You know those people who are just unfailingly compassionate? I’m talking about people like Mother Theresa and … well … Mother Theresa. I’m just like her except that I don’t have that “un” part.
I’ve been kicked in the teeth quite a few times – more times than many people I know, but fewer times than other people. Still, you’d think that having experienced some of the things that I have, I’d be a compassionate person – and I am….most of the time. At least I think it’s most of the time. Maybe I’m compassionate only some of the time. In any case, I’m not a nice person all of the time.
I try very hard to give people the benefit of the doubt or to try to see things from their perspective. I can’t always do it. When I fail, I try to keep my nasty little judgemental remarks inside my head; but, sometimes I fail at that, too.
If you haven’t heard yet, a 350-pound British woman is blaming the government for her obesity. She lives in government housing (at no cost to herself) and receives welfare to support herself and her two young children. In spite of the fact that her benefits are worth an estimated $62,000 per year, gyms and healthful food options are just too expensive, she says.
Now, there are a million different ways to attack this woman’s argument and I’ve read most of them. But, the issue I have no compassion for here and elsewhere is the culture of victimhood. I’ve been an unmarried mother. I’ve been obese (although not 350 pounds). And I’ve been poor. And, guess what? All of those things were in some way the result of my own choices. So, they were my fault (if that’s the word we want to use) and no one else’s. (Okay, so maybe not Hurricane Katrina, but most of the rest of the stuff was the result of choices I made.)
I am utterly sick to death of “it’s not my fault” or “I didn’t mean to.”
Actions have consequences. Period. They always have and they always will.
If I punch a policeman in the nose, I will be arrested. If I don’t meet the requirements of my job, I will be fired. If I have unprotected sex, I will eventually get pregnant. And, if I fill my cabinet with Pop Tarts and the like, I will become (or stay) obese. If I stay obese, I will develop diseases like diabetes, arthritis, and heart disease. My body will hurt.
And until I accept responsibility for my current condition, I cannot change it.
As I told you yesterday, to deal with my fatigue and the food temptations that came along with it, I had to put on my Big Goddess Panties and suck it up. And we all have to do that if we are going to effect any kind of change in our own lives. (Men, you can pull up your Aquaman Underoos. If you choose Big Goddess Panties, I really don’t want to know about it. Mmmmk?)
I got into most of my fixes under my own power and I can bloody well get out of them that way, too. I’m not unfailingly compassionate and I’m not powerless either.