Last week was one of THOSE off the rails weeks.  And the Pad Thai totally hit the fan.  A huge part of me wanted to sweep this under the rug and never speak of it again.  But I opened my eyes to the fact that the week was a major lesson for me and I wouldn’t be honoring my truth if I didn’t fess up.  So here goes.

The week started on a high after my weekend in New York.  I soaked up the inspiration that is Gabby and Kris Carr, drank my weight in green juice, and embraced my quality time with Andrew.  And then I came home and lost it in a big way.  All of my trigger foods (the foods that I know don’t serve me but I still have a weakness for) were thrown at me and I gave in.  I didn’t just eat one – I went all in.  It went a little something like this: I’ll “treat” myself with that.  Ugh – I feel awful.  Well, since I already feel bad I may as well have that.  And that.  And that.

And here I sit feeling gross.  My skin is broken out, my random rashes are back, and my digestive system is a wreck.  And all I want is more junk.  After each instance I felt embarrassed, weak, frustrated, and like a failure.  I literally put my head down on the table after one meal in shame.  I wanted to crawl into bed and hide until it was all over.  I felt out of control.

Now, is it the end of the world that some gluten, dairy, and sugar passed my lips last week?  No.  But is it a lesson?  You bet.  I spent time reflecting on the decisions I made.  And honestly, in the moment, it felt like the decisions were made for me and I was unable to control it.  Rationally, I know that simply isn’t true.  No one forced me to sit down and eat an entire take out container of Pad Thai.  (Yep – that happened.)

What’s the lesson?  I need to let go of the quest for perfection because it’s adding unneeded pressure.  I need to acknowledge that “treats” aren’t eating things that make me sick.  I need to be more disciplined with meal planning and preparation.  And connect to why I choose to eat the foods that I do and why I omit the other stuff.  I need to strengthen my self-forgiveness muscle.  And most importantly, I need to turn down the volume of my ego/fear-based voice and turn up the sounds of love.


My ego was running the show last week.  And I get why.  I was #blissedin after my New York weekend and still feeling physically great after The Rockstar Reboot.  I was loving life and totally tuned in.  And my ego was fighting to survive.  So it started to yell.  Loudly.  As A Course in Miracles teaches, the ego speaks first and loudest.  My fear voice was yelling at me that I just don’t have healthy options in my area so I may as well eat the junk.  I won’t ever feel great so why deprive myself.  One bite won’t hurt.  Don’t be so high maintenance.  Loosen up.  I can’t keep this up.  Being healthy is too expensive.  It’s not worth it.

And I picked up what my ego was putting down.  And then I came back down to reality and let the love in.  (Well first I went down the rabbit hole and experienced total fear and loathing.)  After the shame and solo pity party, I forgave myself for the week and apologized to my digestive system.  Every moment is a new opportunity to quiet your fear-based voice and let love in. {Tweet it!}  I’m reconnecting with my tools, taking extra doses of my supplements, flooding my system with water, ginger tea, and kombucha, and eating detoxifying foods.  And I’m doing the most important thing – spending time reflecting on the week in meditation, by writing this blog, in conversations with Andrew, and journaling.

We all have those “this is too good to be true moments” and it’s in those moments that we need to work the most.  Too good to be true is your ego fighting for its existence because it IS actually that good.  The ego can’t exist in the face of love and as you let light in the ego goes on the attack.  The more light you allow in, the quieter and quieter the ego becomes.  So our work is to shine brightly!

I saw this as I was running to the car (with my green juice in hand) on the way home from New York and was stopped in my tracks.