In a mood

Posted this on Facebook yesterday—made it myself : ) Yesterday I actually also made myself that kind of smoothie, departing from the usual, based on stuff I've been reading in the Conscious Cleanse book (I am taking the book with a grain of salt, as a whole, but there are some useful points). I felt amazing after drinking it, for real. I got a flash of sun and air when I took out the trash, too, and was immediately compelled to go for a run, when minutes before I'd been kind of lumbering around expecting to do yoga in the basement. It was powerful.

(Hold on, being interrupted by kid now who wants to show me a book she just made and feel like I do actually have to stop what I am doing and pay attention. This is my life...)

Anyway, the day yesterday had its ups and downs, but overall was OK. I did my run, I ate healthy the whole day. I took my kid to the library and the nature center (which included a mini-hike in the woods). I made a perfectly lovely and healthy meal for my family—ginger-garlic wild salmon and veggies with brown rice. Read lots of stories to my kid and fell right to sleep with her.

Then, I was supposed to wake up and go spend some time with my husband. But I just didn't want to get up. We were supposed to have sex. It's been a while—over a week. He's been sick. But last night I was just flooded with such exhaustion, I didn't really know why. I tried to figure out why, in addition to being so physically tired I felt awkward and weird about having sex (I sometimes feel this way other times) and gravitated toward the fact that so many women and raped, bullied, abused—in the U.S as well as all over the world. And that in television, movies, even music, sex is portrayed as something I can't really say I like. Lots of domination, violence, women made to look very typecast either as just pretty and empty or sexy and dangerous, I can't pinpoint it, but it goes on and on (my husband, I think, thinks I am crazy, as I tried to explain this to him yesterday and he thinks maybe I consume too much media—and he may be right, but his focus was on the serious rape media, not the cheesy mainstream media that might actually be the problem).

(Hold on—just ran outside twice. The first time to ask my husband why he was taking the crappy car on his outing today when he could be taking the nice car, with heat and a decent stereo—me and the kid weren't going anywhere this morning. Whatever. Then, after coming back inside and noticing he left his credit card on the table, I ran back outside AGAIN, I ran all the way down the block in the street screaming at him, hoping he would notice so he would have his card. If we were normal people who BOTH had cell phones, I could just call him up—I guess that's another story. But, yeah, this is my life...)

So I woke up this morning generally OK. I woke up in bed with my kid. I started in the bed I share with my husband, but I went to bed before him (remember, I was exhausted) but my kid woke up sometime around an hour after I'd drifted to sleep (and it was a really, nice relaxing sleep I'd been in) to pee and I don't know, when she wakes up to pee, I guess I am programmed from when she woke as a baby to go lay down in her room with her, so I did. So we woke up together and we cuddled and she took me through the multiple "I love you mommys" and "You're the best mom evers" and I returned her admiration, sincerely, looking at her beautiful, beautiful face with its big green yellow eyes (almost the same as mine, but darker), marred only by one slightly pink eye from a little cold. She tells me she "just wishes we could get a cat now" (we cannot, my husband is allergic, she will have to wait til she is on her own)..."I wish I could make a big dinosaur" and she means like a larger-than-human-size structure she can go in, replacing her previous desire for a large, walk-in, "hippo robot" she wanted to make before, this new idea prompted by one of the books we read last night.

(Hold on another interruption..."I wish I had glitter..." said in a long, wistful whine...to which I reply, "No. I am not getting you anything or doing anything for you now. I am writing and having my coffee, then doing my exercises and making my breakfast and then, only then, will I do things with you, get things for you or play with you. You have a house full of toys. Go play with your dollhouse, build with your legos, play with your tiles, your k'nex...anything. I am not getting you anything right now... She had now moved on to playing with some tangrams blocks repeating 'Theo, Theo, pumpkin Leo' again and again, then asks me if I like what she is building...)

As I was saying, I woke up generally OK. Most always happy cuddling with my child and seeing her beauty, being grateful for her health, my health, the warm house. But there is that pink eye of hers. I will have to put drops in it from the last time she had it back in November. It's always a struggle. Who likes having something put in their eye? I like doing it even less than she likes getting it, though. And the struggle marks the bad turn for the day.

