Tomorrow I will be 53. If you’re at all familiar with Dr. Seuss, you know that the Grinch was 53 when he stole Christmas. With his Grinch feet ice cold in the snow.
And you know, I’d like my heart to feel not so tight. I just got word earlier this week that I am, in fact, one of Those People. It seems that I have a pesky condition known as leaky gut, which is kinda gross. The chronic, toxic stress I experienced resulted in little food particles coming out of my stomach and into my bloodstream. Weird and gross. And it has left me with food allergies. Dairy. Wheat. Soy. Eggs. Leaving me with salted cardboard, looks like. Only watch your salt.
I’m on day 17 of the Whole 30, thinking I’m a star- it’s only for 30 days, right? It will reset everything and take my body to new heights of health. So I am whiny and in mourning of food. As a grown ass woman I get that I have to take responsibility for my vessel, but as a former kid I’m wanting what I want, and as Bonnie Raitt says, “I don’t want anything to change.” This requires thought, planning, and explanation. Which annoys me. And others.
I’ve spent my life doing hard things. Single motherhood, cancer, physical fitness instruction, non-profit work, divorce, blended families, extended family living. And now I have to do this “me” work.
…Hang on… I’m looking for the lesson here…
With knowledge comes power.
When we know better, we do better.
I have tools to work with this.
Come to think of it, I realize that I have identified with my persona maybe too much. Carby Spice. I don’t know what, beyond carving the Roast Beast, the Grinch did for the next ten years, but I will imagine that he went on to have grandchildren and a ridiculously gorgeous garden, took better care of Max in his declining dog years when he was apt to pee a tablespoon at a time, wore warmer slippers, enjoyed his morning coffee with coconut cream instead of half and half, and made new memories from a better place.
Happy birthday, me! Schmear some sunflower butter on that cardboard.