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The Significance in Numbers


I have a tick in me and it is that I count, like a lot. When I climb stairs, I count them. When I'm working out, I count my reps. When I text someone more than once, I count how many texts I've sent. Now rest assured, my 43 year old brain kicks in and I forget what I counted as soon as I get to the top step, finish the reps or when my texts are returned. I also counted significant things, how many years I had worked for a company without a promotion or a raise. How many days, weeks or months it takes before a customer complaint I filed with my furniture company goes unanswered.


I count how many hours I sleep in a night, watch my @garmin count how many steps I have taken in a day, etc. My favorite count I have kept up with...I have been a bridesmaid 18 times, and only 1 divorce from those weddings. I have also counted how many I still keep in regular contact. Not as a negative, just as an observance of how time has passed. 1 year, 2 years, 3... and I count.


I was 42 when I lost my mom. I had Concho for 17 years of my 41 years and Tula for 12 of her 16 years. I counted how many years I didn't have them.


In conclusion, I have a strong desire to count what I have or have done. But I kind of forgot in the hubbub of counting egg white grams and responses to texts, to count my blessings.


I went to my nutritionist on Friday, ready for her to be so proud of my accomplishments. I have worked my butt off these last 4 weeks, I have seen a physical difference in my body, I held off on looking at any numbers until our appointment. And I stepped on that scale and WHABAM...Not one dial moved. Not one. My weight stayed the exact same. I was defeated. I started counting all the things that just didn't quite go right last week and tallied it up to...a real shit week.


But what changed were my fat pounds to lean pounds. I did lose fat in places and gained muscle in others. Took me 3 days to find comfort in those numbers.


What I had to understand was my body had been in a fight or flight state for weeks because I have been counting my mistakes at work or mistakes of others that I have been fixing. My body was storing cortisol so that I could fight off a lion that was chasing me. Only there is no lion. I do not live in the African desert. I do not live in BC. I live in AD, in the Houston Metropolitan area. I don't run from lions, but I'm clearly fighting a significant number of contributors to my stress.


So now, I am working on counting my blessings. I turned fat into muscle. 1. I have a job that challenges me. 2. I have friends who's weddings I was not in and who's wedding I was in. 3. I got to have my dogs for longer than most. 4. I got 42 years with her, she got to see me fall in love, she got to see me embark on a whole new world. 5. I have a more shoulders than I can count to lean on. All my body weight, without one pound lost, they will take the burden of pain, stress, loss, hurt and confusion from my shoulders and carry it. They will walk with it until it gets too heavy for them and they will pass it on to the next person who can carry it for a while until it finally has sloshed off each of them, bit by bit. And for those things, I count my blessings. I can help strip the fear away of failure or loss. I can reduce the amount I carry because I have more blessings to count than stairs.



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