It's MY Journey, and I'm Taking My Time

I started a journey 12 weeks ago.    A journey for me.    A journey to be the best me I can be. And today I am struggling.     I’m struggling because the world has gone crazy and I don’t understand what is going on.     I am struggling because 12 weeks of success makes me worry about when the week with no success will come.     I worry about my kids.    I worry about my husband.    I worry about my mom, and I miss my dad.   My mind is racing.     I’m worried, and scared, and because of this, I want to veer from my path. All this time, my mind has been in a good place.    My focus on what is important has been strong.    Today I’m struggling. For some reason, all the old fears have crept in a little tonight.    The voice that doesn’t believe in me has reared it’s ugly head, and for a short time I have been listening.    “This won’t last, it never does.”    But then I walked by the kitchen, and glanced in a pile of papers I needed to file, and I came upon this.

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything. I’m not sure if I have had nothing to say, or if I’ve just needed some time to heal from my Dad’s passing.    But here I am again, typing out my thoughts and trying to make some sense of them. When my dad passed away in January I was with him in those final days and hours and minutes, and although he was peaceful, I knew he wasn’t ready.    And I think a small part of him was angry because he felt he was dying because of a choice that he had made to smoke all those years.    He wasn’t ready to go, and he was angry he didn’t make changes in his life sooner to live a healthier, and longer life. I miss him. And one day I woke up and I realized that I was doing exactly what my dad was angry about.    I was dealing with my grief and sadness by eating and drinking my feelings away.     I was making a choice to do things to my body that would most likely shave time off my life.     I looked at my kids, and I looked at my husband