Wikipedia says,

“Maturity (psychological),  a term used in psychology to indicate that a person responds to the circumstances or environment in an appropriate manner, often this implies a response that is reasoned or learned rather than impulsive.”

First, let me say that I had an unexpectedly really hard time trying to find that definition; or I should say that I came back to it after quite a few sources came up either short on a satisfying explanation or bombarded me with a myriad of possibilities. Whew!  Glad that is done.

I have been thinking about my “decease”.  Justin over at The Justification of Justin commented that he was impressed that I was being so mature about my diabetes.  To be brutally honest, I don’t think I’m being mature.  Scared maybe, but not mature. My mother had diabetes and I was always a high risk to get it.  If that were not enough, also because I have been overweight to varying degrees my whole life. The gestational diabetes should’ve been my wake-up call, if not anything else… but no, I really didn’t take any steps to educate myself this whole time, let alone take the steps to avoid getting it in the first place. To be even more brutal, I’ve always felt a pride in my exceptionally good health otherwise and took it for granted… so there you have it.  In a lot of ways, I am very immature.  According to this definition, I should have learned from watching my mother suffer from it, which has been 95% of my memory of her.  What is floating around inside my brain that told me that I was immune from diabetes… or any other health problem?  What is it about myself that shuns exercise like the plague?  Why am I so undisciplined?

Ah, but life is definitely not over.  I feel a definite undercurrent feeling of relief.  A feeling of being pushed.  Why has it always been that way for me?  I sit on my sedated duff until something outside of myself pushes me, or some cosmic force burns my gigantic heinie.  God gave me the gift of a pretty face, on top of a grotesque body.  All my efforts to shave it down to a normal size have been in vain.  All efforts have been sabotaged by ME except for one time that I broke under parental pressure to stop doing Atkins the first time I did it… but still, even then it was my decision and action.

I have a goal of returning to long distance cycling.  I used to cycle from one end of Brooklyn, NY to the other end.  I could smell tons of calories burning.  I would cycle a long distance to the gym, do aerobics, then cycle back home (then collapse into bed)… but it felt good.  As I got heavier, I got paranoid that the skinny wheels on my 10-speed bike would blow out on me far from home.

I am having such a hard time keeping this post positive.  My next, or I should say, my FIRST goal is to focus on being positive… an absolute must.  Gratitude is another must.

Do you want to hear an irony?  My mother was afraid that I would hurt myself doing the Atkins even though I’d lost a lot of weight.  The very program that she swore was dangerous was probably the one that could’ve saved her.  They say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  Well, I am very happy to report that I am definitely NOT my mother, though I can see her in me.  I have her exact same LOUD voice.  If I answered the phone at home, people always thought that I was her!  So cool…. very scary for her friends now that she has passed on.  I have her hands and legs.  One very big way that I am not like her is that most of the time, I am a laid back type of person.  Very calm, which probably is the one big reason for my good health.  I do not hold grudges.  Anger that flares up, burns out just as fast.

I have my mother’s pessimistic tendencies… not good.  But, I have a very major advantage over her.  I am aware of my faults and acknowledge them.  I want to learn from them.  I try to work with them, if that makes sense… Working with my faults means that I do not deny their existence and I do not hide their existence from others.  Pessimism, optimism.  By nature, I am pessimistic.  Those are always my first thoughts.  I go a step further than my mom, though.  I do not stop with there. I think further and can come up with more generous thoughts.  I kind of like doing it that way.  I like that I do not come by this way of thinking naturally.  Does that sound weird?  It is earned every single time by thinking it through.

Where all this is going I have no idea.  Maybe I just need to write.  I need to find out what is going on inside me so that I can get a handle on handling my health problems..  I do not want to fall back into that comfort zone which can turn out to be the death of me.  I have a beautiful blossoming family here and I need to be here for as long as is in my power.

Tomorrow I call in my sugar readings to the Dr.  It will be then that I’ll find out what kind of medication she will put me on.  In a sense, tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life……

One day at a time.

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