Before 9am this morning, I was praying loudly, and with much feeling.
As I head down the straightaway of my last trimester, those around me expect that anxiety and feelings of being overwhelmed by motherhood will set in. I don’t just mean people around me, but every mommy blog, book, and spammy email mentions this anxiety that must just be eating me up.
I don’t feel it. Continue reading
“I’m being invited into a constant awareness of my stomach.” Famous last words. Continue reading
Exactly a year ago, up here in the mountains, I fell upon reading Katharine Welby’s blog, and began to admit to myself that I wasn’t “just blue” or “tired” or “having a tough week”–I was depressed.
Katharine Welby-Roberts had been suffering anxiety and depression for many years, and wrote with such clarity and compassion that I was both horrified (at how much I identified with her experiences) and comforted (there was actually something wrong, but it was something at least somewhat treatable which I was suffering, and which millions of others suffered too).
In the ensuing year, as has been cataloged in this very space, I’ve started medication, sought healing through less work and more prayer and yoga, and continue to pursue honesty along the path I trod.
So, a year out, I had my first anxiety attack in several weeks just yesterday. Continue reading
(you’ve been warned)
Yesterday on the way to work, listening to NPR, as I’m wont to do, I heard a story from thetakeaway.org that left me hopping mad.
It is a story entitled, “A Christmas Treasure Buried for a Century,” and detailed a discovery which a modern apartment-dweller in New York City made, and the response he had to this unearthed treasure.
Granted, I am living in an un-air-conditioned (fantastic) old house, and spending most of every day working out, so drinking water sort of IS my job. However: I kept up the obsession somewhat out of boredom and somewhat out of idle curiosity. Not every moment demanded my full attention (that’s my own ego’s opinion, not the truth), and I wondered, what would happen if I really drank those 8-10 cups of water every day for weeks?
Well. I’m here to tell you that it not only made my skin the clearest it’s been in 2 decades, but it’s curbed my addiction to sweets.
I think what is really going on is that I’ve been incorrectly diagnosing an evening hydration trigger for an evening sweet trigger. Sure, plenty of it is conditioning, but I’ve noticed that when my body is full of water, my tongue isn’t quite as overpowering in its cry for chocolate cake or ice cream.
It made me wonder–as my brain has been trained the last few weeks–how this translates to my larger life. If I perceive a need for water as a desired sugar buzz, I wonder if I am perceiving my soul’s cry for Living Water as a desired Netflix buzz. Perhaps saturation in the Scriptures would quell the tugging at the corners of my mind that most often drives me to a screen.
Maybe a bit of meditation or contemplation would relieve my parched spirit more than a sweet bit of comedy could ever hope to do.