How good is good enough? I’m asking. Seriously. How good is good enough?
I went to 12-steps last night and a dear friend and amazing person [first time I’ve ever seen her there, but then I just recently missed 7 classes because of my stupid p.r.i.d.e — I’ll teach THEM a lesson and not show up! see here] [that was a long bracket explanation, so now, where was I? oh, yah,] was totally broken in two. She cried through the question she posed to all of us.
And, I posed.
Oh, I’ve known the answer a few times. I’ve been good enough on occasion. But seriously? It’s something I struggle with on a regular bases. My brain [or is it my heart?] knows for sure that I’m good enough. I know with every fiber that I’m a daughter of God. I know I’m a good person. I work hard. I plan ahead. I pay my bills and give whatever is left over to someone else in need. I share. I try to encourage others who are hurting. I do favors and serve. I drive my son to the airport. And help him clean his house and pack up things for his move to Laramie. [I’m sure any mother would do that, though.] I get my visiting teaching done every month. I ‘take in a meal.’ I attend the temple and church and am trustworthy and serious about performing my callings. I adore my grandchildren. [Oh, wait — I’m not sure that counts.] I get the laundry and dishes done on a regular basis. I keep the front lawn watered and mowed. [OK, I’m searching, here!] I have done my employer proud. I’m on five committees and I’m organized and responsible. I’m a leader, there.
I speak in Church when asked. I prepare other people’s talks when they speak in Church. [OK, now I’m just bragging . . .]
The point here is that it never seems like it’s enough. I rarely arrive at the conclusive feeling that I’m OK, that I’m enough. And it’s all because of ten stupid pounds.
I’ve often thought If I could just lose ten pounds, my life would be perfect!
Everything about me hinges on weight.
And I know that’s not right. My brain [or is it my heart?] knows that. I have value outside of my size. Outside of my waist measurement. [Dr. Oz says it should be half my height: I’m 63 inches tall so my waist measurement should be around 31.5 inches.]
My heart says [or is it my brain?] that I should be good enough even if it’s 32 inches. or 33. or 40.]
All I know is that two things that really shouldn’t have that huge of a connection are, in my case, inseparably connected in my view and value of myself. And that’s wrong. Just so totally-debilitatingly wrong.
But, I am sitting here, at the computer, all excited because I’m down a few pounds. Feeling like I might make it this time! [And it will be even more down after the big poo I am very conscious of .] And I’m feeling worthwhile [even though, most likely, temporarily] because I’ve exercised and I’m starting to feel that little bulge on the outer part of my triceps again. And I’m proud of the progress I’ve made this past week.
Why is that connected?
Why does that have to be connected?
My mother was the most valuable person I’ve ever known. My mother was everything. She is still everything.
My mother was four foot, nine inches. 57 inches tall on her tippy-toes. And her waist was [probably] about the same size.
My heart knows she was good enough. My heart adores her.
[Please understand I’m not asking for sympathy or re-affirming compliments or praise! I shriek [or is it shrink?] at even the thought of a pat and a ‘there-there, dear.’] [Please, if you read this and choose to comment do not write anything gushing! It makes me want to eat and then puke.] [I am NOT feeling sorry for myself, dang it!]
I’m just wanting to know how good is good enough? I’m asking. Seriously.
And will I ever feel that?
And the big hole inside of me. Will it ever fill up with good things? Or will I keep trying to stuff it with food, crafts, clothes, possessions, humor, nonsense?
I’m, seriously, hoping God reads blogs because I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who can answer this for me.