As I get up to get the medicine and face the day, and the tasks ahead—make breakfast, hope she will eat it, continue to hear and try to follow a barrage of demands for play and supplies, maybe get some client work done, while my husband lumbers around, hopefully playing with her a little bit, as he often nicely does, but leaving messes and getting in the way, too...and I just become overwhelmed with the sense that I don't really get to have a lot of fun or freedom in my life. I bitch and moan. I slip into a really bad mood really quickly.

But now, of course, typing this, I feel like an ass. "I don't get to have a lot of fun or freedom...? Really?" Asshole! Seriously.

(Mommy! I thought we were going to play dress-up dolls!—I am not making this up...)

Seriously, though? This is what I tell myself: "Bitch, you have a motherfucking DAY OFF. And every day is kind of a day off for you right now since you work in yoga pants and each nachos at all hours of the day (that latter bit is changing) watching Girls (or Cosmos, as your intellectual level fluctuates). Anyway, you have a day off today because your big client is off and so they won't be emailing you with stuff. You basically can do what you want all day everyday and so if, intermittently, you have to answer your child's request or pick up after your husband and then suck his cock at night, you better just do it and like it. You know, some women have to walk five miles dodging militant rapists just to get murky water for their starving children to drink? So, STFU."

OK, going to play dress-up dolls now. Hopefully I will get that workout in shortly after. I will, too, be interested to see my husband's reaction when he comes home from his errand and I tell him (and child corroborates) how I ran down the street waving his credit card and screaming.

Identifying feelings

Part of my meditation and mindfulness training involves recognizing a feeling you may be having and letting yourself feel it. I am doing that, but the feeling I have right now is so intense, I'm compelled to record and try to analyze it, at least just a bit.

I just dropped my kid off at school. I have the "nice car" today, so I should feel a little happier. I suppose I do, but I still feel a strong sense of anxiety. I feel a tightening in my chest and a seed of sadness right above my belly. I have this awful sense of loss I have most days when I drop my child off at school. I've cuddled her upon waking, talked to her, cuddled her some more. All this cuddling might sound weird, but I assure you, it's not, just basic mom cuddling, a hug, a squeeze. But I notice things. I smell her hair, my face feels the softness of it. I am very aware of the feel of her small, soft-skinned, so new hand in mine. This hand that draws so much, plays so much. Always with marker inks on them.

I am so scared of moving on. I am so scared of the days where I drop her off then have to rush off to an office, not seeing her at 1:20 or 3:50 (still so long), but maybe by 6:30. I know that is ridiculous. I know it would probably be better for me to rush off to an office than sit around here all day doing just little bits of work amidst my emptiness. I know it would be good to fill my day with someone else's bullshit and get paid for it. I have to let go of the fear. I'm afraid of work becoming untenable. Taking over. I want to post this article about the need for flexible work schedules, on Facebook, but I am afraid of future employers seeing it and seeing me as a less than dedicated worker—even though I do think the job I potentially have lined up (several months away) will probably be fairly flexible.

Let's see. What else am I afraid of? I am afraid of doing the workout I know I have to do. I am afraid of feeling the pain. Afraid of facing that I am not what I once was, while being nagged by the idea that I could be what I once was, and better, if I only pushed myself. This one's easier—just do it, as they say. Maybe the exertion will push out the anxiety—the endorphins Jackie Warner will talk about at the end of it. Then I go get my haircut. Then I volunteer at the school. I will just take it one step at a time.

Fucking off, just one more day

So yesterday and today I was a total lazy fucking loser. I ate a lot for pleasure and watched lots of TV. I've been doing a Girls marathon. After seeing (being reminded of...I'd heard of her before, certainly) Lena Dunham on the Golden Globes and thinking, ugh, she is so awful, what is the appeal?, and then finding out I could get season one on Amazon instant, I bit. Thing is, I actually like the show. I feel like since I am so old, so removed from these people, I don't really have to relate to them, I can just be entertained. I do actually like some of the characters (not so much the Lena Dunham character, she just seems so desperate and wrong). It feels not wholesome to watch it, somehow, maybe it is because the characters themselves don't seem particularly healthy, and I will say, I felt better when I was watching Cosmos.

Anyway, I can only do this one more day (today) before I worry about myself. I worked a lot last week and had this hard thing with the husband this weekend and so I feel like it's OK if I fuck off a day or two, but yeah, halfway through day two I start to worry. Why isn't my boss/client emailing me with shit to do? (So I email her.) Am I ever going to be able to go back to work full-time in an office and survive after all this lazy hanging around at home? (Even when I log a lot of hours, I am still at home.) Will I ever get over missing my daughter? Will I ever get my act together and lose those last 20 pounds?

