Curing a bad case of the blahs.

"You have the blahs?" he messaged me.

The blahs? I thought. Well, that's one way to put it.

There's an entire litany of reasons why I'm not my usual chipper self. (Note: "chipper" for me isn't like the dictionary definition of "spritely good humor," my version is less high-spirited and vivacious and more like "just not sad.")

A little over a week ago I had an appointment with a nurse practitioner who will be my new primary healthcare provider. It was just the first meeting to get to know each other, or more for her to get to know my history and any concerns I have currently. It was a fine first meeting, I liked her. 

But. On my list of things I wanted to discuss with her is my struggle with losing a little bit of weight. I explained that I've been upping my exercise and activity a lot, but nothing seems to be budging. Without much hesitation she asked me if I track my calories. I told her no, I had done that in the past but not at the moment. She suggested I get an app and start tracking, and suggested a limit of 1,300 - 1,500 or so calories a day.

As I have shared before, I have a pretty crappy relationship with food that goes back for YEARS and I'm still working through those issues. I told the nice lady that this was something I was working on, and that maybe tracking calories would make it harder. Without insisting, she did press on to explain that to lose weight I would need to be in a calorie deficit, and the best way to know if I was or wasn't was to track calories. 

I sat there a little stunned. And despite knowing myself pretty well, I told her I would try it. 

This was the beginning of the blahs.

I got an app. I started tracking. And within three days I was exactly where I didn't want to be... way, way, down deep in the obsession tunnel. Now, for the first day or two I didn't really change what I ate, I did just record it, and honestly. But as I got closer to the day's calorie budget, or going over by less than 100 calories a couple of times, I found myself putting things back on the shelf or in the fridge with a sigh. Better not have that. 

This isn't the only app I have that I track things in. Two others track my daily workouts, walks, and sleep. There is some integration, but annoyingly not across all three. I have to manually record some of it. So this was another level down into the blahs. Why do I have to tell all three apps everything I'm doing. The OCD in me thinks: because you want them all to be accurate, right? 

And, if you thought it wouldn't get crazier, just hang on. 

The new calorie tracking app had a semi-arbitrary steps goal of 8,000. My recent (also sort of arbitrary) goal was to beat 6,500 steps every day, and really shoot for 7,000. More is good, right? That's what I thought. Subsequently I started being really annoyed when the calorie app was showing me I wasn't making that goal, even though I WAS making my own personal goal. So I started pushing it. I walked in place, I walked circles around the house, I took the dog on multiple walks he didn't want to go on. A couple of nights ago I was pacing in the bedroom tapping my smart watch every few seconds to check my steps until I hit 8,001 so I could get into bed knowing I didn't fail.

(I mean, if you suddenly feel moved to make a donation to some mental health cause after reading all this, I wouldn't blame you.)

One part of me said this: just stop. Just stop tracking, just stop measuring, just stop watching the step counter. Just stop. 

But the other part of me replied: I should be able to handle all of this. I should be able to practice some indifference and just notice these things like calories and steps - but then move on. 

Here's what happened. 

When Bob came home he told me he was worried about me because of the mood I was in. In tears, I told him a very abbreviated version of this (I mean I didn't have to go into much detail, after all, he's with me most of the time and saw it happening with his own eyes), and he told me to just stop. He made some very valid points - the woman didn't know me, she didn't know how this tracking stuff would affect me, and that there was no legit health reason for me to take that advice. And, he said to delete the app.

Somewhere in there he also said, "you were just starting to feel good about yourself. Why would you want to start doing something to make you feel bad about yourself again?" Bingo.

I cringed a little when I went to unsubscribe and delete the app because of the effort involved in entering all that stuff (down to the 1/4 teaspoon of butter). But, when it was said and done, it was like a cloud was lifted. We put some hot dogs on the grill and I ate two with B&K Spanish sauce and onions and I didn't have to fess up to an app. I just enjoyed them. Regret lingers just on the fringes of a meal like that for me, leftover from so many years of restriction and fear. 

I'm going to keep tracking steps, and I'll keep track of my workouts. So far, as long as I'm doing things that I enjoy and have fun with, it feels pretty sustainable. 

What I learned from this, even while it's still percolating, is that I do know myself well enough to evaluate how a piece of advice might affect me. But what I'm not good at is being firm enough in my conviction to say out loud to anyone - nurse practitioner, friend, or online influencer - yeah, that's not going to work for me. 

There is a spiritual dimension to this, and I am still processing that piece. It comes down to two things: trusting that God wants the best for me, and believing that he loves me enough to help me find what's best for me, even when it may not be what I think. 

And with that, friends, I'm going to go for a walk with Riley.