On Banishing the Inner Punk

Saturday I woke up in a bad mood. There was no particular reason for it, other than the fact that I was feeling sorry for myself. Oh, poor me was my prevailing thought. I caught a cold in December, celebrated New Year's with a kidney infection, and ate my way into a fairly amazing (given the amount of time it took) weight gain to begin 2012.

Of course, my cold was gone...my infection nearly resolved...my healthy eating habits resumed, but that didn't matter. Life was awful. I had boring chores to do, and I couldn't find a good book to read. My car was dirty. My husband was acting cheerful and doing projects. My hair was getting thinner by the minute. The eggs I boiled were too hard. You get the picture. I was the unluckiest person in the universe, hands down. Nobody knew the troubles I'd seen.

Sheesh. What a crock. And even though I realized this intellectually, I couldn't (or wouldn't) pull myself out of it. I went around acting like the martyr of the world all day long, snapping at my husband like an old fishwife, and counting (then recounting) my unblessings. Even the wedding we attended that night couldn't quite reclaim my good nature (though it made a pretty good try)!

Lovely wedding notwithstanding, my Sunday morning mood was only slightly improved. I didn't want to go to church, didn't want to make dinner, didn't want to host the young adult ward for the CES fireside and snacks. I was feeling mad, bad, and kinda sad...and I was ready, though not quite willing, to take everyone down with me. What's more, as this is far from my usual state of mind, my husband was beginning to look at me as if he thought an exorcism might be in order, and the tones he was using in speaking to me sounded like someone trying to talk down a jumper...or soothe a savage beast. Let's face it; I was bristling like a porcupine. (Okay, more prickly than savage, but an unpleasant creature to deal with, nonetheless!)

What cured me? My better-late-than-never decision to push through it, of course, and once sought, the attitude adjustment was a predictably simple one. It involved, as President Hinckley's father once counseled him, forgetting myself and going to work. For me, this took the form of recharging my spiritual batteries at church (thanks, Monta Vista ward, for powerful testimonies and uplifting Relief Society lessons) and replacing self-centeredness with some unselfish service at home. Abandoning the pity pot to prepare and share a good meal with my family set the stage for inner peace so well that hosting our wonderful (and fun) young adult crowd was able to bring the curtain down on my inner punk. And doing the dishes afterward sent her packing!

I don't think she will be missed.

;)

PS: The moral of this story?

The self pity plant draws all of its sunlight directly from our own energy.

It withers in the dark when we direct that energy at others.