So this is kind of an odd post, but hey what's a blog if you don't get personal and a little bit vulnerable. I am a very self-aware person and there are a few things I know I'm not... a food sharer, organized, patient or comfortable with vulnerability. I was raised to be confident in myself and when I'm not... to fake it. And I admit I fake it a lot because I cannot stand the idea of being seen as less than perfect. I know I'm not, but I don't want anyone else to think that. Ha. Anyway, so maybe that's why the Universe/God decided to hand me a big fat blow to my confidence. A while ago, I started getting this bizarro rash. What does one do in 2016 when they get a rash? Google. So I came to the conclusion that I had chicken pox (pretty much impossible to get twice) or eczema. Frustrated (and bawling my eyes out in the shower because I felt absolutely hideous) that my home care (and expensive eczema potions) were doing nothing, I went to the doctor. It took him less than 2 minutes to tell me I had pityriasis rosea.
You'd think a diagnosis would be good, because then I could fix it. I'm a bit of a control freak... when there's a problem, I fix it. Guess what... the only cure is time. Remember when I said patience was not one of my strong suits? Commence googling once again. The takeaway... the only thing that actually seems to help is UV light (great... wrinkles & cancer) and taking care of my body and mind to boost my own immune system. Fabulous... give me a pill, a shot, a cream... anything but required patience.
Nine days later (and almost a month since it first showed up), I think maybe, just maybe, it's going away. I've never been so happy to have scabs!
But here's what I learned... we are all just a random disease away from feeling like crap about ourselves. Whether we have a few extra pounds, butt-acne, unruly hair, a new wrinkle, or a rash... we let it get waaaay too involved in our self-image. I know logically, that I am still exactly the same person I was in January (except I may have an occasional pity-party for one), and my husband/family/kids/clients still love me. You know what they don't love? My whining.
So my takeaway, get over it. That doesn't mean I have to love my rash (the little bastard virus needs to go pronto), but I means I need to suck it up and focus on the 99.9% other things I actually kind of like about myself. Forget your lack of thigh gap or whatever it is that drives you crazy because it's sooo not worth your time.
P.S. Mom, you're still going to get whiny texts with photo updates because you're my mom, and that's what you signed up for when you birthed me. :-)
Want to see the stupid thing that's got me so "whoa is me!"? You'll probably laugh at me for blowing it so far out of proportion. I'll spare you the photos of my torso, though.