I felt would be impossible for my body to tolerate. Shame on me for taking that moment of clarity for granted by forgetting it so quickly once I could use my legs again. So I got my partner involved and we went from "Couch to 5k" in the prescribed 8 weeks. I cursed and cried, almost bitter about my own ability to perform such a task burning inside with the frustration of the challenge and fear of failure. But when the clock ticked at the 8 week mark I lifte...

A few months ago, when it was finally time to strap on the athletic shoes, and tighten up my armband, pump up the motivational music, and head out for some exercise, I had a very specific vision in my mind. It was that of a fit, tan version of me wearing a bra top and spandex shorts prancing elegantly through the canopy of trees while my longer than real life pony tail bobs left to right with the rhythm. The reality has been more like a fully dressed mom in physical recovery purposefully engaging every muscle and posture depicted in "how to run well" guides. The look on my face is strained as though it will help the calories burn faster. What I am really thinking is, "Can I make it to the next mailbox on this street?" In moments of sheer exhaustion I have found myself buying into the "walking is better for your body" propaganda. Thanks to my partner, I have not given up. We started a couch to 5k app on our phones, and through days of excitement and dread...

I am thinking Happy Hour means a martini with my sister at a bar with some interesting snacks... but will translate it into a yoga studio with some strangers and a beverage portable enough to keep cold while I sweat and bend and stretch? Having a flourishing social life outside my family living room has never been a priority to me. The risk, the time commitment and the drama that usually comes along with having a select group of girlfriends is as nearly unattractive to me as a visit to the dentist. I say that but what I do treasure is coexisting with other women that have similar interests. This yoga thing is new to me and I am not a die hard by any means. Getting my work done in the first half of the day will always take priority to flushing out an hour on a mat, though when I do the reward is great. So today two worlds come together - "me" time on a yoga mat, and happy hour. Much thought isn't required but with more than an hour and a half before the start time I alre...

Are we allowed, when things are sad or beautiful to express ourselves through tears? I wonder because I try so hard to swallow that feeling in most settings that when I arrive at those private moments when no audience is present it feels like a true release. It reminds me of children who act out and are told to use their words rather than being physical. Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes there is just a feeling and that feeling manifests itself as a well of emotion in one's throat, slowly radiating through the chest, sometimes to the stomach, swelling the heart and falling from one's eyes as a tear.

It's yet another cycle I go through, living in denial for things I don't care to deal with and then procrastinating until I have absolutely no choice but to do it. Usually it's a financial thing. I work pretty hard for my money and have done so since I was 15... The difference between now and then is that I am much cheaper and more reluctant to let my money go. Of course now I have actual responsibilities and not just a pair of gap jeans calling my name. But this isn't just about money. It's about laundry, dishes, ordering a new remote when my guy throws the old one out the window in a fit of rage, and this morning it is about packing. I hate leaving my family for work trips. I admit there's a certain something that seems fun a first: interacting with other adults, dining, exploring and networking. But really it's just me leaving them to it on their own unable to micromanage the day to day in our house. So I check my flight schedule. It's about eight h...

I am a glutton, and I flounder around the emotions of guilt and rebellion, not sure if I want to hate myself for eating a good portion of the french bread before it hits the table for dinner or love myself because the only reason I care is the fact that some people say white food is bad. It's quite a feeling when you know the bread is fresh, you open the package and just tear off one little end, and then a little more, dragging it along the softened butter on it's way to your mouth. I mean it's REALLY good. We aren't talking about crystal meth here, but I can not help myself. The same goes for my regular afternoon pig outs of cheese followed by the evening flow of wine steadily from my fridge to my glass. Just a little Chardonnay really softens the remains of the day! It really is ok, despite what any one resource tries to tell us, to just enjoy what you like. Certainly I don't love the idea of constantly working out and worrying if my pants fit or not - but when ...

It happens. It's possible I've long mistaken my ability to recognize a bad idea for issues with committing to long term plans. Yes that's it - I simply realized after hours of pain and as my insides revolted against me that a juice cleanse was not a good idea. Other things prove on the contrary to be great ideas. I was just laying here in bed thinking about my ability to move my recently broken inflexible weakened body into locust pose like a grasshopper. From the back of the room it didn't look that hard but the first day it felt impossible. It seemed like a good idea to keep trying. Sounds simple and it is. Listen to your body. Good ideas feel good and bad ideas feel bad. The old fashioned way of doing things is generally a pretty good idea. Yoga is ages old and it's still around. Clearly the cave men didn't have diet pills and juice cleanses to make themselves feel good. Not saying I'm going all paleo - again too extreme for me to maintain. But I thin...

This is what I mean. Less than 24 hours ago I committed to a three day fast and even after a steak dinner (a last supper of sorts) my stomach is growling with anticipation during the early hours of the morning. Being reborn seems to come with a lot of self revelation that we aren't cognizant of during our initial birth from the womb. Nice to have that sort of beautiful ignorance about our own shortfalls and potential, wasn't it?! So not all kinds of responsibilities accompany the fact that I have been given this (new) life. Since my past is littered with forgotten sagas and years that remain blank in my memory bank because they were more easily discarded than corrected, I am consciously looking backward at the un-doables. OK so I ate a big bowl of pasta, felt bloated and the carbalicious guilt that came along the next morning flooded me with a desire to make a change. I am not sure if a three day cleanse of prune juice, apple juice, and water is the perfect answer, but test...

I'm pretty sure my attendance at yoga this morning is like going to confession. It had been a long 60 days but I enjoyed a nice bowl of pasta last night with home made turkey meatballs. It echoed in my mind as I sat staring at the empty dish with discomfort and regret in my gut, what the yogi said the first day. "Let's not eat white foods." Not the gobble of the turkey meatball nor the cottony fluffy innards of the soft roll gave me a similar guilt. So despite my lingering soreness from Monday's visit I will limp my way back in. In repentance I terrorized my family this morning insisting they all get moving early so I could stop at the super Wally World and get my own yoga mat. I think since its my third time then the mat won't put my continued commitment at risk. That's pretty much my m.o. Buy new shoes stop running. Unlimited membership in anything means limited ongoing interest. Will tofu and kale be part of my daily life? What will I become next?