 I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I work out four to five times a week. I regularly care for my mental, spiritual and emotional health. I go to bed right after Jimmy Fallon’s monologue every night and get plenty of sleep.
I am boring as hell. The only vices I have left are caffeine and sugar. I love good coffee and milk chocolate. Sometimes together. Up until recently, I had no reason or desire to give either one up. Then I had the brilliant idea to start working with a new personal trainer. Who promptly told me I had to give up sweets — and any added sugar — for four weeks. The rat bastard. So for the past 10 days, I have taken the sugar out of my coffee (I’m keepin’ the damn coffee, though), and the candy, ice cream and cake out of my diet. He has given me some pretty strict guidelines on what I can eat and when, and I have to report in several times a day via text message.
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 On my journey down the long and winding trail of self-discovery during the past five years, I’ve often heard the maxim, “You are only as a sick as your secrets.”
The sentiment behind such an exceptionally wise statement is this: if you’re living a life of deception on any level, you can’t possibly be a spiritually and emotionally healthy human being. And in my experience, unhealthy means real fucking unhappy, too. Fortunately, on my path to becoming a better person, I have been afforded many opportunities to unburden myself of all the major secrets that have kept me sick, through sharing them with my higher power (the ol’ HP) and others I trust who are on a similar journey. And what a gift that has been! I’ve tried very hard to live a good and honest life since my spiritual awakening, but I know I can always get better and be better. On that note, this week I’m joining a group of women who also want to be better in a study group of sorts. We’ll be reading, writing and sharing about a different core principle each week for the next 12 weeks. This week, the principle we’re discussing is honesty, so I’m spending some time delving a little deeper into what it means in my life today.  During the past few years (not coincidentally, starting around my 40th birthday), I’ve noticed that certain parts of my body have stopped cooperating with me as well as they used to.
Books, menus and my computer screen are a jangled blur without my drugstore reading glasses. If I work out vigorously and don’t stretch first, my back and legs scream at me for at least a week afterward. And I am terrified to stop coloring my hair because I just know it’s all gray under the blonde. Most recently, I was informed that my teeth are going to hell, despite my best efforts. OK, it’s not that bad… parts of my gums are receding. I think the condition is partially a result of genetics and not all my fault, because my mom has the same problem. But there are a few areas of my lower gum that are in pretty bad shape.  This post probably won't have my usual verve … I had a bit of a distressing weekend – one of my sweet little dogs had to be admitted to the animal hospital because of severe stomach problems that escalated to the point of uncontrollable vomiting and bloody diarrhea.
I have written in this space before how abnormally attached I am to both my dogs, so when Sammi Sue got so sick so fast in the space of two days, I was beside myself. And of course, children and dogs only need to go to the emergency room in the middle of the night, so I was awake for almost 48 hours straight. Stressed and emotionally raw much? I’m still recovering.  If you don’t know how to do something, find someone who does. Then ask that person for help.
This sounds ridiculously simple, I know, but it took me a lifetime to learn. Asking for help is uncomfortable for many — probably even most — grown folk. I used to believe that it was a very unattractive sign of weakness. I needed help, therefore I was needy. If I was not totally independent, then I was dependent, and that made me a lesser person. To truly earn the badge of adulthood, I had to know all the answers. Or some such bullshit. Thank God I came to my senses. I’ve been on a journey of self-discovery in recent years, and one of the key tenets of that journey has been learning humility. When I started my process of reinvention five years ago, it was pointed out to me that my self-concept had historically swung from one extreme to the other, sometimes on a daily basis. I was either up on my self-righteous high horse, better than everyone around me, or I was a piece of garbage hell bent on self-flagellation. There was no in between. (Turns out that the “in between” is where serenity lies.)  In less than 10 days, I’ll hit a milestone that officially will launch me into a brand new decade – my 40s. I will celebrate my 41st birthday on July 31.
Over 40. In my 40s. 40-something. Remember when we were kids, and that sounded so old? Yeesh. A lot has changed for me in the past year, and all of it has been good. And most of the changes have been deliberate, which is beyond cool. Last year’s 40th b-day was a big deal for me psychologically. Timing-wise, the second act of my marriage had just ended. The stress of that experience had literally sucked the life out of me, and I found myself at a crossroads. I’d been taking steps to improve my mental and spiritual well-being for a few years already – which is the ONLY reason I survived the end of the aforementioned relationship without medication -- but I had been neglecting my physical health for entirely too long. I’d also been limiting myself in other areas of my life, including my career. So on July 1st of 2012, I looked in the mirror and gave the sad, sallow 39-year-old in the reflection a stern lecture. I said, simply: “Girl, you have GOT to get your shit together.” And so I did. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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