I open my eyes and my body comes back to me. First I feel those parts of my physical parameters that are under one of my hands. My chest is moving with air. Or I feel my thigh expand to the two surfaces of hand and leg touching. I arrive gradually piece by piece until I leave behind the dream of a man offering me a stick he bought for $100,000.

In the summer, about this time of rebirth I will hear birds or feel the breeze from my window. But now in the grumpy November the call is to throw back the covers and look at a groggy day.

And it is after my meditation time, after I offer a prayer, or a hope, or a ritual of gratitude that I get up. Absolutely inevitable is the scanning of my mind. It moves like a drone over the landscape of time.

Yesterday, did I do well? Yesterday, did I keep my promises to myself? The mind drone flies over all of yesterday’s activities to assess the failures, the bad choices, the old landscapes of disappointment and disillusion.

“There you go again,” I dialogue with myself. “You walked 17 thousand steps, spread joy to at least four people who thanked you for help, finished painting your hallway, worked out with weights.”

But I inevitably return to the docking station of stuck. My mind has a habit of seeing me as stuck. How lightingly quick I am to list off all of the ways I am less than I thought I would be, or I could have been, or what others have expected from me.

My weight is always an issue. It comes from my mother’s competition with me in the circus ring of being THE female. She thought of me as her competition. Only she could walk the fashion runway and collect admiring compliments whereever she appeared in a social setting. I had to be repressed.

And food. Oh yes. Food. She kept pushing pie and cake and pop at me. She wanted to fatten me up so no one would ever for a moment have their eyes leave her size 2 body and her apricot hair to glance at me.

So each day I weigh myself and automatically criticize myself.

You can viagra super store also safeguard your privacy through online purchase. This pill is supposed to be eaten up only after consulting your medical practitioner. generico cialis on line Both psychological and physiological causes can lessen the quality of performance in young males leading humiliating moments. pharma-bi.com cheap generic viagra Serotonin is part of psychological states of rest, confidence and relieve, while norepinephrine receptors are theorized in order to reuptake dopamine, hindering norepinephrine receptors is able to keep dopamine within the viagra pharmacies blood stream longer, as well as dopamine is part of anticipatory desire as well as buoyant feelings.It really works as an antidepressant, and inhibitors have been shown have a considerable effect on premature ejaculation. “You are stuck,” I say.

If I am wearing a size 4 I whisper jackal like into my own ear that I could lose 4 more pounds.

When my weight goes up 3 pounds I need to choke off the flood of self hating thoughts.

“Why are you putting on weight? You are out of control? You ate too much, or exercised too little. You failed yourself and you are stuck.”

There are so many ways in which my mind is stuck in seeing me as stuck that it is almost impossible to separate them out. The mind habit of needing some sudden academy award trophy handed to me from a panel of judges in order to see that I am in fact making progress is pretty well entrenched.

What I do know is that every thought, every action comes from habits. I have a habit of not seeing myself as dynamic and capable of taking big steps successfully. And because I know that sense of paralysis is destructive  I am in the process of learning to trust more. I trust that each small action will lead to something. I trust that being focused on decisions will shift my sense of self imprisonment.

I know I will never be a snow boarder dropped off by a helicopter cutting edges in fresh snow down a mountain side. There is no dare devil within me in this life time. But I also know that I can reassure myself in my mental two hander play… just me and me on a long table with a single light over head. The scene is dimly lit but the sound is remarkable.

Knowing that growth is not always spectacular helps. I am fairly sure that I am not stuck. That sense of entrapment is simply a habit. It isn’t a monkey on my back… it is a gorilla. But I am moving and building muscle in all possible approaches to life. I can carry the weight.

Returning to my cheerleader self, I yell out, “You got this, chicky. You got this.”