Last night I indulged in my favourite meal: ravioli with pesto sauce.

While my forties have blessed me with the wisdom to love my body exactly as it is and have gratitude for how it serves me, this decade has also ushered in a plethora of dietary restrictions. With each passing month, a new item pops up on my body’s list of forbidden food. Five minutes of culinary delight now equates to hours of bloating, gas, and stabbing pain. As I write this blog, I am on Day 5 of a caffeine cleanse—a fresh hell I had resisted for years.

I am now vegetarian, sugar free, dairy restricted, alcohol restricted, and caffeine free. It's as much fun as it sounds. Believe me when I say there is no moral high ground upon which I stand. I am not a grass eating, nature loving, hipster-health nut. My strict diet has grown out of concern for the longevity of my marriage as squeaking silent farts all day every day is not conducive to a spicy love life.

However, I am not a saint and do love a cheat day every now and then. Hence, the ravioli…which was followed by a delicious slice of white cake with white icing. Can I get an amen?

My punishment for enjoying such a rich and delectable meal? The last time I saw my belly that bloated, I was six months pregnant.

As I moaned and cradled my food-baby, Miguel giggled and asked how I felt.

“I feel awful, but that’s okay. It was a downfall of my own making.”

“Mi amor. Even though you chose this fate, you are definitely not okay,” he replied.

He then went on to point out that every time I feel compelled to acknowledge something in life, which is less than bright and shiny, I couch my feelings with forced positivity.

These phrases pepper my vernacular on the daily:
But that’s okay.
I’m sure it’s meant to happen this way.
It could be worse.
I’m looking for the lesson here.
At least it wasn’t…

“It would be more authentic if you simply said that you feel awful. Full stop,” Miguel challenged. “Sometimes things just suck.”

The conversation got me thinking about other areas of inauthenticity in my life. Could I be bold enough to honour my likes and dislikes? To share when I am having a bad day? To let go of friendships which no longer serve me? To stop saying yes when I really want to say no? 

In order to stand in my own authenticity, I need to let go of The Pleaser and The Good Girl and trust that people will love me even when I disagree, politely decline, or express discontent. Maybe they will embrace this new honest and transparent version of Kel.

Let’s try it on for size…

I haven’t had coffee for five days. I am currently cranky, exhausted, and have very little bandwidth for bullshit. Yes, my stomach feels better. I am less bloated and my aura is no longer a sickly, green, toxic IBS stench. But I am totally bummed at the thought of permanently giving up my daily cup of java, as I love it so. While I am in this state of mourning, I refuse to apologize for my bad attitude.
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This is me, this week. Take it or leave it. 
 
 
 

My oldest child is graduating high school in a few weeks.

As we entered this momentous school year, I was surprised by the deep sense of mourning I felt. His graduation felt like a loss, a milestone marking the end of my active, daily role in his life. I found myself counting off our “lasts” like one pulls petals off a daisy. Last Christmas break, last semester, last soccer season…

Though I never overtly shared my emotions with him, my energy shone loud and clear. My words said, “This is amazing” but my vibe said, “I’m not happy for you.”

It took me weeks to realize how important it was to re-frame this time in our lives. My mindset was dulling the brilliance of this occasion. And mindset is always a choice, something we have total control over. I was choosing to be blue in a season which should be exhilarating for my son.

Sadness or celebration.

Tears or champagne.

I had all the power to decide.

Shopping for his tuxedo offered the opportunity to marvel at the beautiful man he is becoming, inside and out. His broad shoulders stretched the midnight black jacket as pride stretched across my heart. How lucky I am to have a front row seat to his future! While I don’t know what next year will hold for him, I am certain that he will go forth and experience life to its fullest. Then, he’ll come home or call to tell me all about it.

As the date grows ever near, my excitement is bubbling. I am riding a swelling wave of joy as we enter a season steeped in celebration. The next few weeks hold events, ceremonies, and parties—a right of passage for both him and me. As he steps boldly into this next phase of life, I can pause to acknowledge how far we have both come.

As I made the conscious decision to be present and open to enjoying one of life’s bittersweet moments, I began to ponder what other areas of my life are coloured by my mindset and the language I use.

Two phrases which slip out of my mouth on a regular basis are, “I’m tired” and “I’m busy.” While these statements are often so very true, they are also self-fulfilling prophecies, somewhat laced with negativity.

Language is a powerful tool. It influences our mental health, our energy, and our general state of wellbeing. Yet we throw words around like confetti, letting them land haphazardly where they fall. What I have learned in walking towards my son’s graduation is that the words I use become the thought patterns which play over and over in my mind. Therefore, I need to become intentional with how I speak about life’s circumstances.

I’m not saying we need to become happiness robots, because there is nothing more inauthentic or obnoxious. What suggesting is that energy flows where attention goes. If there is even the slightest glimmer of positivity in a situation, that’s where I am going to focus. That will become my reality.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am off to pour myself a glass of champagne and toast my son’s massive accomplishments, bright and shiny future, and my epic fucking emotional transformation.
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Cheers!