“Erin, YOU need to learn moderation.”

People have been telling me that my whole life.  No exaggeration, that message has been delivered to me over one thousand times by many, many different people.

Being harped on and nagged to be different is demoralizing and annoying, but people telling me that isn’t the worst part.

The WORST PART is that for a very long time, I felt like they might be right.

I. hate. moderation.  And I DON’T hate.  Very rarely anything stirs that level of negative emotion, but “moderation” will do it EVERY TIME.  Moderation is referred to as “the “m” word” because I don’t even like talking about it.  For almost all of my life when I was told “you’re too hard, you’re too much, just be softer, just be more gentle,” MODERATE was this thing that would somehow FIX ME, like I was a broken toy that didn’t perform in the way that was intended.  Moderate was what I was supposed to be in order to be GOOD, suggesting that what I actually was was insufficient.

Moderation to me is POLITICS.  It’s being PC when you’re talking about your feelings because saying how you feel is not quite as important as everyone else being safe, and how you feel might hurt someone else.  It’s covering the elephant in the room with a pink tablecloth, avoiding discussion of the truth for the sake of those that want to keep their heads in the sand.  It’s using a whisper voice when you’re so pissed off your head is about to explode.  Moderation is someone telling you “they know what’s best,” then you JUST GOING ALONG WITH IT because you think their happiness is more important than your own.  Moderation is holding back and only applying 85% of yourself to something because that is enough to get the job done, even though you’ve still got 35% left in the bag.  (Yes, I know that equals 120%.  Go big or go home.)  Moderation is what you have to be because WHAT YOU ARE is too much, and in order for you to be lovable you have to be LESS.  Or DIFFERENT.  Or SOMETHING ELSE.  To me moderation means going slow.  And being lazy, and giving chancies.  And FAILURE.  To me it means being something I’m just NOT.

I hate moderation.

Moderation is a “quality.”  A property or an attribute.  It’s like a negative disposition or a tendency to be pessimistic.  Moderate literally means restraint.  Avoidance of extremes or excesses.  It’s a character trait.  Although I do think that many character traits can be built and developed, for the most part we are who we are at a very young age.  Moderate is something that people are either born with, or they aren’t.  I WAS NOT.

And just so you know that I’m not TOTALLY UNAWARE, I know my deep dislike of “moderation” stems from emotional baggage.  LOTS of baggage.  In fact, there exists in my Cathedral behind a door marked with a scorched “M” A WHOLE HALLWAY OF ROOMS, each stuffed full with bags, and all the tags on those bags say things like “Erin you’re too much” and “just because it’s true doesn’t mean you can say it,” and “you’re just so hard to love.”  I’ve for sure GOT BAGGAGE.

Some I’m sure is of my own doing, but not all.  And not completely without reason.

For all of my childhood Moderate was a place on the map as unattainable to reach as Perfect.  In fact, Moderate and Perfect are SISTER CITIES.

“Just be moderate, Erin.  Just take it easy.  Head toward Moderate.  Move that direction.  If you just get there, you’ll be better.”

“If you get there you’ll be different.”

“If you get there, I can love you.”

…and then I was crying.

So much crying.  Because when you’ve given every last bit of yourself and it’s still not enough, when you fail enough times, that’s all that’s left.  And I DID FAIL, because I really did TRY.  I tried SO HARD.  I tried to be moderate.  I tried to be different than I was.

I tried over and over but it never stuck.  I was never really able to figure out how to BE MODERATE.  It’s like a dance, this life, and as a child everyone else knew the dance steps except for me.  Everyone bowed and swayed with one another in graceful rhythm, and no matter how hard they tried to show me and no matter how calmly or often or angrily they tried to explain I just couldn’t get the dance right.  I fell down, bumped into other people, hurt myself and others.  I could see everyone else doing it, I could see what it LOOKED like, but no matter how much I tried I just couldn’t BEND that way.  I couldn’t MOVE like that, or reign in my flailing personality.  Like completely uncoordinated arms and legs, my words and thoughts were clumsy and crude and painful and ugly.  No matter how hard I tried to get it right I let down SO MANY PEOPLE, and everyone got upset when I messed up the routine.  When I couldn’t copy the steps.

