The Yo Yo Sisters Playbook

Already only six days into the new year and I’ve failed to honor my only resolution: taking control of my body. My inner “slugness” has taken over.

I’m not sure if this relapse has occurred because of the predictable holiday season deflation, or whether this is something I should worry about. After weeks of adhering (mostly) to eating more nutritious foods, working with a physical therapist, and generally having a positive attitude, all my good gains have slithered away.

I’ve sabotaged myself.  Again. Just when I needed determination and steadfastness, these two qualities took a hike. Not counting the chips and Doritos I managed to inhale from December 24th to January 5th, I aimed a warning shot at my physical therapy. I canceled this morning’s session because I’m crabby, my mental outlook is bleak, and it’s only 14 degree weather outside. I cannot warm up, even with a fleece outfit plus woolly socks.

Now, I’ll admit my falling off the diet wagon may be contributing to my mood. But I cannot seem to grasp the concept that implementing these good changes are not just for a few weeks but forever and ever, amen. I guess my personality is for short-term and not long-haul.

Unfortunately, the very definition of chronic illness is long-term. What to do? Get used to living a roller coaster life. Up sometimes, down others. In fact, two friends and I have group meetings over lunch where we talk about our chronic-illness lives. We’ve dubbed our group “The Yo Yo Sisters.”

The YYS is comprised of President and Recording Secretary: me; our Mob Control Officer: Grace (she’s fearsome with her wheelchair wheels.) Side note: I gave Grace the job just in case word got out  about our group and masses of people wanted to join. Our third member, Sue, is in charge of hospitality. She’s a great cook so we make her bring the goodies. She’s willing, but when her inherited arthritis flares up, we give her a pass.

I write the minutes for the meetings. But these are not your ordinary-style minutes. I write them before we get together. This future-inspired writing has the irresistible lure of anticipating better days instead of bleakly reminding us of what had really happened in our lives since last we met.

I think we can all benefit from future thinking. I’ll just imagine myself Dorito-less and strong-willed: a perfect coping mechanism.

Yeah, right.

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