I have never really thought of myself as selfish. My friends and family tell me all the time that I am very giving and I was happy with that. I was taught in Kindergarten and in Sunday School to share and do for others, so, in my mind, I was just following the rules. Rules are comfortable. I have always felt that as long as I am doing for others, it doesn’t matter what I do to myself because, in the end, giving was what mattered. On my mom’s side of the family, being a self-sacrificing martyr is the name of the game. There hasn’t been a selfish girl in the bunch; until me. My family loves me and I love them, no matter what. It doesn’t matter what kind of moronic thing they do or say, we are related and that counts for everything. I say things that hurt them and they say things that anger me, but in the end, it’s all family and that’s that. But my friends, oh, that is a different story. At some point in the course of our lives, I fell in love with them and they fell in love with me. We chose each other; whether it was just a few years ago over a Jafra book or a 9-1-1 training manual or whether it has been since second grade Sunday School over a ceramic roller skate, we ended up friends. I don’t mean friendly folks we give a hug and say hi to in Walmart; I mean deep friendships. People who know my darkest secrets and who would never tell out of respect (and fear) for what I know and could tell about them.
And here is where the selfish girl thrives. No, I’ve not missed birthdays or bridal showers or candle parties. I’ve been to them all and have the credit card bills to prove it. No, this is much deeper. In my quest to be self-sacrificing above all things, I have been selfish. I realized that two nights ago walking with my dear friend. I had just left a Weight Watchers meeting and we went for a walk. I confessed to her that I had gained 22 pounds since March. I happened to look up at her face when I said this and there it was; hurt. She was so hurt. Hurt that I didn’t take the time for myself. Hurt that I can’t get control. Hurt that everyone else around me has what they need, yet I have suffered. Hurt that of all the things I CAN do, that I’m not able to do this. She didn’t have to say a word because 25 years of friendship said it all.
In my quest for following the rules, I have not done for myself because I felt that would be selfish to use my time for me and thinking that I could do whatever I wanted to myself because it didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. I didn’t matter enough to spend 30 minutes at the gym or 1 hour weighing in and going to a meeting. I wasn’t hurting anyone else by eating that cake, drinking 2 liters of Pepsi or stopping through Del Taco. I wasn’t committing murder or stealing anything, right? And this is where I went wrong. How selfish of me to take time off my life by being so overweight and cutting our friendships short? How selfish of me to not physically be able to go with my friends to do things they want to do like run marathons or go skiing? How selfish of me to not take care of myself after all the care they gave me during the times in my life that I had been so sick that I couldn’t wash my own hair or put on my own socks? I’m the worst kind of selfish; not just because I was behaving that way to the people that I love the most but because I didn’t even know. I have been so consumed with what I could do for everyone else that I have neglected my responsibilities as a daughter, wife, mother and friend by not taking care of myself. My friends have said it to me over and over again that “what good would I do my family from a hospital bed”? It never really sank in until I saw the hurt on my dear friend’s face. Maybe I had seen that look before on other friends and chose to ignore it. Maybe I was finally receptive to it this time. I really don’t know. I don’t really think that it matters. What matters is what I do with tomorrow.
