A few weeks ago I made a comment to my husband about being middle-aged. He looked at me and stated that you can’t consider yourself middle-aged at thirty. I did. My mother was 57 when she died. Her parents were in their early 60’s. The odds weren’t looking good that I would live much past 60 without succumbing to some type of cancer.
Then we received the results from all of my recent testing. I’m in the midst of a lifestyle change based on those results. It isn’t as though we ate a horrible diet before, or so we told ourselves. I made most of our food. We ate homemade whole grain baked goods. The kids drank yogurt, fruit, and veggie smoothies. I purchased and made various healthy foods to have on hand for snacks and meals. Through all of that, it was killing me.
Except for certain fruits and vegetables in their native states, everything I ate was making me sick. I’m working to change all of that. Perhaps if my mother had been able to make these changes, she would have lived to know my children. I remind myself of this when I begin to focus on the negatives in the changes in my diet. I want to watch my children grow up. I want to laugh with them, snuggle with them, and love them. I want to feel good.
At this point, I’m not even really certain what it means to feel good, but I’m excited to find out. My husband gave me a challenge this weekend – to make it to our 50th wedding anniversary. I’ll be 70 then. I now hope to be there.