I don’t know where they come from.

I hate that it’s been so many days since I’ve written. Ya know, last week it didn’t even occur to me to write. The whole week just blinked by. I don’t even know where it went.

So much time was spent doing my normal routines and helping S with school work and–oh my god–L had a week long meltdown of meltiness.  And Chris worked all week. And R and I logged her four driving hours.

Suddenly it was Saturday morning and I realized I hadn’t written here, nor had I called my sponsor or done any step work. It was just school and badminton and icing my knee and driving shotgun and staying up too late watching Grey’s with R. Chris and I didn’t even manage time together til Wednesday. It was the strangest week.

There was one significant marker tho that struck Thursday. I took Mouse to the vet because he suddenly developed a huge lump on his neck. The doctor biopsied it and it’s cancer.

So, that sucks. My sweet Mouse. The lifespan of a rat is usually just a couple years. I’m blindsided a bit since he’s just 24 months old.

I brought him back home with antibiotics and a steroid. And we’ll spoil him til he seems uncomfortable or stops eating. Then I’ll take him back to the vet and let him go peacefully.

This week I commit to writing about where my head has been lately and what thought paths I’ve been treading recently. Stay tuned for clumsy greatness!


Sentiments, like shadows, grow.

I have a compulsion this morning to weigh myself. I know it’s just that–a compulsion.

I know the rational. It doesn’t negate the irrational.

Logically I know that, whatever the number on the scale, it isn’t indicative of my health or my progress or even really my weight. Logically.

I considered scratching the itch. I considered getting out the scale and just seeing and then I’d know and I could go about my day and I wouldn’t entertain it again.

But that’s not how compulsion works.  Because I weighed myself over the weekend. And that doesn’t matter at all to the voice in my head. In fact, it gives the voice fodder. You lost .6 pounds. The number went down! Let’s see if it went down more. I hope it didn’t go up. Do you think it went up? We should check. Maybe it went down to the next whole number. Let’s look.

I can hear these thoughts and not listen to them. I can choose that. It’s not easy. But it’s possible.

This morning, like every morning before I get out of bed, I felt my stomach. I noticed the thinner skin and the flatter mounds. I noticed how my ribs protrude a little more. I noticed how my pelvis juts beneath the skin and the area below my belly button each day feels a bit flatter and a bit more hollow. And I thanked my body for being strong and supporting me. For keeping me alive and safe. And I told it that I’m learning how to care for it properly and kindly and I hope it can see my progress. I thanked my body for showing me progress.

I do this every morning.

This morning that routine precipitated a desire to weigh myself. To see if the number validated the bones and muscles and curves of my body. Today that routine opened a door to allow the compulsive voice in. That’s okay. It doesn’t make it a bad plan. Honoring my body is a good thing. Navigating unexpected moments is good too. My constructive routine may have played a part in opening the door, but it presented me an opportunity, and I am able to choose to gently close the door with little to no damage.

I have a compulsion, but in this moment it doesn’t have me. So I’m not weighing myself. I’m not enabling the compulsion. I’ve put in years of work for this. To stay the course for this moment. To see all the things and let all the things just be. One foot in front of the other.