Every day, every MOMENT, there is a choice. I can choose to be anxious, or to feel guilty, or to skip a tough workout, or to make myself feel badly if I'm too tired to do those tabatas. I can choose to eat when I'm not hungry, or to honor my body's signals. I can choose to swallow my anger/sadness/opinions so that someone else, usually someone who has no qualms voicing THEIR opinions and feelings, will not be uncomfortable.
And it does seem that the more ignorant the opinion, the louder its voiced. I can choose to remember that.
I need to remember that almost everything IS a choice. That whatever I obsess over-er-CHOOSE to focus on will be the outcome. If I keep telling myself I CAN'T lose weight, well, then,I'm going to sabotage all my hard work and, guess what: I'll be correct! If I stay in panic mode over all the things that have to get done in the next month, and all the stuff that MIGHT go wrong after we move, well, I'll keep procrastinating, stuff won't get done, and I'll give myself an ulcer.
This morning Hubby told me that there's no way his job at the VA will be made permanent. So he basically has 18 months to find another one. My first instinct, surprise, surprise, was to panic and start shrieking, in my head, that I HAVE TO FIND A JOB RIGHT NOW!!!!!!! One beyond the part-time job I already have. Then I started wondering how the hell I'm supposed to work full time AND take care of the kids. Then I got pissed, assuming that I, once again, would have to take on more and more until I was drowning in responsibility.
Until I got a text from Hubby (at work), telling me of some local places that are looking for admin assistants, and that he's going to update his resume and start sending it out. Which forced me to take a step back and wonder why,once again,I assume the worst. Why did I ASSUME he was going to be out of work again for a long time? Or that he would do a half-assed job of looking for work?
Because I always assume that I shouldn't expect the best of people, even the ones I love and who love me. It's my automatic, go-to response.
And that sucks! It does a HUGE disservice to my loved ones, and makes life sorta hellish.
When I first started teaching, I realized that the higher the bar I set for the students, the higher they would reach. And I think that translates here: expect the best, and you'll often get it. Especially from yourself. Not the snooty, cashmere-wearing, Grey Poupon-eating, "I only settle for the best" kind of thing, but the opposite of what I do now: That fatalistic, cute-when-Eeyore-does-it-but-annoying-in-everyone-else pessimism.
Finally, I'm realizing that, as I get older, PMS presents less ans less as hormone-induced weepiness and more hormone-induced rage. Which actually feels pretty good: kind of a Xena-Warrior-Princess-esque-don't-mess-with-me-or-I'll-mess-YOU-up deal.
And on that note, I'm gonna go try and have a nap. Teaching a class later, followed by ice skating with the fam. Have a great day!