the beginning. again.

I downloaded a new app on my phone, called miCoach.
Couple that with myfitnesspal, and this girl's getting back into her fitness groove.

I decided to just start back at the beginning, instead of trying to pick it all back up in the middle, like from before I got pregnant.
Slow and steady wins the race, and loses those 15 pounds that are hanging out around my waist.

I still hate counting calories, and I still feel like a heifer when I run, but it's a start.
I'll get to where I want to go eventually, because I've done it before.
I've got a few dates in my head to motivate me to keep working out and watching what I put in my mouth. Plus, working out is my alone time now and Lord knows I can never have enough of that.

So for today, I am proud of myself.

And that, my friends, is good enough.

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is that all?

The green-eyed monster is creeping up again, with it's whispers of failure and imperfection and look-at-what-they-have.

Sometimes I just get so sick of fighting it that I decide to lay down and let it run me over.
Other times I decide to fight back and turn myself into the object that my green-eyes have found.

Neither option gets me where I want to be.

And then my only option is to run.
Run, run, run, right back to the Lord and pray hard that He can take away the longings and fill the fulfillings.

"It's not about happiness," I keep chanting to myself.
Except sometimes it is.
Sometimes it's all I want, and sometimes it's the only thing I can't have.

"Wait for the Lord;

Be strong and take heart, 

and wait for the Lord."

{Psalm 27:14}

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sifting and snatched.

I feel bad about everything.
When I remember anything, it's with this twinge of guilt or failure, because there is not one area of my life where I feel like I am succeeding or 'on top of things'.

I think of work, and it triggers an anxiety attack--"Is my only client going to fire me because I'm late with an order again?"

I think of my son, and it brings up what a crappy mom I've been for the past few days--putting the tv on and staying in the house because I cannot bring myself to do anything else.

I think about laundry, or cooking dinner, or my bathroom floor and I am overwhelmed with just how many chores there are that need doing, and how my house is so grossly dirty. I also think about all the natural cleaning products I have meant to make, and haven't gotten around to.

I think about the taxes I still have to print out and file, and the back payment we've got to make up somehow.

I think about friends, and how I've forgotten to answer emails or phone calls, not asking about hard situations or circumstances that I know they're in.

I think about my relationship with the Lord, and how He deserves so much more of my time and energy. I think of all the times I've chosen sleep or mindless internet activities over spending time reading my Bible.

I think of my husband, and all of the ways I've failed as a wife--all the difficult places in our marriage that I should be working on making better, not dredging up and making worse.

I think about myself, and how I've only been to the gym once last week, and all I've eaten today has been bread and sugar--and how on earth can I actually consider bringing another child into this world when I can't even handle the life I have now? To be honest, I feel like it wouldn't be fair to short-change another kid on having me for a mom. I mean, I'm such a royal failure now, how could I subject another human being to that--and probably worse?

I'm scared to push 'publish' and scared to let these demons out.
I don't know what to do with all of this--I don't know how to let it go. I know the standards I set for myself are impossibly high, but I don't know how to do otherwise.
I can't even have a breakdown on the kitchen floor without thinking about the time I'm wasting and all of the things I should be doing instead.
I mean, how long is too long to use, "I'm just having a hard time right now" as an excuse?
How many times can I blame my incompetence on my failing mental faculties and still have people believe me or give me grace? How long can I give myself grace?

I am so over this.

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