A New Chapter

Last month, I found myself spiraling over the words “patient appears overweight” as I jumped into a few weeks of annoying tests that turned out fine but left me feeling medically violated. That may be an exaggeration but you get the point. I know men are poked too but women are both poked and prodded and it just sucks sometimes. Throw a seemingly benign comment into my after visit summary and you got yourself a slightly irrational and irritated premenopausal woman.

Today, I am better. Negative self-talk is something humans are accustomed to doing and all it takes is one comment, one bad picture, or one doctor’s note to send many of us over the edge. Although I know that I am a decent if not good human, I admit that I will allow negativity to seep in at times and take hold, tainting my entire self-image. It’s ridiculous to live that way but acknowledging it is, in my opinion, the best way to combat it. My self-esteem tanked for a hot minute as it has tanked a number of times before. I started weighing myself everyday and hating the number that stared back at me, as if that number is reflective of my worth. So many numbers we reduce ourselves to; life is qualitative not quantitative, right??Sure I weigh 139 pounds but my cholesterol is beautiful and my hematocrit has improved despite the amount of blood loss I sustain each month. And before you compare your weight to mine or scoff at my dislike of that number, please know that we all have our struggles and comparison contrast gets us nowhere.

This week I went to Puerto Rico with my boyfriend. Yes, that’s right, boyfriend. I wore a bathing suit all week and threw on a dress that I don’t think fits me well. It was the dress I wore on our first date and it didn’t fit me well then either. I recognized that I am definitely out of shape but did not allow that to harsh my mellow. No sir, I did not. I had beer, ate entire fish that were deep fried in oil, and had a couple rum punches and mojitos. I relaxed and spent a whole week away from my kids for the first time since the separation almost three years ago. It was hard, I felt guilty. It was glorious too.

The greatest thing I accomplished this week was that I pushed negative self-talk away despite my knowledge that I am completely imperfect; I allowed myself to detach for once and breathe. The reality of my responsibilities caught up to me on our last day on the way to the airport. I started crying in the car and struggled to make sense of what I was feeling. I let it out and verbalized exactly what was in my head. “Sorry” I said to Thomas. “You never have to be sorry for getting emotional with me.” he said. Yes, he is a catch. I feel good about us and then guilty for allowing myself to feel that good because I’m Irish raised Catholic and so is he. Double whammy there but he gets me and that is worth all the guilt in Ireland. “Guilt is a choice” my therapist once told me. I think this time I’ll say “No thank you, guilt. We’re fine just the way we are.” A new chapter begins.