Putting myself first

On the mirror in my bathroom it says, "Make yourself a priority." There are also various sticky notes in various places that say things like, "This appointment is just as important as every other you make," and "Commit to yourself."

And yet, it's really easy for me to think, Hi, you. the laundry needs to be folded and there is more wrapping and cleaning before mom gets here. Or, Mom is here! It's rude to go to the gym while she reads a book!

Yesterday, mom chose not to go to the gym with me, knowing I'd be gone for at least three hours (running, swimming laps, and then working with a friend plus a shower take up a solid chunk of time). It was her choice. When I texted my friend that Mom wouldn't be joining us she immediately said, "I don't want to take time away from your mom." and I get that. I don't want to take time away from my mom either. But the truth is, wherever I am, I have to be willing to put time into this process every day. If I'm traveling for work, I still have to try and eat right and get up early to exercise. If I go to India, which is a dream I have (and where one of my client's mothers apparently gives her head massages and brings her tea every morning, I recently found out), I will have to walk and make sure I get plenty of protein and vegetables. If I was at my mom's house, I would have to fight to find the time for cardio every day. So, if she's at my house, the same rules apply.

It took reaching down to pull up on my sense of personal responsibility and my desire to work on my goals to text my friend back and say, "I really want to swim. No one else is going to get my cardio done for me."

It feels . . . selfish to me to put myself first. It's a new experience. I've always been asked to put others first. As a caretaker in my family, my needs were always subservient to those of others, and expressing them was always received badly. And so that is the space I learned to occupy in the world. I see it in all my past relationships, in how work expands and fills more of my week than it should, in everything I've sacrificed to be where I am. Saying no is always hard for me, unless I'm saying no to the voice that says, "Get your workout done. And while you're at it, eat some broccoli instead of some popcorn."

But the truth is, no one will work out for me. My job will not take responsibility for the weight their crazy schedule and too-high expectations caused me to gain 4 years ago. My mom can't eat broccoli for me or take popcorn away from me. And if not everyone can understand that I can work out 6 days a week, 5-7 hours a week, and eat everything right, and still get minimal results, then the least I can do is to understand it and act on it. Compassion to myself means knowing the scale won't always move even if I do what I'm supposed to, but it also means lovingly getting my butt out of the seat and to the gym. Loving myself means forgiving the bowl of popcorn for dinner but also trying to do better the next day and pack my protein and veggie lunch to take with me on the road. Patience is a gift I can give myself by not judging how slow my results are, but also by planning for the long haul and knowing that taking the long view means owning that working out this much or more will be my life forever.

I have a lot of understanding, compassion, love, and patience to give other people. I tend to have endless supplies even when times may be really hard for me or when I may be angry with another person. I need to learn to apply some of it to myself. Because the truth is that if my metabolism and hormones fight even my best efforts, then putting in less than my absolute max will serve me not at all. And the other hard truth is that if things are this hard now in my 30's, my elder years will only get worse. Without work and discipline and giving myself enough love and time I could easily become a 500 pound woman that needs to be cut out of her house. I don't think I'm exaggerating to say that.

It took alllllllllll yeaaaaaaar to get to the point where my gym schedule orbits cleanly through my other obligations. Even now there are little hops and skips when I'm sick or traveling. The difference between now and a year ago is that now if the record skips, I know how to bring the needle back down to play through. A year ago, missing one workout usually was the beginning of a long string of missed workouts. Now I know that if it is missed I must get back up on the horse the next day before I find myself on a slippery slope, and ideally, "make up" the missed workout. (This is a little like doing extra-homework to catch up when I was out of school for pneumonia in elementary school.) My workouts now matter to me in a different way than they did. I know that without them I will feel less pleased with myself, regardless of the scale or my jean size. I know I will have more stress. I know I will tend towards more depression. I know what my workouts give me. Which is why there is also a sticky note in my house that says, "It will feel good AFTER you go." That is a true story. Before walking out the door, it'd be my pleasure to stay on the couch reading. After going to the gym I know I will feel more productive, happier, more energetic.

There's another result of working out: I have discovered it directly effects how well I eat. You'd think that working out and being hungry from it could lead me to fries and Cheezits, but it has the opposite effect. I come home from a work out determined to eat my brussel sprouts and chicken, and further, to plan and pack an awesome lunch for the next day. And here's the truth - while I could eat nachos and pizza all day long, I really do like brussel sprouts and chicken. So, if I know I like them, and feel better eating them, then why not do the thing that leads me to eat those things more and let go of the pizza and nachos. It turns out, shopping differently (ignore that Cheezits exist! There is no aisle 5!) and cooking the brussels and the chicken are just preliminary steps. The thing I really need to do is go to the gym and strengthen not just my lats and hamstrings, not just my core and abs, but also my resolve. So, I go. sometimes it feels like I'm dragging myself there by the ear, like a child who has sassed a crabby grandmother, but so be it.

So, I went to the gym yesterday, and it was so good to know I had done it and met my goals for the week. and as my mom naps on the couch this morning, I will continue to get ready to meet my trainer. It's what has to get done in order for everything else to line up as it should. I still have to make myself do it often, but I can see the day where it will make sense for it to be just as natural and expected as brushing my teeth. Off I go!