When I was given the topic of health and wellness, I laughed out loud. I think I’m probably one of the last people on earth with any business talking to other people about what it means to be healthy. A child could opine more reasonably on the topic than I could. I simply don’t consider myself to be a particularly healthy person. Isn’t that a
horrible thing to admit?
It’s not just an issue of weight, although I should probably lose a few pounds. It’s more that in general, I’m not very good at taking care of myself or treating myself well. I’m not even sure I know how. But it certainly isn’t for a lack of advice on the topic.
Much of what my mother has told me over the years has had to do with self-care. “Be careful,” she’d say. Or, “Don’t stay up too late.” Or,“Don’t forget to put on sunscreen.” Or, “Make good decisions.” And I’d roll my eyes, annoyed that my own mother didn’t seem to think I had the sense to take care of myself. The older I got, the more my eyes
rolled at her never-changing advice that said to me that she thought I was an absolute idiot.
But as I got older, I realized that I am a bit of an idiot. I realized that, in fact, I hadn’t a clue how to take care of myself. My idea of a weight-loss plan was to stop eating for a few days until my pants fit better. And if I slipped up, I’d beat myself up for what I saw as a lack of willpower or control. It wasn’t enough for me that I usually fit in all of my fruit and vegetable servings. It wasn’t enough to exercise 5 days a week. All I could focus on was the times I had a third slice of pizza, or the times I was too tired to work out. I simply couldn’t let my failures go. In my mind, health was an
all-or-nothing deal, and if I didn’t do it all, I was a failure.
My go-big-or-go-home attitude resulted in, among other things, an unplanned pregnancy. Suddenly I had to reassess my philosophy and my well-being. I’ve never been healthier than I was when I was pregnant. I ate well and exercised and got plenty of sleep. I felt wonderful. And none of it was for me. Every healthy thing I did was for the sake
of the life growing inside of me. I did it for her. My efforts were rewarded with the birth of a beautiful, healthy baby girl. But when I placed her for adoption, my incentive to take care of myself was gone. My little girl was taken care of. It hardly seemed to matter whether I was.
Except that I’m someone’s little girl. I’m just as important to my mother as my little girl is to me. I knew that I would hate to think of her growing up and treating herself the way I treated myself. Slowly, ever so slowly, I’ve started to change the way I think about my health and my body. The most important thing I’ve been doing is learning to let things go.
Health is a matter of moderation. It’s about doing good enough, enough of the time, and not worrying about the mistakes we make here and there. If I have a day where I overindulge, it’s okay. It isn’t going to make me gain back the weight I’ve lost. I’m not going to get out of shape by taking a few days off from exercise. If I have a bad day,
that does not make me a bad person.
I’m not perfect, but I don’t need to be. I am good enough. And that realization feels better than fitting into my skinny jeans ever could.
Thanks so much for visiting with us today, Jill!
Jill writes an emotional blog about being a birth mom and adoption at www.thehappiestsad.com. She says she’ll blog until ”I have nothing left to say about Roo or adoption. It’ll be a while, folks. Adoption is a wild ride.”
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Jill, don’t you wonder why we think it has to be “all” or “nothing”? I appreciate you pointing out it is about moderation and learning to care about ourselves. Made me laugh with your comment about that third slice of pizza. We need a mantra “The third slice is the bad slice” or something like that. Thanks for your comments.