The only thing I know about my car is how to open the gas cap and fill up the tank. When I recently had to call roadside assistance, I didn’t even know how to open the hood as they requested. Instead, I pushed the button that raises the rear door so they would be able to recognize my car when they drove by. Silly, yes. Ridiculous, probably, but true, nonetheless.
When I bought my car, they suggested I use unleaded gasoline, have the oil changed every 5k miles, and take it in every several thousand miles for servicing. I think it was 10k, 30k, and 50k miles. Also, they recommended tire alignments every so many miles. To this day I have no idea what an alignment is. I don’t remember the exact instructions at this moment, but I can tell you that I dutifully took and continue to take every suggestion given to me. After all, I want my car to last, right?
At 62 years young, I am 30 pounds overweight, have a sedentary job, have a severe addiction to carbs, and haven’t quite adapted the idea of portion control. I have one body that has been through chemo and multiple other surgeries and, let’s face it, is wearing down. I don’t “bounce back” like I used to. It feels like everything takes longer to return to normal, whatever that may mean.
Recently someone challenged me and asked why I take better care of my car than my body, and sadly I had no answer. The question has been lingering with me ever since. It has raised more questions than anything else. Do I not feel I deserve to be my best self? What is it about food that I place ahead of my own well-being? Do I somehow feel invincible despite proof to the contrary?
The fact that I continue to ask this question of myself means that something is stirring inside. That is definitely a good thing. At the time of penning this, I have no answers. What I do have is a desire to keep digging; a willingness to receive outside help to assist in guiding me to my truth; and enough self-love to look at this as a huge opportunity for growth. There is no reason to beat myself up even though what I have written is very painful. It is also very courageous. I am letting whoever reads this know something I have hidden, denied, and even tried to justify much of my life. The idea that I value a car more than my own body isn’t something I am proud of. However, just writing this and seeing my words has provided some freedom. I can’t wait to see what the rest of this part of my journey holds for me.