Lost but Found

I hate to lose things. I got busy, took my eye off it for one second and POOF! It was gone. Being without was a nuisance, an inconvenience and was constantly on my mind BUT it wasn’t a show stopper. I could function without it. Being able to function even though I didn’t have it made it hard to devote the right sort of attention to finding it. There were days when I would swear that today is the day…today I start looking for it again. I’d look for it hard for a few days and then would get busy or distracted and settle back into life without it. Not having it made me feel awful. Having lost it made me feel like a failure, a loser (haha-which I guess I really was) and just generally sad. Having had it and losing it more than once quadrupled the shame. I could explain why I lost it to anyone that would listen. I had LOTS of excuses, some of them valid, some of them not. I got good at convincing myself that I really didn’t need it. But I did. Without it I didn’t have confidence. I didn’t excel at anything. I was constantly—every single minute—reminded of my loss. Knowing that I’d had it, didnt take care it and lost it was just shameful. Shoulder dropping, head bowed embarrassed, that is how I felt.

There is a certain amount of helplessness when you lose something. Over and over I asked myself,”what could I have done differently? When did I loose it! How could I have kept it?” A constant shoulda-coulda-woulda cadence in my head. I like to think I am not someone who spends a whole lot of time in the cesspool of regret. I like to think I am a shake-it-off-put-on-your-big-girl-panties-and-deal-with-it-sort-of-gal. Once I realized what I’d lost I lost that buck-up-buttercup attitude and spiraled into hating myself and totally regretting everything that led up to me losing it.

Eventually I became accustomed to not having it. I settled in to being without it and allowed myself to believe that I would never find it again and that my life would be better when I accepted that fact. It was gone. It was my fault. I didn’t do enough to keep it. I only had myself to blame. I gave in and gave up.
For awhile.

That’s not me. I don’t give in and give up. I whine. I’ll throw a pity party ever once in awhile but I am not a quitter. Being satisfied with my loss just did not sit well. I enlisted help in finding it and….


My waist. I found my waist!!! It’s not the waist it used to be, it’s not the waist it’s going to be but it is a waist. A bona-fide curve. An indention. I have a place to put by hands. My husband has a place to put his hands. I no longer look like a sausage casing. I actually was able to wear a pair if low waisted jeans. I HAVE WORN BELTS! wahoo



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