pledge status

Like a coworker said tonight, setting a goal is the best way to make me fail, especially when it comes to writing. I need an assignment. Tell me to give you 500 words on cold medicine by noon tomorrow and I'll do it. And it would be decent. Meanwhile, I peck away about my boring...or, maybe not boring, but at least misshapen life.

I'm not sure why I balk at goals. Some goals stick. My goal of no guilt is sticking. It's working. Somehow, when I begin to feel guilty, I remember my pledge and have so far stomped it down. It's quite liberating to not feel guilty. My stepsister the other day was saying how she doesn't understand why I feel guilty about everything. I know it's because of religion, mostly. She didn't have the form of religion to fit into like I did. It's a restricting form (the narrow road, remember). When a person doesn't fit in the form anymore, she leaks, drips out--makes a mess. And, of course, the mess is her fault and she must clean it up. This is what leads to the guilt.

I get it. I know the guilt is supposed to lead to repentance. That's the church's idea of success. But in my case, the guilt can be so overwhelming that it only leads to anxiety and a tendency to hide and avoid. Or just make a bigger mess. Or ignore the mess. Or work a lot so I don't notice it because I am not still enough.

Either way, guilt is not productive or healthy. For those who think they can do no wrong, maybe guilt is useful. But I'll choose to stay free of it. I'm lighter this way.

Speaking of lighter, I know I lost almost ten pounds this past fall, and I blame stress and the loss of the stress of the hardest decision I've had to make so far (and after weighing in at the doctor yesterday, I blame Chick-fil-A and Christmas food for gaining a little back). I think back to how impossibly conflicted and stuck I felt--all the reasons I told myself I couldn't leave. I assumed the worst from everyone involved, and in every case, I've been surprised by grace--people who should dislike me, distrust me, or at the very least want to have little to do with me have gone out of their way to be kind and gracious to me. This happens in the form of thoughtful questions, gifts of lemons and elk burger, picture messages of Kincaid on the weekends, and extra prints of pictures made so he can have them at both houses. Little things I wouldn't expect communicate peacemaking.

Even if the motivation is Kincaid's ease of transition and happiness (as it should be) I remain surprised and impressed. My overactive imagination had pictured some ugly words and actions heading my way before I decided to separate. The worst thing I've experienced is concern--which is hardly negative. I still find myself justifying my decision, and I likely always will. I still think it would be ideal for my sweet kiddo to have two parents together, but as it is, that was anything but stable. I will always have to fight the demons that tell me I'm selfish for doing this, but oddly enough that voice is much quieter now that I'm here--on my own, content, clear-headed, breathing, singing, laughing, sleeping--feeling human again.