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Starting Over. Again.

I hate starting over.

I’ve always hated starting over. Starting over implies that you didn’t do it right the first time.

Which means that there have been a now un-countable number of times in my life that I’ve done things wrong. Which is what I’ve been telling myself for far too long. That starting over means I’m a failure. That I can just eat and drink whatever because it doesn’t matter anyway.

In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, I haven’t exactly been keeping up with my training. My birthday half goal came and went in a silent dirge. The excuse that work is exhausting, my husband is living 150 miles away for the next year, I don’t have time, money, energy, willpower. Those excuses are so easy, and I’ve been wallowing in them for the last 4 months or so.

So, why the hell would I want to put myself through starting over again? Why set myself up for failure?

Because now I’m trying to understand more than just the symptoms. Because I’m trying to ask myself why I would think I would fail in the first place? Why when I should be my one best cheerleader, I myself am the one throwing mud on my own face?

So, through this introspection (which is very much in its infancy and is definitely a story for another day), I realized that I had begun to give up on so many of my dreams. With complacency. For good reason, Brad and I decided to stop actively trying to get pregnant. As I stay in the Metroplex and he’s back in Abilene for the next year, it just isn’t a good time to try. That, and the fact that we are making less than half of what we made last year kind of put a damper on things. I had originally thought I’d take this time to focus on the real barrier keeping me from getting pregnant, my PCOS. But it seemed that once the decision was made, I started giving myself permission to eat and drink everything I wanted. I wasn’t going to get pregnant anyway. And who knows, maybe we’ll just adopt, I would tell myself.

So, then, add on to that a bit of weight gain. Add on to that the fact that my clothes started getting noticeably tighter. Now my Dark Passenger had a full hold on me. Yes, Dark Passenger is a Dexter reference, but I find it fits so well here. Once I let her start to whisper all the horrible things that she loves to plague me with, I was full on in feeling-like-crap-about-myself mode. And oh my gosh it was definitely at full steam.

So, a week or so ago my dear Brad confronted me about this. He could tell that I had started making all the self-deriding comments again. He could tell that I felt unsexy, unpretty, and unwanted. And of course my now psychology majoring college student talked me down into a corner where I had to acknowledge certain things. Again, this is for another post, another time. Suffice it to say that it served to snap me out of my slump.

Don’t get me wrong, my Dark Passenger is still there, and she’s still screaming…but at least now I know she’s there. Now I know that this is my true challenge, not the food and the exercise and the weight and the soreness…but it’s her. She’s been making me feel about an inch tall for most of my life, and I don’t know a thing about her – where does she come from, why is she here, how can I confront and silence her?

So back to starting over. I won’t tease myself by saying that THIS time will be different, THIS time I won’t fail. Because Lord knows that I will…I will stumble, I will fall. But I will just have to treat each and every day as starting over.

Like any person who is trying to start any program, I sought out motivation. I’ve started by catching up with motivational blogs I was reading before I retreated into darkness. Yesterday, I read a post on a wonderful blog that talked about starting over. In it she stated that to follow through with this, you have to learn to love starting over. I’m trying to turn my hate into love…I guess of myself as much as starting over.

That’s all for now. I don’t have a set plan yet, but I’m starting.

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