Monday, May 9, 2011

Darn Push-Button Locks

When I was in elementary school, I attended one of many sleepovers at my best friend Heather's house. Her house was much newer than mine and a two-story, at that! Every time I went there, I felt awed and intimidated all at once. They had a formal living room and a family room, each kid had his or her own room, and there was even a landing on the stairs that allowed you to look over the top of the formal living room. I imagine that if I visited that house today, I would still be struck with a sense of veneration. Heather could have lived in a shack and I would have still loved to visit her, but her cool house was icing on the cake.

During this particular sleepover, I needed to go to the bathroom after dinner. Everyone had scattered to their rooms and settled down for the night, while Heather and I were gearing up to sleep in the family room in sleeping bags! I headed to the downstairs bathroom by the garage door and took care of business. What I didn't realize was that I had also taken care of locking the door. I grew up with twisting locks, but this house had buttons that one pushed in and then released by turning the knob. I tried diligently to get out of the bathroom -- I turned the knob but was afraid to force it, I tried to poke my finger into the latch, I said a prayer that the lock would magically undo itself. After what seemed like forever, but was likely a few minutes, I resigned myself to living in that bathroom forever. I was too embarrassed to knock or to scream for help because I wanted these people to like me. I did NOT want to be the nerd who locked herself in the bathroom.

I honestly do not remember how I got out of that bathroom. I know I did not have to tell anyone that I was stuck, but I also do not recall how the door became unlocked. Maybe that prayer for magic really worked. Maybe I fast-forwarded into the future and went to Online universities that have locksmith programs for people who want to make figuring out locks their career. But, the fear of people thinking I was dumb has lasted with me since then. Just writing this blog entry is making my hands sweaty with anxiety.

The metaphorical bathroom I've been locked in my whole life has just about the same effect on my palms. I had resigned myself to live in a body that I was uncomfortable with, thinking that I could not let anyone know that I was less than happy with how I felt. The truth is, though, that I had no experience with this particular "lock." My mom always encouraged physical activity, but also encouraged brownie mix. My natural inclination was to eat until I was full, which then became eating until my food was gone when I became a poor college student. The mechanism known as healthful living was completely foreign to me.

This time, I am not afraid to bang on the door and ask for help. In the past, I would have never thought to post a call for a weight loss group on a social media outlet full of boys and adults that I wanted to impress. I would have rather stayed in a 4x4' tiled room that was mostly taken up by a toilet. So what if people think I am a nerd now, and a fat one at that? A constant theme on this blog and in my life is getting support when it is the most difficult to ask for it; that probably says more about my issues than it says about my motivational skills, but I can't stop writing about it.

So, for right now, I am wondering if anyone is willing to help me unlock this push-button health thing. Here's the link for the group:

Biggest Loser Challenge

And with God as my witness, I will never get locked in an actual bathroom again.

1 comment:

  1. I was locked in our bathroom once while the missionaries were over, it was due to a malfunctioning door knob my dad had to bust me out of there and then the door never locked again. And to loosely quote Khloe Kardashian "I tired of pretending I'm happy with my size"