Well, I have to. I want to be one of those really fit older women. And I have to get my act together on the other stuff. And I will. Tomorrow. (I will actually work out today, though, even if it is just a walk in the woods I've still got that.)

Also, I love the Grumpy Cat. It exemplifies how I feel about many things. Yes, I am overall a happy person, but that cat says it straight, things I can't say.

Sorting out conflict

All day long I have to look out the window at this car. The 17-year-old car that I consider "my husband's." The car with the ceiling cloth torn down with the foamy black bits of chemically-infested whatever crumbling. The car, that, though I consider my husband's, I am the only one who ever cleans and organizes. I have a certain admiration for this car. It's still running after all these years. He drove me places in it when we were dating. We drove to New Jersey together, to the beach. We drove to New York City together. It should mean something nice. It should be a happy thing to see. Right now, though, it's a sign of meanness, a trick, a hard lesson someone wants to teach someone they're mad at. It hurts to see the car.

I'm not a big airing-your-dirty-laundry kind of person, but I'm writing about  a recent conflict to try to make myself move on, feel better...somehow sort it out for myself. Laying out the details of the most recent incidents will create something that may sound petty and ridiculous, but I am going to do it anyway.

I think my husband is controlling, dominating and manipulative—though not a bad guy. I know that sounds very funny. There are all kinds of statistics showing overall what total dicks men are to women. I've been hit by my dad and hit by an ex-husband. So, that fact that my husband tends to get what he wants and does what he wants and I end up feeling like what I want is just really not that important, well, intellectually I understand it's just not something to end an marriage (with a child) over, or get too worked up about. Once in a while, though, I do get worked up. I act out. I can't take one more instance of feeling like I don't matter that much and I blow. Then I feel bad, I apologize, saying "Well, there was a lot of truth to what I said about you controlling everything and making me feel like I don't matter, but I shouldn't have called you those names and yelled at you like that..." and things just move on...and don't really change.

I had plans to go to a "girls night out" (GNO) on Saturday. Meanwhile, we also caught wind and got the idea of a beer I had liked being on tap at the local Whole Foods that has taps and a grill and I had the craving and idea that this beer would go really great with a sandwich they serve, and couldn't we go there for lunch? He agreed and acknowledged, well, we don't do what you want or your ideas that much, sure, let's go. But then he got wind of a beer he wanted that would be tapped later, once a certain other one (not the one I wanted) was kicked. So, he wanted to wait til the beer guy posted on Facebook that the other beer was tapped too. I was a little thrown because I didn't want to go too late and have the nice lunch be right on top of the GNO dinner (which was early).

Now, I'm not super big on the GNOs anyway. I like the people well enough, but we're not super close. Sometimes I even feel a little awkward, but I like to go out in this way now and then because I feel like it's a normal and healthy thing to do. Even if I'd rather just stay home with my family because it's easier and I like them, I push myself to do these GNOs. I have to say my husband doesn't really encourage me to do them, either, while he doesn't explicitly discourage them, he never says "Oh, yeah, go out and have a great time! You deserve some fun!" Never would say that. He'd rather I didn't do anything. He doesn't feel like he "needs" friends outside our relationship, but he goes out now and then, I think for the same reasons I try to. I don't think he really feels its as important to psychological health as I do, though. And I don't really feel like the dynamic of our relationship holds him back the way I feel held back.

Anyway, he just insisted we wait and wait and wait for his beer to come up. I decided to bail on the GNO. I really wanted my beer and sandwich combo and felt like just hanging out with my family would be fun, too. But we waited and waited and waited til finally we couldn't wait anymore and it became an early dinner instead of lunch—and the beer I wanted was no longer on tap. I got screwed. He was only sorry because I bitched and moaned and he made a bunch of excuses of how it wasn't his fault, blah blah blah. If we could have just gone at a normal time like we were supposed to and he didn't put his desires over mine, I would have gotten what I liked (which he had previously acknowledged would have been special and rare...) So I was miffed. But we carried on.

