Sorry. Not sorry.

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.
​
This is me, this week. Take it or leave it.