Do You Have Cart Anxiety? (Deal With It) – Part 2
It’s of utmost importance that I be transparent with you all right now, and not just about the pair of parachute pants I still own from 1987.
No, the truth you should know is this:
If there was one thing I would want to change in this world, it would be the “food wars” we wage against each other. In fact, this might be my new mission in life: To join the human race in one connecting truth. The truth that we’re all doing the best we can with what we believe in any given moment of our lives in order to nourish ourselves and our families.
The truth that there is no “one right way” for every single person in the world. The truth that diversity (in our beliefs AND in the way we eat and take care of our bodies) is what keeps us learning and growing, and is something to be celebrated – not ridiculed (yes, even in the case of processed foods, which we’ll talk more about in a minute).
The truth that we are ALL in this together. All of us. You and me. Us.
And that’s why I think “Cart Anxiety” is an important place to start, because it starts in the open. It starts in a place where we’re the most vulnerable. In public, where everyone can see our vices, our unmentionables, our triumphs and our weakest moments.
Hear Me, For I Am The Nudge
Yesterday, I stood up in front of 500 people and asked a question that changed my life.
And, you know, if you’re going to stand up in front of 500 people, it had better be a danged good question. Or you’d better have a danged good reason for asking it. Or, mostly, you’d better be pretty brave and not at all self-conscious about excessive sweating.
Or, there’s another option. You feel something inside of you. A push, a nudge, a voice, or a concrete wordless knowing that you’re moving in a direction intended only for you.
It was the latter that prompted me to ask the question. While being brave. While being nervous. While sweating. None of these things are mutually exclusive.
Oh, The Things You Can Make If Only You Try
The other night, as I was writing the post announcing this quick sale, I started to read the books. Really read. Before, I had only read one or two, and cyber-thumbed through the rest. But, as I immersed myself in the recipes and instructions contained therein, I was overtaken by an entity. An entity that seemed so familiar, yet nearly forgotten.
The pure and clear entity of the essence of Crunchy Betty.
Yesterday. Yesterday, I came back to life. In one day, I made FIVE things from the pages of these books (and let me tell you, five things is but a ripple on the ocean of what I want to make from the books in the Healthy Living eBook Bundle).
I documented ALL the things, which you’re about to gaze at lovingly. And while I can’t give you the recipes for four of the things – you have to buy the bundle to manifest this yumminess yourself – I will give you a recipe straight from my very own book in the bundle – Crunchy Betty’s Food On Your Face for Acne and Oily Skin. At the end. So keep scrolling.
Wanna Love Your Body? Start With Loving Mine
As a life and wellness coach who works with women to improve self-esteem and body image, some people wonder how I became comfortable with my body. Did it come naturally or did I have to work at it?
Wait. I’m comfortable with my body!? Who said?
No, I am not totally comfortable with my body, but I work at it.
As women in this society, I’m not sure that it’s possible to reach a place where we are completely unaffected by social expectations of beauty or completely free of comparing ourselves to other women and images we see in the media.
And as we endeavor to navigate to a place of greater comfort with our bodies, sometimes it’s difficult to figure out where the line is drawn between a healthy desire to care for our appearance and the point at which that desire disables or disempowers us.
I mean, I LIKE to feel pretty. I do. I suspect I’m not going out on a limb to say you probably do to.
I don’t want to give that up.
Is that a terrible thing? I don’t think so.
It’s probably not surprising that research shows that positive feelings about one’s appearance predict well-being.
But, as women, society keeps asking us to evaluate and question our appearance, and this makes it difficult to have positive feelings about how we look. We are asked to think about whether our complexion is clear and even toned, whether our eye lashes are dark, thick, and long enough, if our lips are plump enough, if our hair has the right amount of body or is vibrant in color. We are asked to consider whether we are an attractive size and if our shape has the right proportions. We are asked to evaluate how plump our breasts are, how flat our stomach is, how wide our hips are, and whether the cellulite on our thighs is noticeable.
The Runs In Your Pantyhose Are a Conspiracy!
We bought a new printer a few months ago. It only made sense, because my old, terminally dysfunctional printer (which started malfunctioning approximately 2.3 seconds after looking at it out of the box) was going to cost about the same as just buying a new printer. Plus or minus a farthing. Farthings, by the way, equal a haypenny and a sheckel, plus a bag of brussels sprouts. This is commonly known; look it up on any currency exchange site.
The old printer is sitting in the garage, waiting for me to take it to a recycling center or refashion it as a trendy hip-hop necklace.
Anyway, we bought this new, inexpensive HP printer. It worked perfectly, long enough so that I could print out a 10-page booklet on how to care for printers. And then the ink was low. Not all the ink, mind you. Just the magenta, which is funny, since the booklet was black and white.
Five more pages into printing, all three color cartridges showed low ink. The main black cartridge displayed over half-full. To be fair, the next five pages were photos of my cat. He was high on catnip, something every good cat owner should document and display.
Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? The color cartridges were out. The black ink well was half full. And the printer shut off and wouldn’t do anything. Not even when I tried to print something off in black. Just black. It’s a half full cartridge. It’s MY half full cartridge. I need to print off a sign for my door (it says, “Velkommen,” because Norwegian words are silly). It’s an emergency. I have ink. Let me use it, mkay?
The printer would do no such thing, telling me I had to replace the color cartridges first. So we hustled out, spent a month’s rent on three color cartridges, came home and installed them. The printer was all, “Oh, no, girl. Oh no you din’t. You ain’t gettin’ none of me until you replace the black cartridge, too.”
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