Another piece of the conflict was that had I gone on the GNO, he'd brought up wanted to go to this Whole Foods maybe just with our daughter. I didn't want him to do this. I didn't want him to take the crappier car on the highway with her not in her best carseat and I didn't want him to be minding her and driving even having had just one drink because the beer can be strong and I believe he is a less adept caregiver and driver than I am sober or slightly buzzed. I've always been "the primary" with our daughter. I haven't minded, really. I love her to the extreme. I loved breastfeeding her, sleeping with her (still do when I can). I loved being home with her. There is a whole now in my life I am trying to fill with her in school all day. Still, I think there are many ways he could have contribute that he chooses not to. I am 99 percent of the time the disciplinarian. I am the one who registered her for school. Who makes sure the homework gets done. Who makes her special meals when she won't eat what we're eating. I am the gift shopper. I am the doctor appointment maker. I am the one who knows where the lost toys are. These, of course, are natural things that might fall to the stay-at-home or work-at-home mother, but as the child gets older, someone who wanted to do more to help could take it upon themselves to do it. He's not all bad, just not as "on" as I am to the point where I'm not super comfortable with him going lots of places with her. (OK, as I type this, I am realizing I am sounding maybe like the controlling one, so that's maybe something I need to explore...)

I wanted to take the nice car to the GNO so I could feel more special. It's a newer car and it makes me feel nice to drive it. The nice car kind of has defaulted to "mine." I know it's both of our cars, but he usually takes the crappy one, since he only drives a couple miles to the train station each morning. Also, he chooses to take the crappy one when he goes out to rock shows in the city because he thinks it's so much smaller than the nice one and so much easier to park. He even insists on taking the smaller, crappy car when we go on dates to the city—again, so much easier to park, allegedly. So he never seems to mind driving this crappy car...until I express a strong desire to drive it, or he comes upon a way to make it some kid of bargaining chip.

We've argued about the car before. He knows that I love the car and feel special driving it. (By the way, it's not some super luxury car, it's a 2006 RAV-4, but compared to the other car, it's just lovely.)

So, I'd bailed on this week's GNO, I'd missed the beer and sandwich combo that I wanted, and I get an email about the next GNO so mention that to my husband. I tell him I'd really feel better if he just stayed home with our daughter or only went somewhere close by with her in the crappy car. I wouldn't be able to relax and have fun worrying about them. He'd previously said I was weird and had irrational fears about this and I told him that he is weird in his own way and I have to accept it, I do accept it and so he was to accept little ways I am weird too. But he pushed back and pushed back and pushed back.

He wanted to be able to do what he wanted to do. He doesn't see that he's not as good and on-the-ball taking care of her as I am. When I try to explain to him, he just thinks he's right. I tell him that it's part his way, part that I'm not comfortable with them driving the rickety, old car with the second-rate car seat that far. I'd be OK with it just going a couple miles. I know that scientifically those opinions may not be valid, but its how I feel and I feel like I ask for so little, he should accept and respect it. He was fairly obstinate, though. We dropped it. He took a shower. I thought about it. I'd swallow my pride and not be so materialistic and I'd just drive the crappy car to the next GNO—a dinner party at the million-dollar home of one of them. I'd previously thought I'd feel bad, showing up in the jalopy, but then thought, who would actually see me in the car? And, I care more about my kid's safety than my looking cool in a cool(er) car. So I told him, you know what, I'll just take the crappy car to the GNO. But he cut me off and said, no, no, you can take the nice car on your night out, but I'm going to take it every day to work.

What?!? He then reiterated to me all the concerns I'd laid out for him about the crappy car on the highway with my small child but he spoke of them with regard to his safety having to make a left turn coming out the train station in the dark. He claimed this new insistence on him taking the nice car to work every day was for his safety. He claimed he'd worried about it now and then before, but it was my concerns now that really hit him. I do not believe him. I think he is using the nice car, the fact that it is something that makes me feel special and "taking it away from me" as a punishment. He actually said, that he paid for most of it and it was his car and he'd take it if he wanted. I just saw it as a hugely un-gallant power play. A way to hurt me. He knows the car means a lot to me. But what means more, and hurts more, is him being mean and manipulative.

When I really think about it, I can let go of the car. When I really think about it, I understand that he might want to drive the "nice" car sometimes. In fact, I have actually felt sorry for him for having to drive the crappy car. But for him to use it this way just really hurt. If he would have asked, if he would have asked to take the nice car at another time—not immediately after I laid out issues about the car. I feel like he's using it to punish me. I feel like he's trying to teach me I better not bring up any concerns, I better just shut up and let him do what he wants or else he'll take away something I like.

