This morning, I’m sitting on our screened in porch, enjoying the fact that it’s Saturday, the sun is out, and it’s not too chilly to be outdoors. I’m excited to sit with my tea in a “Be Happy” mug I got from my Secret Santa last year and my two pieces of cinnamon raisin toast, lightly buttered, even though as an overweight 44 year old I shouldn’t be eating toast. I take the first delightful bite and a little voice inside me says “Ahhhh, how could you ever deny yourself TOAST?!” I continue to enjoy it.
I sit down and immediately feel something under me that shouldn’t be there. I reach between the cushions and it’s my husband’s key fob, which he’s been looking for for DAYS. I pop back into the house and proudly hand it over but as he thanks me I rush back outside and shut the sliding glass door. I’m eager to continue reading Glennon Doyle’s book Untamed, a book I have to consume in very small bites in the very small spaces between working, mothering, cleaning, wifeing, studying and worrying. It’s not time that gets in the way, though. It’s the flood of tears that start raging down my face like rain water rushing past a clogged storm drain – a powerful, moving mess that MUST keep flowing. I can’t be a hot mess crying all day – I have other things to do, and I don’t want the children to see me upset. SO. I read in slow, emotionally manageable bites, cry, put it down, and walk away.
I continue through the chapter she called “Imagination”. In it, she writes that women speak in the language of indoctrination (in should, shouldn’t, right, and wrong ) more often than we speak in the language of imagination which allows us to identify what’s beautiful and true. Recall that less than 5 minutes ago, I told myself that I shouldn’t eat toast, only to have some other voice tell me “oh yes, you should.” I start to cry. A lot. This is my indoctrination and my imagination showing up for me, and now I have the language to name it and a duty to bear it. I have battled my weight my whole life and let’s be clear, when a person ‘battles their weight’, what’s really going on is that we’re fighting with ourselves over things that have nothing at all do do with our weight. I have been at war with myself for a long time in that department and it’s goddamn exhausting.
I think about something I saw Tony Robbins do once and start asking myself this stream of questions about the tea and toast. There’s a reason I love them so much. What is it? I sit and think. My mind immediately takes me back to my grandparents’ kitchen and a stainless steel countertop where I see the hot pot of water my grandpa has set up as he did every day and a box of Lipton tea. I see my grandpa in his well-pressed short sleeved work shirt tucked neatly into his ‘work’ pants. He’s long been retired but he’s always so tidy, comfortable, and into his routine. I realize I am shorter than I am now in this memory – my eyes are only a head’s height above the top of the counter. I’m old enough to reach what’s up there and fix myself a cup of tea. I hear the toaster pop up and recall the softened butter grandma kept on the table and the guava jelly I actually wish I had right now. I sit down. This entire memory is like a soft, warm blanket wrapped all around me. I feel safe, loved, and everything is quiet. Why would I ever want to teach myself to not enjoy tea and toast on a Saturday morning? This moment feels sacred to me. I cry some more and take a sip of my fancier-than-Lipton tea and I write this down. I feel better and I’m ready to keep reading now. But instead, I decide to create a blog. I need a space to write.