Crushed under the weight of my own expectations

I was doing some heavy thinking on the treadmill yesterday... what else is a girl to do while she sweats out four very ugly miles as part of her half marathon training?

And what was I thinking, anyway, training for this half marathon? It has been an ugly few weeks... I have a dozen excuses of why I'm not very stallion-esque while I run, but none really matter... I'm still training through the ugliness. Even yesterday's ugliness when I happened to forget my deodorant (gasp). I feel sorry for the person running next to me. (Let's be honest... my nose has been stuffy for two months, so I was blissfully unaware of how much I really embarrassed myself.)

But back to the treadmill... I was mulling some deep thoughts as I sweated to Beyonce. I read a blog yesterday about ways to increase the amount of walking I do. Which is a great idea. You know the drill... park at the back of a parking lot, take the stairs, yadda, yadda, yadda...

And this is how my stream of consciousness progressed:

I should walk more. Heck, I'm trying to drop a few pounds, this sounds like an easy way to facilitate that.


But then I'd have to wear flats every day. And even my best work flats aren't really made for a lot of walking. So I'd have to buy new shoes.


But I'm supposed to dress for the job I want... It's proven science (at least, I saw it in a magazine once) that the most professionally intimidating women wear stilettos. And since I have a fairly public job, I need to be a put-together professional fashionista.


But if I walk long distances in heels, I'll mess up my feet. I don't need a bunion. Those surgeries hurt.

And then I thought about other contradicting expectations I put on myself:

I want to be a domestic goddess. I should be a fabulous cook. And baker. Good women know how to bake pies.


But I shouldn't really eat those sorts of calorie-ridden foods. I need to be eating lean. Basic. The last thing I need to be eating is pie. 


But a domestic goddess doesn't just make grilled chicken and steamed veggies for dessert. She needs to wrap that chicken in cream cheese and bread dough and bake it in the oven. And I should saute those veggies in some sort of wonderful Italian olive oil.


As a domestic goddess, I should have a clean house. I should put myself on a cleaning schedule, and have sparkling floor and dustless blinds. On all 20 of my 10-foot-tall windows.


But I work long hours. So if I spend much time cleaning, I won't have time to work out.


Maybe I should work out before work. Oh wait, if I do that, I won't get my quiet time in. I could try to do both, but then I would have to wear a pony tail to work. And then I won't look fashionably intimidating. How can I juggle a quiet time, getting ready for work, cleaning my house, working out, and cooking healthy?

And suddenly I'm drowning beneath the weight of my own expectations.

The other night, as Mr. Right and I prayed together before bed...

Side note - a pastor at our church told us that the divorce rate for couples who pray daily together is 1%... and since divorce is not an option and we want to set ourselves up for success, we've adopted a nightly prayer time, just the two of us, before we go to bed... and I absolutely love it.

As I was saying... the other night, as Mr. Right and I prayed together before bed, he prayed the sweetest prayer over me. He prayed that the Lord would reveal what His expectations are for my life, and that He would save me from being crushed by my own self-expectations.

I never thought of it that way. I do tend to be my own worst enemy when it comes to holding myself to an impossible standard.

And I didn't realize that Mr. Right had noticed.

What a sweet prayer for a girl who wants to be a Martha Stewart homemaker with a Jessica Biel body and a Condoleeza Rice brain. Marriage, in the midst of all the fun, surely is a sanctifying experience.

Happy Anniversary to me (and Mr. Right)

Last weekend we celebrated our one-year wedding anniversary - it was a week early, but this coming weekend we have a gender reveal party for my sister's first baby, and we just couldn't bear to miss it. So we bumped it up a week and had ourselves a glorious time.

We spent Sunday night at the Omni, the same hotel we stayed in on our wedding night. In typical fashion, Mr. Right sweet-talked the hotel into upgrading us to a suite, complete with two bathrooms, a huge living room and a gorgeous view of Fort Worth.

We got gussied up and treated ourselves to a  fancy dinner at Texas de Brazil (we even snagged a coupon that let us save a little cash). Other than that, we did absolutely nothing. We mostly reminisced about our first year of marriage - it was such a challenging one, but filled with such sweet moments (and so many laugh out loud, pee in my pants funny memories) that we relived again together. In typical Bethe fashion I cried through most of our reminiscing, because (a) I'm a girl and (b) I tend to get overwhelmed with gratitude when I think back to all the miracles God worked in our life over the past year - the dozens of answered prayers, the moments of celebration, the tender moments between just the two of us... and the other times when I felt extreme sadness, and yet my sweet husband was there to walk alongside me.

And then there was breakfast. Is there any greater luxury than ordering room service in a hotel? We ordered room service for breakfast, and I got to enjoy a giant stack of pancakes without having to change out of my pajamas. It made me feel like a princess (it doesn't take much, does it?). Then we climbed back in bed and spent the whole morning watching movies. It was peaceful and relaxing and I loved every minute of it.

We spent the afternoon shopping and eating lunch at our favorite Fort Worth spot (Zoe's), and I snagged the cutest red ruffled dress at a local boutique. And then we drove home, took another long nap, and spent the evening watching more movies.

It was the perfect end to a great Christmas vacation, and I feel recharged and ready to face the world.

To those of you who prayed for us this year, I want to say a whole-hearted THANK YOU. Trust me when I say that Mr. Right and I logged many, many hours on our knees in 2011. Please don't stop on year two!