Our fight escalated. I screamed so much my chest hurt. I still feel anxiety and stress the day later, even though on the surface we "made up." I screamed again and again that it wasn't about the car but about the manipulation and the domination. He complained that I didn't care about him and he was just a paycheck. Later, I explained to him that if he is just a paycheck it's because that's what he's set himself up to be. When asked to help around the house (I usually have to ask specifically, he won't just do) it's often with a mild gripiness or he does a poor job. I feel he is a bare minimum around the home kind of person. He answers always with a spotlight on the fact that I "only work part time from home"—something I chose to do that I thought was best for our kid.

One of the most hurtful things—or I should say hurtful themes—is the lack of valuing of my staying home. He brings it up whenever he can. He says he'll do more around the house when I go back to work full time. He makes me feel devalued. It's as simple as that. He says I make him feel devalued too because I complain he's not ambitious enough and doesn't do enough around the house.

I feel like my "attacks" on him are only ever in response to his either making me feel devalued or not doing enough—so really, they are counter-attacks. I am not dumb enough to miss the bad cycle here, though, and not see that is is me who has to change the dynamic. So I always do. I always apologize and try to be nice after. He accepts, probably just glad he's off the hook and can have the opportunity to try and place nice for a little while, but eventually slide back into his domineering ways, and we move on.

I guess the only progress is me becoming more mindful of the fact that I am the one who has to change. I let go of my attachment to that car. I walked the child to school, I walked to my store errands. We'll walk home from school and walk to and from tae kwon do, probably. I could drive the crappy car if I needed to, but that might make me feel worse, I don't know. At least all this walking could be a boon to my health. That's what I try to do, look on the bright side. He says that when spring comes and it's lighter out later, he'll take the crappy car again because he won't feel unsafe making those left turns in the light. I think, he's trying to lend some validity to his "safety" scheme. Or, maybe it's legit. I don't know. I do know I am left feeling uncared for and manipulated and bullied into not voicing concerns or grievances. But, that is fine. It's better that I deal with them internally anyway, because after all, I can only change myself.


We'd gone hiking earlier that day. I was happy about it. We had a nice, low key time as a family. I posted pretty photos of it on Facebook. My happy family. But by the time I posted, there was already the pain of our fight. I tried to choose a good quote to keep it just this side of being phony. Some indication that my life is not so picture-perfect, but with the hope that I will be OK, that we will be OK. So I chose this, from John Muir: Nature is always lovely, invincible, glad, whatever is done and suffered by her creatures. All scars she heals, whether in rocks or water or sky or hearts...

Self-comfort through reading

My New Years resolutions this year were kind of weird. I have this general sense that I need to lose 15–20 pounds by late March so I look good on my tropical island vacation. I want to make my kid practice her keyboard 15 minutes a day (this is a resolution for me because I actually have to make the time and pretty much be engaged the whole time). I want to meditate most days (say 5 out of 7)  I want to do yoga more regularly. One of the most measurable ones, though, or, I should say, one of the ones I am least loathing of measuring is to  start FINISHING all (well, most, the ones I still actually want to read) the books I've got on my Kindle that I grab up every time something catches my interest before grabbing any more. It's getting out of hand!

So, the one I am starting with is Comfort by Ann Hood, which I actually just bought today, so it's not really fair to the other books in my virtual pile, but something I'm hoping will help me in life. I will be, of course, concurrently reading the Mindfulness book I just mentioned, but that's a different kind of thing. Comfort is a memoir about how this woman deals with her five-year-old daughter dying.

Yikes! Right? I have a five-year-old daughter who I am madly in love with. We sit there and say "Best kid ever! Best mom ever!" and trade numerous "I love yous" while cuddling each other to sleep each night. I can't even begin to imagine losing her. And yet, I think about it too much. Not only do I think about actually losing her, which very likely won't happen, I think about her growing up, which is of course a good thing,  and will happen—but I am realistic to know I will not always be able to cuddle her to sleep. She is going to grow up and leave me in a very normal way.

I already am lost over this thing of her being in school all day, still, now in January, after her having been for several months. I'm not a loon of a mommy who is on her at every minute with some activity or always engaging her and who doesn't get annoyed with her at times or doesn't want time to myself, either. It's not that. It's just...I think most parents might feel this way about their child, don't they? And yet, we are all different so we feel love in different ways, so I don't know. I love pretty hard. And there is the thing of her being my only one. And there is the thing of her being a girl. Her looking like me (kind of, but way prettier). Her being every hope and blessing and dream for the future. (No pressure, my girl, really!) So, yeah, I need some help!

