We’re attending a family wedding soon (which I am super excited about!), but I had the sudden realization last week that I have nothing to wear. Here, I’ll prove it. “Let’s do the numbers”, as they say on the radio: after 7 years of trying to loose weight, 4 years of marriage, 2 pregnancies, 2 twelve-ish month periods of nursing a wee babe, 3ish diets, 1 gym membership, 562 bad clothing purchases, 24 excellent shoe purchases (because any shoe purchase is, by definition, good), 5 bins of clothing that may never fit again, 1 walk-in closet of clothing that fits poorly, and, and, and, … and 3 “ands” worth of not even knowing what to say or how to act or what to wear for 5 years, I have concluded that loosing weight is a myth. Furthermore, it’s a disease of our minds whose symptoms include vain hopes and 3 years of buying poor quality,”temporary” clothing until “I loose weight again and can get back to the clothes I wore when I was 25, which was 10 years ago but not in MC years. In MC years that’s, like, 2 months. So it’s totally worth it to wait to wear real clothing until then.” Continue reading
Don’t get me wrong, I easily sit down, take a load off, and get lost in Pinterest. But I am afraid of this. I just realized this fear when, arms full of clean laundry, I remembered that I needed to do one more thing in the laundry room. I hesitated in indescision way too long. If I put the cloths down in our basement family room where our cozy-est chair resides , I worried, I would sit down to fold them after my laundry room errand, and never get up again. If I didn’t put them down and get my hands free to check stains in some other laundry, I would “never get anything done”. That “getting stuff done” mindset is a whole other topic. For now, I simply want to report that this fear of sitting down has been discovered!
And I figured out the source. There’s this scene in Zola’s L’Assommoir (1877) where the main character, a successful, hard working woman who owns a laundry facility, sits down at work. The novel centers around this event as the sole cause of a slow, painful, really tragic decline of the entire family. Something about how, that first time she takes a load off, she allows herself to progressively get more lazy and disinterested, if I remember correctly. Somehow, I project this story on myself and feel that if I sit even once when I should be doing something else, I will disintegrate into a pudgy couch potato while my family rots around me.
Full disclosure, I am sitting as I write this to you. I plan in standing up in a minute, but I am not confident in my ability to do so. If I am still here tomorrow, send help!
I used to want to “have it all together”. That is: wherever I am to be prepared, well fed, well dressed, well informed, and witty to boot. Further, I wanted to appear to others to “have it all together”. I truly cared what others thought of me, and I wanted it to be based on external appearances. It’s a standard I often hear touted for moms, whether they work outside or inside the home. Without realizing it at the time (from about age 17 into my thirties), I strove like a Pharisee to clean the outside of the cup while assuming the inside would follow suit. Or maybe I thought that if I exhibited “having it all together”, I would gain accolades, and then be happier. Continue reading