I love my Fitbit. Every hour it vibrates to let me know that I need to get up and move. When I first got it a little over a year ago, I would actually get up and walk around until I got my 250 steps in for that hour. Over time though, I would ignore the vibration periodically.
I just checked the app to see when’s the last time I got all my hourly steps in during the day. Y’all, it was February of last year! What happened?
Texas was home for my first eighteen years until 1997 when I moved up north to first Montana then Washington. I now have four children and due to the cost of plane tickets, I am only able to go visit every two to three years. In fact, until this past December, I hadn’t been home for Christmas since before I left in 1996.
Every year, FB reminds me of the exact moment when one of my closest friendships died. I could delete the memory and never see it again, but I choose to remember where I came from and what God brought me out of.
I think I have finally figured out what my problem is: I’m addicted to self-improvement.
I don’t know when it
first started, but I think it was probably about seven years ago after I had my
fourth child. I hardly liked anything about myself. I didn’t like my body, I
didn’t feel like I was a good enough mom or wife, I yelled too much, etc.