Mindful meditation while eating my cereal. I almost always eat with the TV on in the background. If not the TV, then a book, or at the very least my phone. Today, I decided to just sit and eat mindfully. It wasn’t too bad…I just noticed my jaws felt a little sore from all the chewing!
20 minutes on the elliptical machine during my lunch break. 200 calories. Like I said, it’s not that hard getting myself to work out anymore. But, it’s definitely still a struggle while I’m doing it. I was going to do 20-30 minutes on the machine and after about 10 minutes, I decided instead to continue until I burned 200 calories. I wanted to stop many times, but I kept going and it really does feel pretty great to accomplish something you set out to do. Even if it’s just a small goal.
Last week, I asked a few friends what the word in their family would be to describe their childhood. One said “sheltered.” Another “unpredictable.” I couldn’t quite figure out what my word would be…then something came to me. I started writing about it, but didn’t quite finish. Here’s a rough cut:
I’ve been trying to figure out what the word in my family would be to describe my childhood…I think it’s “conditional.” I grew up knowing that my parents loved me unconditionally. They were very supportive and big fans of me and my brother. And I feel guilty even saying this, but if I really think about it…a lot of their pride and happiness with me was conditional. When I got an A. When I won some competition. When I was given an award. When I was accepted into this, that or the other. Not when I got a C. Not when I got a B. Not when I got in a car accident. Not when I decided I didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore. Not when I wanted to pursue a more creative path…wait. This last one, I never even tried because I was so afraid of the disappointment and badgering that was sure to come down on me if I were to ever mention such a thing.
My childhood was basically a series of if you did good, you were good. If you did bad, you were bad. Luckily, I was pretty good at most things I tried. My brother, on the other hand, wasn’t so fortunate. I’d see him getting beaten up (sometimes literally) for fucking up. Thus instilling in me a deeply subconscious knowledge that if I did bad, that is the kind of treatment I would get. This makes them sound like such monsters, but they were definitely on the better side of the spectrum when it came to parenting. I mean all parents do this. Most of them completely unknowingly. When a child breaks a glass or runs onto the street, the natural instinct is to scold them. Even if they’re just too loud. You tell them, they need to lower their voice…in that tone that lets them know that what they’re doing is wrong. It’s bad. I don’t think kids have the ability to discern between what I did is bad and I am bad. Consequently, we grow up thinking something’s wrong with us.
My parents loved me. They love me. They fuckin adore me. But they don’t really know who I am. They have no idea that I have problems with drinking. That I binge drink. That I wake up sometimes not knowing what the fuck I did for the past 6 hours.
Do not go out to drink.
I had dinner with a friend, but didn’t order any drinks. Still no cravings.
Do not eat garbage food.
Turkey Meatballs in a Pita with Tzatziki sauce and veggies