put on your big-girl panties

I don’t know. My daughter is nagging me to post. She says I did so well for the first month, and half of the second month. It’s now been ten days without writing and I can’t post a decent post! I’m down on me [again]. This time with good reason. I am such an idiot. I’m so annoying and so irritating. I’m forgetful and repetitive. I’m just plain doddery and getting as useless as an old broken-down horse.


Why all this petty, self-loathing, self pity? [Well, I’ll just tell you . . .] I just got back from a family reunion and I feel crappy about most of it. I made a fool of myself on so many occasions that I, a lifetime COUNTER of everything from lines and squares and light fixtures, and fence posts, and details [like chandelier teardrops] in temples, and levis going in the washer, and then coming back out again [I mean really, I KNOW washers eat socks, but never levis! — so why do I count them? One time I was annoyed at a co-worker and counted all the drips that his broken garbage made on my commons floor and then proceeded to tell people that there were 109 drips on the floor for Pete’s sake!] [like they care!!!!]

I digress.

Anyhoo, I was saying. I, a lifetime counter, even lost track of how many times I made a total moron of myself. I’m especially horrified about when I tried to share a few of my personal thoughts with family members in our Sunday meeting. I truly am horrified at the pathetic and idiotic [oh, see, I’m repeating] things that came out of my mouth. I felt embarrassed. I am ashamed.

My ‘nurturing me’ — the one with occasional and limited common sense [whose age seemingly fluctuates between about 6-years-old and perhaps twelve, but somehow has my best interests at heart and usually attempts to foster me . . .] — says, “So you’re an idiot. It’s not the end of the world. Don’t go gaining a ton of weight over it! Things will be alright.” My ‘insecure-mean self says, “Wow, you really blew it. Instead of waltzing in there all cool and trim and firm and suave and savvy and full of relevance and value, [like you planned for the past three months!] you pretty much proved, instead, how insignificant and ancient and boring you really are. You sabotaged your, so called, journey to b.e.t.t.e.r health plan for the two weeks immediately before the reunion, you haven’t exercised for as many days, and you are way past prime, honey, so why don’t you just give up the masquerade! You were heaving and puffing and sweating and ridiculously lame and practically pre-Alzheimer’s.” [Admittedly, not very nice self-talk! I have similar on-going conversations inside my head all day long!]

My ‘nurturing me’ says back to ‘insecure-mean self “So, put on your big-girl panties and get over it!”



“Just start a new day, look for the best in people, give yourself a hug, pray for those with heartache, be grateful for all you have, enjoy special moments and appreciate extraordinary friendships,” ‘nurturing me’ continues in a rare, but exceptional moment of clarity.

I love clarity.

4 thoughts on “put on your big-girl panties

  1. tracy

    Well, you must have had a totally different experience of “you” than I had of you. I loved, really loved, your thoughts on Sunday. I have always loved hearing your testimony. It has given me strength, hope, and courage for YEARS! I remember as a youth sitting in Sacrament meeting yearning for Steve Isom, Brother Levine, and YOU, my mom, to bear their testimonies. I felt all the world was safe, all was well, if those three still knew that God lived and that He loved us. If they didn’t tell me each month, then I would fall apart, wondering if I could make it. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and for being your wonderful, delightful self. I love you.

  2. Holly

    Dorothy I love reading your blog. You have such a way with words. No more beating yourself up, you are a very special person!

  3. weighingmatters

    Holly, Holly. You are sweet. I just can’t give myself a break, I guess, because I can’t seem to lose seven stupid pounds. I don’t know how I can lose 36 pounds one year, and promise myself and everyone else in the world that I will keep it off, then inch back up a couple of pounds a month until I have 20 pounds to lose again. And then struggle and sabotage and eat junk [literally] until I feel morose and ill-natured and grumpy, which makes me eat, etc. etc. I want off this ride!

    It will get better. Just ignore me.

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