When I didn’t FIT IN.

My whole life I’ve tried to fit in.

No more trying. Not for that, not anymore.

In my last post I talked about “keeping the extreme.”  That there’s no more apology for the way I am, that I’ve decided I’m just going to be myself.  I still feel that way.

Extreme is defined as “of a character or kind farthest removed from the ordinary or average.”  it means exceedingly great in degree, farthest from the center, and the endmost.  It means walking along the outer perimeter fence and punching holes through it just so you can say you went a step farther.  

AND HONESTLY.  “Farthest removed from the ordinary or average?”  WHO WOULDN’T WANT THAT.  Every single person wants to think they’re outside of average.  We all want to stand out.  We all want to be SPECIAL.  Average is just BLAH.

Yeah, I’m REALLY glad I’m keeping the extreme.

Being extreme means I’ll be way harder for some people to deal with.  It means I flail around through this dance of life, clapping off-beat while careening like a seizing howler monkey on uppers.  SOUNDING like a seizing howler monkey on uppers.  For those of you who are offended or disgusted or just plain confused by my attempts to learn the dance in my own way, I apologize.  I mean no harm.

To make it up to all those people I bash into and accidentally hurt during the dance of life, my penance will be giving up the excess.  I am willing to do without excess.

Excess means “immoderate indulgence.”  It means “going beyond what is regarded as customary or proper.”  Excess isn’t a trait of character so much as it is a behavior.  A CHOICE.  Excess is MORE.  And OVERABUNDANCE.  And TOO MUCH.

As a friend of Ana and Mia, I understand “too much.”  I know what “too much” feels like.

Excess is giving advice that’s asked for but then adding in your own personal opinion at the end.  It’s digging into someone when they’re hurting so you can say “told you so.”  Excess is giving away the farm.  It’s doing “just one more thing” off your to-do list, and taking “just one more pound” off your goal weight.  Excess is supersizing the crappy meal you shouldn’t be eating in the first place.

Extreme character is good.  Excess behaviors are bad.

And with that distinction I think I figured something out.  As much as I don’t want the “m” word, I do think there needs to be some sort of restraint involved.  Some discernment and self-control.

Some balance.

I finally understand that the bottom line, basest, most important, most fundamental principle when navigating the road to HEALTHY is not MODERATION, but the concept of BALANCE.

And even better, “balance” and “moderation” are not the same thing.

Like I said before, moderation is a character trait.  It’s a piece or part of a person.  Balance, though, is something else entirely.  Balance is a state of equilibrium.  A state of equipoise.  (I get extra points for using that word.)  “Mental steadiness or emotional stability, habit of calm behavior.”  Balance is a state of mind.  Balance is a CHOICE, not an inborn trait.  Balance is an even distribution between the extreme nature I choose to embrace and the waiting calm on the other side.  It’s finding down time that matches the up.  Balance is treading carefully in the middle of the road while chaos swirls at the shoulders.

I think that on the road of life, Balance is in the OPPOSITE direction as Perfect.  And it’s an ACTUAL PLACE.  Balance is realistic target.  And a HEALTHY target.

Balance means that when I get to the end of my day I put myself into bed instead of collapsing on top of it.  It means I have a respectable but not crazy amount of things checked off my to-do list, my house is ALMOST clean but not all the way because I spent time playing, and that I can say I sat for a little bit during the day and just BREATHED.  Balance means I took some of the days in my bag of life and did something FUN with them.  Something calm, like snuggling kids or building blanket forts in the living room.

Balance means I can hit the weights as hard as I can for five days a week, push myself farther every day, and then spend my two off days lifting nothing heavier than a pot to cook in because I earned the relaxation.

I can do balance.  And I am willing to say that I NEED balance.

You have no idea how happy that makes me.

First because when pushing toward success, step one is setting an achievable goal.  Balance is an achievable goal.  I CAN DO BALANCE.

Secondly, it means all those people that told me I needed moderation were wrong.

High five, Little Erin. We are just right, just as we are.