Yep, still here. Sort of. I mean, it's been awhile and I don't expect blogging to pick up on my list of priorities anytime soon -- but I do still expect to stop in and say something every so often. Probably just often enough to make sure I'm talking almost only to myself. But there are benefits to that.
Anymore I mostly use my writing time (a.k.a. the girls' naptime) to work on my novel. Which is great. I love it when I work on my novel. But just lately, I haven't been doing nearly as much of that as I have been working on my history as a compulsive eater. Today, 7,000 words later (yes -- 7,000; well, give or take a few hundred) I've finally sent it off to my sponsor and this afternoon I can't remember how to get into character enough to work on my novel.
This is only the very beginning of Step One -- for those of you in the dark, there are 12 Steps to the program of recovery from compulsive eating through Overeaters Anonymous (and let's just call this my online coming out party...) And I am anxious, a little, about how I am going to continue to work the steps and get any further with my novel. Especially in the holiday press of shopping, crafting, partying (I'm turning 40 in three weeks), wrapping, celebrating, etc. And, maybe I'm just not going to get any farther right now. And maybe, for right now, that's okay. Right now -- as in this very minute -- it's okay. But ask me in another ten and the answer might be different.
The thing is, over the last year it has become increasingly clear to me that I need help managing not just my eating but my thinking about my eating, and all the ways that the shame I feel about how I've eaten gets between me and the people I love most in the world. Especially with Skip and the girls, but also with my friends and family. And it's totally and uncomfortably humbling, but it's not a bad thing to ask for and get help. Mostly it's a reminder that all I'm supposed to be is a human being, which is to say: not perfect. Any other standard I hold myself to is destined to result in shame and misery because it is written into my very dna that I am and will always be flawed in simple and complex, common and unique ways.
I can't become perfect. I can, however, work on being kind, respectful, responsible, and honest with myself about the ways I am imperfect. And I'm really grateful for whatever gift of grace has brought me to the place that I understand that and am -- for today -- on that path. I'm hopeful this path will actually help my novel eventually. I believe it will.
For today, it apparently is going to help my blogging frequency, too.
Here's to a happy Thanksgiving for everyone. Yay, Obama!