Reality Checks
Feroshia R.J. Knight, MA, PCC
I'd just arrived home, and I couldn't believe it. My completely adorable boyfriend cooked me an all-out feast. Again! Old-fashioned meatloaf, buttery mashed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, Waldorf fruit salad, and cornbread. Sounds great, right?
Maybe for you, but I had just lost 15 pounds on a blissfully low-carb diet, and I was so close to my goal weight, I could almost feel the new string bikini I was about to buy. So a fancy schmancy dinner full of carbs was not my idea of a loving gesture.
"I can't believe you did this," I said to Joe, annoyance spreading like a rash across my neck. "I told you, I'm determined to lose my last ten pounds, and I have to be conscientious about what I eat. Did you forget?"
"I didn't forget," Joe said, placing the Waldorf salad onto the dining table.
I paced in front of the kitchen, recalling two nights before when he'd loaded my plate with a brick of five-cheese lasagna, followed by Louisiana pecan pie, á la mode. Trust me, not a crumb went to waste. My willpower, or lack thereof, is legendary.
"See, this is the problem," I explained, struggling to keep my voice from raising an octave. "You love to cook, so you make all this fabulous food, but it's not the food I want to eat. It's mouth-wateringly delicious, which is completely despicable."
Joe squelched a smile. This is how he liked to defuse me, with an unflappable demeanor that by contrast made me look like a raving lunatic.
"Despicable?" Joe echoed, while assembling the hot stuffed mushrooms on a small platter in the shape of a heart.
Is it Valentine's Day? No, my Joe is a hopeless romantic—he puts me to shame in that department. While he's being all dreamy in the kitchen, I'm trying to keep it together. You see why this is completely annoying, right?
I took a deep breath. "You put that stuff in front of me, Joe, and I can't resist it. Therefore, I eat it. That is nothing but contemptible on your part."
Joe grinned and scooped the mashed potatoes into a serving bowl. Call me contentious, but I like to be taken seriously!
"I can't not eat it," I protested louder, "because you spend hours making this stuff, which is incredibly sweet and wonderful, and therefore impossible for me to refuse! I hope you understand, this sort of inconsiderate behavior can't continue!"
"Okay," Joe said, arranging the table with place settings for two. "You want to stick to your diet. I get it."
"Do you?" I said. "Because it doesn't seem like it, and now to make a point of sticking with my diet plan, I have to leave my own home or risk making a pig of myself."
Joe filled two wine glasses with ice water and dropped a lemon wedge into each. He held one out to me.
"Dinner's ready," he said. "And if I can have your attention for just one minute, I can explain that I heard every word you said the other night about your diet. That's why I altered all my recipes and used super-low-carb substitutes. Those potatoes are not potatoes; they're cauliflower. The stuffing in the mushrooms is cheese only, no bread crumbs. No bread crumbs in the meatloaf either, and no ketchup. You won't find marshmallows or sugar in the Waldorf—just fresh fruit—and the cornbread is for me." He patted his stomach. "I'm not on a low-carb diet. And because you're such a grump this evening, you're going to have to go without dessert."
I decided it was best not to speak for a moment, so I could pull my foot out of my mouth, while Joe sat down and waited for me to join him.
Men are so annoying, aren't they?
It might seem obvious to you what I did wrong here. But let's go over it.
First, I didn't ask; I made assumptions. And then I got all twisted out of shape before I understood what was really happening. If I'd made a simple check-in with reality by asking clear, direct questions in a non-confrontational manner, my angst could have been avoided.
Second, after all my posturing, it was much harder to form an apology. Once I processed what occurred between us, I had to be a big enough person to take responsibility for my actions—as a person and part of a loving relationship. And I was able to laugh at myself, as well.
Third, Joe could have stopped me and explained what he was doing early on, instead of watching me draw incorrect conclusions. However, in the end he did that, and his good-natured responses kept this couple's argument from getting out of control. He took the first steps to invite the change, and I joined him because his patience and good sense of humor made it easy, and it was the right thing to do.
If you'll excuse me, I have a new string bikini to buy.
I never forgot those lessons, and I offer them for you now:
- Make honesty your policy. One lie begets another—and another—until you trip yourself up. Lying squanders your time, energy, and imagination.
- Make allies. If I'd been my authentic self with Daisy, she'd have been more willing to teach and help me when I needed it. I wouldn't have sabotaged her and, in so doing, sabotaged myself.
- Make no excuses. If you're not living your ideal life, if you feel overwhelmed, if you're avoiding the work you signed on for, own up to it, make a plan for change, and follow through.
I'm off now to have a chat with my young assistant about that report I was supposed to have on my desk this morning. I think the words of inspiration you're searching for are: good luck!
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