Pushing.

Just over three years ago, I was in the throes of childbirth pain. I had been a relaxing champ for several long hours, breathing, visualizing, drooping, and focusing. Finally the urge to push started to rise. And I followed.
But my body wouldn't.
I was too tired. I tried willing my body to push and focus and end this, but I just couldn't. Everyone was cheering for me, pushing me, but I felt weak and completely helpless. I looked in Daman's eyes and told him I just couldn't do it. I wanted them to cut me open, reach in and pull her out, do anything to make it all stop.
The nurse told me the baby wasn't "happy." Oddly, that didn't help. Did she think I was "happy"? Then, a bolder nurse came in, looked at the monitor, put her hand firmly on my knee and said, "This baby needs out. Right now."
 That flipped my switch. My baby was in trouble, and suddenly I realized that I was the only one who was going to get her safe. So I summoned whatever I had left in me and I pushed. I screamed. I groaned. But in two pushes, little Emma was safe. She was weak and bluer than she should have been. The cord was wrapped around her neck and had been tightening throughout the pushing process. They had lost her heartbeat briefly--the moment when the firm nurse stepped in and clarified the moment.
  In those moments before I summoned the strength to do so, I did not believe I had anything left in me to give. I was trying to will my body to work, but it was frozen, weak, worn, and uncooperative. And somehow, I believe that something else could surely make this happen. Couldn't they just pull her? Couldn't someone just get her out for me? But they couldn't. I was the only person that could deliver that baby safely. If I had quit, our Emma could have had a very different start.
  Today, my body felt that way again. I wanted to push through. I wanted to exercise. I wanted to do the power jumps, the insane push-ups, and cheer along with Shaun-T barking at me to dig deeper. But my muscles just wouldn't. I felt weak, tired, and beaten. I wept through the entire workout, stumbling my way through a sad impression of the hard bodies on the television screen. 
  And my mind went back three years. I remembered that feeling of weakness. I remembered that feeling of helplessness. My mind began to wonder if this is really possible. . really worth it. . . really doable. Can I really change? Is this plan really right? Isn't there another way?? And suddenly, I realized that there is not.
  There is simply no other way than for me to push. There are methods, but they all require the pushing. And the common denominator in all of them is Me, doing what I think I cannot do. If I want to break through this barrier and feel free, honest, and strong. I have to do it. If I want to radically change the way I eat, feel lean and healthy in 4 months, and end the obsession with dieting for the rest of my life, I have to do it. There is not a soul on God's green earth that can do this for me. Not even God can do this for me. I can pray, plead, and ask. And He will support, edify, and magnify. But I have to put in the sweat. I have to say no to the food. I have to say yes to the change. I have to do the pushing. If I want my life to change. I have to change it. And just like my precious Emma. . . the rewards of this push will be so sweetly worth it.