Progress, Not Perfection

I’m not sure I would say I’m winning.

But I’m definitely not losing.

In lots of ways, I’m not losing. For one, I am not losing the weight I had intended when I started my diet regime 3 weeks ago.

It’s not that it’s not working. It’s that I’m not doing the work.

Except that isn’t quite accurate, either. In fact, when I really think about it, I have been doing WAY more than I expected I would. I mean, come on. Four weeks and I’m not supposed to eat sugar. Gluten. Dairy. Processed corn. Soy. Alcohol.

As my friend said on Friday, “so, like, you’re not eating?”

I wanted to preach to her that the truth is that I’ve discovered just how incredibly doable, and delicious, a diet like this can be. How I’ve learned that there is a whole world of whole, clean foods that not only satisfy but make you FEEL satisfied. Light. Fed. Fulfilled. But nobody wants to hear that when they are eating a charcuterie board of cheese and sipping sparkling wine. Nobody wants to talk about it, either, as I discovered as I gulped down gouda and champagne.

It was a BIRTHDAY, OK?! Don’t judge me.

“I’m so proud of myself, hunny,” I said to my husband a few days ago (before the birthday diet-detour). “The decision to do this for myself has really made a difference. Like, a big one.”

“That’s awesome, babe. So, at this point in the procotol thing, are you supposed to have had, like, a total transformation or what?”

…awkward pause…

“As in, I haven’t?”

…the air thickens with silent rage…

“Um, no, like, well, you know…I just don’t know how long this goes or how it is supposed to work. Like, what the point is.”

“The POINT?! The POINT is that I feel better! The POINT is that I feel empowered and lighter and happier and PROUD of myself! THAT’S the POINT!”

…

“I didn’t mean it like that. I have totally noticed change and I’m proud of you. I am. I just wasn’t sure what results you are supposed to have by now.”

“There is no SUPPOSED TO. I just wanted to do this for myself so that I could feel better in my skin. And I do.”

“Hey, all good. You’re the one who put your ass on Facebook, not me. You don’t have to justify this to me. Just Facebook world, that’s all.”

Just Facebook world, that’s all. Just justify it to the world, Shawna, and it’s all good.

Sometimes being married is a real bitch, but it sure is a great source of clarification. Why DID I put my ass on Facebook? And can I take it back?

No, Shawna, you can’t go back. And that, in the end, is the point.

SMACK! That one hit me hard. It woke me up. It set me straight.

And here I am, Monday morning, after a weekend of wine and chocolate and a ticker tape of guilty words that have been running through my mind since Friday’s fall from grace. Get back up, Shawna. Keep going, right where you left off.

I don’t have to hit the “reset” button. It’s ok that there is a blemish (OK, MANY blemishes) on my track record of behaviour. Yes, I put my ass out there. But did I really do it expecting to post a perfect picture a few weeks later?

Or did I post that picture simply to give others permission to be vulnerable and imperfect, too?

So far today, no wine. And it’s already 12:15 pm! But seriously, my motivation is back. My confidence that I can still achieve my goals is back. My understanding, however, has shifted about what all of this means.

The joy is in the journey. Progress, not perfection.

Why have I been eating better? Because it is making me feel better. It really, really is. The wine this weekend was delicious and appropriate. The slight detour ended up giving me more steam to go after it this week. It’s all working out, and more than that, I can see how this bit of wisdom is valuable for others, too.

The value I have been getting in my life as of late is truly this commitment to taking better care of myself. It is the feeling I get when I make good choices that benefit me. It is action that aligns with my intention to take care of myself. L’Oreal nailed it. I AM worth it.

And maybe most importantly, it is yet another reminder that we create our own reality. Our own lives. We make the rules for what matters, and we get to change lanes and shift gears and come and go from things all we want. No one else gets to tell us what it means for us. We define success. We define our own health and happiness. And progress is what we make of it.

I’ve lost inches. I’ve lost pounds. I’ve lost the plot, too. But I get to get back on track at any point in time, or redefine the whole rules of the game, if I want to. For me, success is standing here this morning, sharing my “failure” with the world, knowing that it might create a safe space for someone else to redefine their own success. To start again, or start anew, without the paralysis of perfection keeping them from taking action.

“Perfection isn’t even a thing,” my daughter always says, and she’s so right. How annoying would it be if it was?