Counting Down…

137 days left.

I have to get myself on some kind of plan, or I’m going to be quite disappointed when I reach age 50 in December. Right now, I weigh the most I have since right before my hysterectomy at age 38. Actually, if the scales are telling the truth (which, unfortunately, they usually are), I weigh more.


So, it’s time to get a game plan going here. I need an overhaul. A complete overhaul — mind, body, and spirit. That means, I’m going to have to get serious and focus, which is often hard to do because there are so many shiny, neat things out there to distract me from my purpose. And ice cream. And comfy couches. And exciting new projects.

This is going to be a challenge, and I’m going to need some support. And some ass-kicking. I’m going to have to make some decisions that require me to let go of some things I had wanted to take on as projects – it’s time to figure out which of those will best serve my goal… and which need to be packed away for another time.

I’m a bit unsettled about this but know it needs to be done. My life and my health in this next chapter of life depend on it.


Besides, when December 10 rolls around, I want to be able to KICK… STRETCH…and KICK, just like Sally O’Malley. Hell, I might even buy myself an outfit and purse just like hers to wear that day.

She’s my heroine. I just love her so. 



Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ on…

“Come on over, baby… whole lotta’ shakin’ goin’ on…”
I’m sure Jerry Lee wasn’t quite thinking of me when he was writing this song.

But he’s describing me to a “T” of late.

You see, I have generalized anxiety disorder.
Actually, I’ve had it for at least 7 or 8 years.
The way I used to describe it was “feeling stuck.”
Oh, you didn’t realize I had it?  Well, that’s because I try very hard not to let on that I do.

This constant internal feeling of shaking — “buzzing” like I have a cellphone in my pocket,
chest heavy and tight…throat, arms, and shoulders tense.
Twenty-four seven.

Afraid to go to sleep at night for fear of another panic attack, constant worry about the safety of my husband (a law enforcement officer) and whether or not I’ll see him walk through the door at the end of the day, trying to navigate the murky and often uncharted waters of (step) parenting a ‘tween and a teen, and wondering if the aches and pains I’m having are signs of something even more worse — like a stroke, brain tumor, MS…

Why can’t I be in more control of my body and mind?
Where the HELL did this come from?
I’m ashamed… and I’m angry.  And exhausted.

I’m in week three of seeing a counselor.  I believe it’s helping.
The counselor says it could get worse before it gets better.

Awesome, huh?  Can’t wait.

In the meantime, I’m trying to grab onto any little bit of hope I can find — Louise Hay, Nick Ortner, Dr. Bruce Lipton, Doreen Virtue. EFT/Tapping.  Mindfulness.  I took my first yoga class last Saturday.  My chiropractor is helping to bring relief to my neck and back/posture issues.

I’ll bet you’re thinking, “Why isn’t she taking meds?”
Here’s my answer.

It’s about control… or the loss of it.  I can’t explain it, but after listening to those pharmaceutical commercials with all the horrible side-effects that, to me, seem to far outweigh the benefits, well, I’d rather find an alternative solution.  I don’t want to take meds simply to “mask” the symptoms.

I want to be able to get to the “root” of the problem that’s causing the anxiety in the first place.

It ain’t fun, people…it truly sucks.
Can anyone out there relate to this?