It feels good (to know you love me for me)

E-J oh E-J has done it again.

I’ve been thinking a lot about motivation. Like, why change what I’m doing?

And I don’t think just thinking of all the negatives is great motivation. Lose weight because you can’t hike a mountain. Don’t eat pancakes because sugar comas feel like shit.

There has to be some sort of immediate reward for doing it different. Pavlov and his dog, ya’ know.

So I talked to my therapist about it and she says it should feel good to make better, healthier choices. Like, only eating half the pancakes and still being able to create coherent sentences should feel good.

And I had no idea what she was talking about.

Choices? Feel good?

I only know how to badger myself.

Which I thought was a joke until the next day when I went to a spin class.

See, after my therapy session, I decided to go old school/elementary school and create myself a sticker chart. Yeah, like we give to THAT kid to encourage good behavior. My sticker chart is to encourage me to notice when it feels good to make good choices. Drink some extra water, get a sticker. Eat healthy, get a sticker.

Yeah, it’s really simplistic, but apparently it’s what I need. Because apparently, I am incapable of finding the good in some situations.

Which brings us back to spin class.

This was my second time going. The first class is a whole other story full of embarrassment. There’s enough embarrassment in this story for now.

My friend invited me to try a cycle 101 class. I guess you don’t even call it spin anymore. Whatever.

It was supposed to teach you some basics–go at a bit slower pace.

About halfway through, I am realizing I suck at rhythm and that I am about to puke.

And you’re all clipped into the bike and being that it’s only my second class, I can’t freaking get out of my clips to go hurl in private. So TWO, that’s right, TWO different people who work there are trying to help me get unclipped.

I finally escape to the bathroom and try to cool down. I’m splashing water on my face, walking it off. And some dude who works there is outside the ladies restroom hollering at me, “Are you alright?” A couple of minutes later: “Do you need a cold towel for your neck?” And a couple of minutes after that: “Are you sure you don’t need a towel?” I’ve been telling him I’m fine. But this finally got an annoyed, “Really, I’m ok,” out of me.

Can’t a girl just puke in peace?

Well no puking occurred, but my friend did come in and check on me. I felt so bad she’d left her workout.

But we both go back in and finish it out.

Yay me.

Right?

Wrong. I go home and stare at my sticker chart, telling myself all the good. I worked out, I tried something new, I got back on and finished instead of just quitting.

But I can’t seem to put that sticker on my chart.

Because all I really hear is, “Yeah, but you really fucked that one up. How embarrassing that you had to walk out.”

And that folks, is the whole fucking problem.

Maybe it sounds small, but multiply that response by EVERYTHING I do in my life.

I am a child, with a sticker chart, learning how to feel good about myself.

Even when it isn’t perfect. ESPECIALLY when it isn’t perfect. Cuz when is it ever perfect.

My husband looked at my chart and said “That’s not something someone who is ok needs. You’re starting from square one.”

And I said, “I think I’m weaving the mat I can stand on at square one.”

It may be dramatic, but I have this sense that I have never actually had a strong foundation. Ya know, what do they call it? Oh yeah, self esteem.

I never had a strong one of those.

So when the shit hit the fan and I was a new “sucky” mother with a dying mother-in-law, who kept not being able to show up to her job, and then got a new job that was impossible to be good at…

I just crashed right through. Because there was no foundation there to catch me.

So I am a child, with a sticker chart, building a foundation.

One good feeling at a time.