The List

I have been thinking a great deal lately about why women let themselves get in a rut, or more specifically, recycled ruts.

I watched a segment on Oprah several years ago (two?) that featured country singer Wynonna Judd. Wynonna had gone through a divorce and had gained an inordinate amount of weight. She discussed how she had always been a "rock" for everyone in her life: her mom, her kids, her fans, etc., and while in the process of trying to please everyone, she "forgot to put herself on the list."

That expression carried a lot of weight with me. I wondered what place I held on the list.

Every once in a while I'll have an epiphany and make a conscious decision to change my life. It usually goes something like this:

1. Lose weight
2. Be nicer
3. Embrace my spirituality properly and practice what I preach
4. Model the behavior that I want my loved ones to model as well
5. Make my marriage the best it can be

And I do OK for a while--two or three weeks. Then it all goes back to suckeyville for another year or so, until I have another "a-ha!" moment.

I know what needs to be done. I know how to do it. I just choose not to, and I think it is because I routinely leave myself off of the "list." Umm Zaid wrote a post a few days ago and talked about stuff I've been thinking
about for several months now, because I've seen many of my dearest friends suffering in their personal lives, and much of the source of their suffering has come out of left field, leaving them completely shocked. Every woman has a story. Every woman has a painful story, doesn't she?

Does every man have a painful story? I think not.

We women exclude ourselves from the "list." We do this because it is our nature not to trouble our significant other, or for him to be able to focus on himself (usually career-wise), while we hold down the forts and man the guns on the battlefield. We birth the babies, raise them (mostly), cook and clean and wear holey pajama pants we bought from Wal-Mart back in 1994 when we were umpteen pounds lighter.

How many shirts do you have with a Clorox stain on them? How many times a week do you wear them? You think, "I need to go shopping," but you put it off, because the kids need this and that. You don't want to trouble anyone.

Then maybe you get to know other women who consistently put themselves first, before the house and husband and kids, and they seem to have it "all together." But do they?

Do any of us?

How many of us need to update our lists or hold a list-burning for the outdated ones we've let govern us for years and years?