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Sunday, August 28, 2011

Newly Skint, Trying to Not Be Scared

Today has been fabulous: It's hot but not horrid; I had a fine time with wonderful women in my Women & Food group; I was honored by compliments about my writing from Jill and Lily; there was a bounce in my step.
And then: I deposited a check at my credit union, and received this slip, which crashed me.
My stomach curdled. I felt squeezed, compressed, afraid. I wanted to run, scream, run and scream. "My rent's due, and now this." I started getting that puffed up resentful, done-wrong feeling.
I then remembered a Friday call from my credit union; I'd not taken it as I was at Writing Friday. And I remembered too, the pleasant surprise I had a couple of months ago when I had seemed to have a lot of money in my checking account. (And, I have to admit, a little bit of worry that it wasn't mine, or there was an error, or Some Other Thing Wrong.)
As I was with food, I've kept myself unconscious about money. I'm not how I used to be in my younger days (bouncing checks, playing the float), but still not quite adult about the subject.
I will give myself some props: I didn't stay in dread and fear. I reminded myself that I was and am the same person as before I piece of paper popped out the ATM; that today--right now--I am alright. (Admittedly, it's been touch-and-go since then...)
And wouldn't you know it? Before I left today's meeting, Jill handed me an extra copy of excerpts from a "Financial Independence" podcast by Dave Ellis. I'm looking at it now, especially this bit:
Tell the truth [about your finances]...When you hide anything it disempowers our ability to act in the world. Until we come clean about is really hard to move forward.
And of course I'm doing that with my "process" around food/eating, and see the immense value of it. But now, damn it, why now?
Reminds me of a cartoon: A little boy and his dad, standing next to their car, disabled by a flat tire. The dad, looking at his son, says, "But we can't change the channel. This is reality."
And so it is.

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