…are great, others not so much. In terms of weight loss, mood, work, everything. What goes up must come down and all that. But we all know this, yeah?
So why do I punish myself so? One of the things I’m trying to do to make myself a better person is to cut myself some slack. Aside from my father (sorry, Dad) I’m my harshest critic and repeatedly insist on beating myself up over the slightest deviation from my success mission in life. But I try, I really do.
Right now I’m buried in my own turmoil over having what I would describe as a ‘bad’ day yesterday. I feel guilty, like I’m a failure and that I’m never going to get anywhere with my goals in life. Why? What was so bad about yesterday? That’s what is so ridiculous about it. I had a great day yesterday. For the first time since moving, I spent a full day with James. We don’t get a lot of time together. We didn’t do anything spectacular, but we took the chance to relax, venture out and actually enjoy each other’s company. Which was lovely.
I ate like a pig. An actual, wallowing, greedy, oinky pig. All day. I didn’t do any writing. Not a single sentence. I have a novel that isn’t even going to be finished THIS YEAR, and I’ve already been working on it twelve months. Then there’s housework. Nope, none of that either. NOTHING. So am I completely deranged? Possibly. One of the many parts of my contradictive personality caused the conflict yesterday which made for interesting internal dialogue. My rebellious, spontaneous, fun-loving side had locked horns with my deliberate, routine-centric, I-must-succeed-at-everything-all-the-time side. It got ugly. All the usual negative thoughts came pouring out, which I won’t bore anyone with.
The upshot was that the time I spent fighting with myself was detracting from what should have been a carefree day. It’s not like one day means the collapse of my novel, nor does it mean that the house is going to rot to hell. And most importantly, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to gain the weight that I’ve lost. But that is very, very difficult for me to deal with. How can something that goes against everything ‘good’ about weight loss be enjoyable?
Not only am I a complete hardass on myself, I also seem to have an incredibly short memory. This week I’ve upped my exercise and started running again. Not just that, I’ve signed myself up for a race to give me something to focus on. One bad day doesn’t mean a bad week, and even if I don’t lose at the scales, does it mean I’m going to be fat forever? No.
Using this logic, I’m trying to draw a line under yesterday and starting again today. I AM allowed to have fun once every few months with my soulmate. We work hard for that precious time. I did some housework as soon as I got up, and I’ve allotted an extra hour for working on my book this evening.
I’m only human.