I am thinking if I can get an insight into how this woman deals with her child actually dying—arguably the worst thing someone can go through, or one of the worst—then maybe I can come away with some lesson for myself.

OK, I am off to being what I hope can be a couple solid hours of reading (another thing I am trying to do instead of all kind of crazy, disjointed, interruptedness...)

Habit breakers

I came across this article yesterday—on new research showing that we're more focused and creative in the great outdoors—and it really struck me—I needed to get out into nature. I'd skipped running outside all weekend, trying to do new workouts and get over my lingering cold issues and so by then, I was longing for it. I didn't feel like running, however, after doing this new DVD for the first time Saturday, my muscles were still ridiculously sore. (I really like Cathe Friedrich. She's no-nonsense, really fit and older than me! An inspiration of what I could become, fitness wise, if I get my act together...On the other hand, I can't say I love the new yoga DVDs I got, a Tara Stiles set. She's kind of mumbly and the moves were really hard on the one I tried to do, with her offering no modifications and I miss the sanskrit terms, which add an air of specialness to it. Anyway, I want to like her, but we'll have to see... )

I decided to walk around the local lake and take our dog—both new and different things for me as I usually run and I usually do not take the dog. It was really nice and I like to think of it as a bit of a "habit breaker." I need to do more of these habit breaking things, and hopefully a book I'm reading, Mindfulness: An Eight-Week Plan for Finding Peace in a Frantic World, will help me. The book is about mindfulness-based cognitive therapy (MBCT), which has some good science behind it supporting mental health, peace and well being. (Yes, I am giving meditation another go, even after my disappointment over the summer.)

Each week of the reading will have two parts to it: a meditation exercise and habit breakers which are meant to free readers from their everyday, cyclical thinking. And, oh, do I need this. I am in quite a rut, but I do see trickles and flashes of sunlight way ahead of me at the end of some tunnel. The habit releaser for the first week is actually to sit in different chairs or alter the position of the chairs you use. I'll do that while I'm working and eating. I do tend to sit in the same seat of the sofa all the time. (It will be good for my sofa, too to not be worn in the same place, ha ha!)

The walk around the lake was more immediately profound, though. It had the benefit of being outdoors, away from a screen and gave me the sense that I was doing something special and nice for someone else (my dog) at the same time. I learned, too, that it might be a good idea when I run to leave the headphones at home. While I don't always have the time it takes to walk instead of run, and most of the time I do want the exercise of a good run rather than walk, I could probably benefit more from the mind-clearing, rather than grooving to mid-90s gangsta rap, trying to convince myself the lyrics don't matter and its the beats I love.

New year, new me?

It's been a looong time since I've blogged. I kind of gave up on the arguing over parenting articles vibe and went in search of a new identity. It's been a long time coming. Longer, certainly than the September to January lull of the blog. Now, as the mother of a school-age child, now 40, everything looks different. I'm forced to confront getting old and my life maybe not becoming much of anything more than what it is and being OK with that. Some ways I'm dealing with that is grooving on the cosmos and science, studying Buddhism and mindfulness and trying to get fit again, but in new ways. So if I continue blogging, I anticipate the posts will fall into those areas.

I recently came across this article on a study showing that people rarely imagine correctly what their future selves will be like. Basically, we can look back and retell in good detail how much we've changed over the past ten years, but when asked how we expect to change in the next ten years, we don't expect to much.

In the last ten years, I've gotten married and had a child, which changed me a lot from what I saw was a kind of rambly hedonistic comfort seeker to someone striving for a purpose, if only to raise a happy, healthy child and get by in life. Gosh, typing that out, it doesn't sound like I have a purpose, exactly, now, either, except the child raising part. What a lame mess I am!

And yet, I've come to a place where I can look upon myself with a degree of compassion. I am, after all, OK. I like myself, even knowing I should lose 20 pounds, don't have enough money saved for retirement, will probably just have a middling, but pleasant and well-paying job the rest of my life (if I am lucky) and even though I am not always the best mom and wife. Why do I like myself? I guess the alternative is too sad-sack and I've at least learned at this point in my life that I can't approach others with compassion unless I am compassionate with myself.