I hope I’m not alone in struggling with the urge to celebrate, especially when that urge comes at the wrong time. I realize it’s Friday morning and you might be thinking I’m talking about alternating cocktails and coffee drinking but I’m not. I’m talking about a different sort of celebrating.
Years ago my doctor at the time had me do a candida cleanse for a week and she recommended that I repeat the process every 6 months. Since then, I’ve started each new year many times in a place of deprivation. Because like many folks, I do like my sugar. This year is no different, although I’m doing a bit more of a challenging dietary change called Whole30.
I cut out lots of things from my diet in addition to sugar and within 2 days the scales showed the resulting loss of two pounds.
I peeked at the number, saw it was smaller, and immediately began fantasizing about buying “skinny” clothes and rocking a bikini. Yes, I suffer from premature celebration.
Because 2 pounds is just the tip of my ice berg and if I’d been able to resist the urge to celebrate the loss of a few pounds years ago, I’d actually have real cause to celebrate these days.
Or would I? I actually believe in celebrating every day. And the little bits end up making a big difference. The trick is to tamp down that urge to celebrate in ways you normally would. How many of us celebrate getting back into a favorite pair of pants by eating something we’ve deprived ourselves of? That kind of backward celebrating has kept me lugging around my son’s baby weight and he’s approaching 7 in a few months.
And our backward celebrating isn’t only a problem with dieting. We do it in all places in our lives. It seems that there is a wee bit of a self’-sabotager in each of us. If you don’t believe me, think back to if you’ve ever spent an entire day cleaning your house and swear you’ll never let it get that messy again, only to turn around and do it again a short time later. Every time I host a party, I scurry about cleaning like mad, then collapse on the couch after the guests leave, too tired to pick up all the rubble left over from the fun.
It seems as if I’m programmed to run on fast forward which exhausts me so much I collapse, then rally enough to make forward progress, only to do exactly what I shouldn’t and land right back where I started.
Such is my life. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go clean the house. I may be wearing a party hat and dreaming of smaller pants.