Don't Fuss at Yourself! - Respect Food Roles

The first sentence of the introduction to my book says, “I just got back from a wonderful women’s retreat.” Well, guess what? I just got back from another one. Really, really great. Food, conversations, speaker, the whole ball of wax and enchilada. But remember how I kind of spoiled things for myself recently because I was so worried that no one was going to show up at a book signing I attended? Well, I just did the same thing this past weekend: I fussed at myself for some very minor missteps. Why wasn’t my packing more organized?

Why didn’t I bring my laptop up on the top bunk with me at bedtime so that I could just use it the next morning when I woke up early instead of lying there waiting for other people to get up so I could too? Why did I put my tote bag and overnight case at the end of the bunk instead of underneath it on the floor, thus preventing myself from stretching out fully during the night? Why did I go back for that extra roll at dinner? Fuss, fuss, fuss. I found myself being kind of a pill . . . with myself. Not enough to spoil the weekend–nothing could have done that–but I realized what I was doing along about Sunday morning, right before we were ready to go home. I know perfectly well that the thoughts I allow myself to think make a huge difference, so I needed to think, very deliberately and intentionally, “It’s no big deal, Debi. Relax! Let it go! You’re having a great weekend!”

This morning the daily quotation e-mail from Gretchen Rubin (I know I reference her a lot, but I just can’t resist passing this along because it’s so apropos) said: “One must never be either content with, or impatient with, oneself” by C. S. Lewis. What a wise statement, and one which applies to far more than just my attitude towards myself. I should never be content with, or impatient with, my marriage, or my parenting, or my fitness and health, or, especially, with my spiritual life. (Lots of commas in that sentence.) A finely-wrought balance is implied in Lewis’s observation. I think that I’m going to think it in the days to come.

I just have to tell a story here about my mom. If you’ve read my book you know that I tell a lot of stories about her, and many of them are kind of negative. (Kind of!) I did love her dearly and wish with all my heart that she were still here to drive me crazy. I hope I’d appreciate that. Anyway, back when I was in high school, we went on an overnight trip to Manitou Springs, a wonderful little town right outside of Colorado Springs, and we actually stayed in a hotel, something we hardly ever did. We were there for some kind of conservative Christian conference. My mother twisted her ankle while she was going down some steps. It wasn’t swollen or anything, as I recall, and she took some of her always-available Anacin. We weren’t very savvy about hotels or we would have realized that we could get a bag of ice and make her up an ice pack. I guess we could have done that, anyway. This was a long time ago. Okay. We all went to bed, and then about 2:00 AM my mom woke us all up. Her ankle hurt! She couldn’t sleep! She just couldn’t stand for us all to be sleeping when she couldn’t! So, we all commiserated–my dad, my brother and me–but inside I was furious. Why on earth did she have to wake us all up just because she couldn’t sleep? Now I’m somewhat more sympathetic, especially as I’ve seen how common it is for me to make a fuss, at either myself or others.

So, in the spirit of C. S. Lewis, I need to relax and let it go . . . but resolve to do better next time.