Lack of Progress

It's been a little over a month since we joined the local gym and since I've been pretty serious about my workout game.  I've gotten a heck of a lot stronger and more confident inside the gym.  I'm lifting heavier weights.  But the scale hasn't moved.  Nor has my body fat percentage.  Le sigh.

I know. It takes time.  Blah blah blah.

But enough!
I can't even wear my wedding rings because I'm so bloated/swollen/overweight.

So I'm going to push on with my workouts.  But since that hasn't been enough to elicit change, it's time to focus on nutrition.  No more simple carbs.  No more soda. Time for more protein.  More vegetables.  Time to do what I know how to do but haven't been dedicated enough to do since before Granddaddy died.

Being married to a member of law enforcement is difficult.  It was hard before I worked with the same agency.  I almost feel like it's harder now that we work with the same agency.  Not so much because I hear the radio and all the sordid details about what happens in a night.  Oddly that doesn't effect me -- I know that he is well trained and that my worry really won't change anything except to distract him from his job.  What affects me is how little we see each other.  We've been on opposite shifts (I've been days, he's been nights), which means extremely limited time together.  And this just tends to build and build.  I'm a hold-it-in-until-I-explode kind of person.

He's just recently taken on additional responsibilities/roles in the agency.  Which means that he has training on his off days which I found out today lasts 10 hours.  Even less time together. While I completely support him and am happy for him that he is pushing his career further and better, I struggle with this too.  I have literally sacrificed my own career and my own professional dreams for him; because this county is where he has always lived and where his entire family lives and I want my kids to be raised with so much family near by.

What time he does have at home, he spends completely shut up -- head phones in and eyes glued to his computer screen.  He's watching his nerdy youtube videos about war history and war video games.  He's writing in his forums/war gaming.  Hours upon hours upon hours on his computer in his recliner. Breaks only for the bathroom or food.

I get that's how he decompresses.  I remind myself of that over and over.  But I get so frustrated.  There is so much to do.  I spend my days off running around the house like a chicken with its head cut off just trying to keep the chores moderated.  I get resentful.  That I work the exact same schedule yet have more responsibility on my head at home.  I withdraw.  I turn cold.

I've created the misery that I'm in.  Yes, the career change has been a positive one for me.  I love the job.  But it's a dead end job.  It's not professional.  I've put my husband before me more times than I can count -- why does that feel so wrong sometimes?? Why do I struggle with this??  Why am I unable to be satisfied or happy or whatever?

Worth Crisis

I have spent 6.5 years in higher education. I have obtained a Bachelors Degree with honors, and a professional degree with honors. I have been specially trained to work in a professional field that is respected by the world for the work it does for its patients (Physical Therapy). I am driven. I am organized. I am a natural level headed/kind/hardworking leader. I have a need to work. I am well spoken. Well read. I spell words correctly. I have been built up by family and friends and professors alike for greatness.

And yet I am not working in my field. I am not a professional. I am not a leader in my workplace. I am not respected or loved in my workplace (understand that I am too new for that). I am not using my education or my potential in this job. I am not great - I am mediocre.  I was trained for a professional occupation and yet I am a glorified secretary. I feel like a disappointment.

And yet I love the job. I love the work. I love the hours. I love the schedule.

I struggle with my identity due to these conflicting emotions.
I struggle with wondering if I am enough. I struggle to remember that my identity is not in what I do but in whose I am (Gods).

The Hard Truth About His Calling

How many times have I heard the phrase "Those that you love the most will hurt you the most"? Too many times to count... And oh how many times we have each been hurt by those we love.  Hurt in little ways, in the attention paid to things and not us.  In the small comments made after the first bite of the dinner you worked so hard to prepare for them, by yourself.  In their eyes as you struggle.  In the words that are said out of reaction and meanness after you have tried so hard to express your differing opinion and belief with kindness and understanding.  Hurt in the big ways.  Threats of with-holding relationship because of your differing opinion and belief.  Accusations because you don't immediately give them exactly what they want.  Name calling because you do things differently.

Sounds toxic, doesn't it?
In so many ways, it is.
And yet, I am literally "stuck" with this person for life.  Because in my case, they are family.  A family member that is immediate.

I hate to admit it, but I am so grateful on so many occasions that we live so physically far apart.  That separation is what saves me, us, our relationship.  That ability to not have to see them every week is grace.  The ability to not answer the phone because you're "at the gym" or "at work" or "with friends."  Many times excuses, but simultaneously grace.  The fact that communication has shifted primarily to text messages (as that is the mode of communication for the generation) is also grace -- it allows me to think before I respond, to not be rash, and to respond in the kindest, gentlest words possible while maintaining the essence of my beliefs/opinions.

I hate that this is the state of the relationship. Hate it. I wish I could snap my fingers and all the wounds be healed, their pain and fear from their life (which is what's truly the backlash against me; they has the life they never wanted and I was able to avoid it and "get the happy ending") would be fixed and removed, and that I could open their eyes to the possibilities of this world.

Although I hate the state of the relationship, this is how it has to be.  This emotional distance.  This relational separation.  Because when I close that distance and absolve that separation, toxicity seeps into my life.  Negativity abounds.  There is no respect or understanding or grace for my emotions, yet it is demanded of theirs.  Demand -- that is truly what happens when I close the distance/separation, I am bombarded with demands. Do this. Think this. Feel this. Give me this. Accept this.  It's too much.  I can't handle it.  I won't be bullied or told what to do/think/feel/give/accept.  I just won't.  And when I close the distance and the demands pour in, it pushes me away and my walls come up, and once again we are at a distance.

I hate that so many of my generation act this way -- demanding as if everyone around them owes them something.  This world owes nothing.  We owe the world.  We are not to have an attitude of demands but of grace, gratitude, and love.

There is no question of my love for them.  My concern for them.  My prayers over them.  My desire to see them succeed and overcome.

But sometimes, it seems that love/concern is not enough to overcome the hurts and the pains they cause you.  And this is what I struggle with.  I am called by my Heavenly Father to reach out to the least of the world, and in many ways, this particular person is the epitome of who I am supposed to reach.  I don't know how to break down their walls/attitudes.  I don't know how to love and encourage them into the truth.  I don't know how to put my own personal hurt aside for them after they are the one who has hurt me so.  I don't know how to not be so guarded or suspicious or doubtful of them after they have repeatedly exaggerated the truth to suit their needs.  I don't know how to not be disappointed in their choices, decisions, life path.

And the craziest part about all of this? I imagine that this is often how a parent feels. And I'm not even a parent.