Go Away Mean Voice

Queen Me shares . . .

I love going home during the holidays. I really do. And, the older I am the better it gets. Still plagued by the “mean” voice, though, I’m not completely comfortable once there. Yep, I knew it. Suzanne looks better than me. Thin. Able to wear tight jeans.

It takes me about thirty minutes now to get past it. Used to take a whole lot longer. Thank goodness with each passing year the mean voice gets less and less attention. And, it just so happens that I don't care as much about my physical appearance. Oh, this doesn’t mean I’m ready to throw in the towel—no, I still regularly play tennis and irregularly jog—I’m just finding contentment. Oh, but I say that, and yet I’m still tortured. As I roll out of bed I glance at my hands. Yep, just as I thought . . . swollen. I chide myself for failing to remain on the low-carb fare in preparation for the upcoming holiday feasts. Looking in the mirror, I fuss at my face. Fat. Yuck. Control yourself. What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you be more like your sister? Then, I start with the promises. Next time. Next time. And, finally I realize how hopeless my optimism is. Suddenly I’m tired and angry. Feeling fat makes me snap—makes me grouchy.

But despite all of this, I still laughed. I still smiled. I left feeling more loved than not. Even with my tortured experience, others told me I looked radiant and beautiful. Graciously, I accepted, but deep down didn’t believe them. Regardless love and laughter flowed to and from me and all the while I felt a profound connection to many people, some related some not. This week I loved them all and this week I felt they all loved me back—faults, mean voice and all.