When You Know Better, But Don't Always Do Better

Or, how to change your life in 70,000 easy steps

While writing this, I am eating a bag of Cheetos and drinking a glass of homemade, salty, organic lemonade. Depending on how I know you, I will probably feel the need to qualify one of those two decisions.

I grew up in a stereotypical-lower-middle-class-Midwest family. There isn’t a glamorous version of this life; it involves lots of plastic straws and canned soups and meals that include Doritos as an acceptable carb on the dinner plate. I remember one time my mom bought me a Snickers bar as a snack for dance class because it had peanuts in it, so it had to be one of the healthier options. “At least it has protein!” Many of the people I grew up with, or interact with at my kid’s school, make similar choices to this day.

The longer I spent away from home, the more time I had to reflect on what I’d been taught growing up. I was a vegetarian for awhile, I started trying to buy organic food when I could, I have participated in CSAs on and off over the years, I made my own deodorant. Many of my friends today are crunchy moms of various degrees, and I met a lot of them during this transition into adulthood.

If I walk into a family reunion holding a glass bottle of kombucha, the general consensus is that it’s pretentious and obnoxious. You could not pay people in my family to try it. When I show up to a beach day with my friends, and I’ve packed my kids Lunchables because I didn’t have time to make a real lunch, I feel guilty. Their kids typically have homemade lunches in glass or metal containers, clearly dye-free and healthier than what I’ve thrown together. How I grew up and who I want to be are constantly in tension when trying to make decisions for myself and my family.

When I got pregnant, I had a very clear vision of what my life would look like. I would make three healthy meals a day for my family. I would eliminate artificial fragrances and carcinogens from my house. Everyone would wear natural fibers. I would never forget to bring in the laundry or fill the water filter. There would be no tv. My garden would be no-till, I’d like fermented food, I would remember to feed my sourdough starter and start the cold brew.

I had unintentionally set an ideal that required me to overhaul every single thing I had been taught about life. Post-college I changed how I ate, how I viewed sex, the church I went to, the way I viewed childbirth, how I approached buying things, everything. I kept interrogating the choices I had been taught were normal as a child, and coming up with radically different answers.

The reality is, knowledge alone doesn’t make a new life possible. To actually change your life and make better choices, you need to learn new skills. That takes time, practice, and money. While I’m learning to make sourdough bread and finding a rhythm that fits my daily life, my kids still need to eat. I can’t afford to buy them expensive bread, which means that they’re going to be eating store brand white bread until I figure this out. Take that example, and multiply it across every aspect of a life.

What I‘ve had to come to terms with is that it is impossible for me to keep every single ball in the air simultaneously. These new life choices, the ones that run counter to everything I was taught as normal during my foundational years, aren’t just simple switches I can turn on and off. I have had (and am actively still trying) to teach myself a new way of living; a way that is in line with the seasons, that is more compassionate, that respects the environment. I’m also obligated to keep my family alive.

It’s not, however, just the time, effort, and money that makes these changes difficult. There are fundamental habits and behavior patterns, engrained in me since birth, that have to be changed as well. My default, when I go through the checkout lane at the grocery store, is to reach for a cold Coke. This is a habit I learned from my mother, who for as long as I can remember would buy herself a Diet Coke any chance she got.

Should I grab that Coke? Absolutely not. The answer seems stupidly simple. It’s high fructose corn syrup and dye and caffeine, wrapped in a single use plastic bottle that won’t actually get recycled. It’s killing the environment and my gut, simultaneously.

But when I’m in the store with four kids, one is screaming, another keeps trying to bolt for the claw machine, and I’m just trying to make it to the next part of my day, it takes a lot of mental effort to deny myself what (in the moment) feels like a small comfort. It reminds me of my mom. It feels justifiable. Learning to say no in those moments has been way harder for me than learning to bake sourdough bread.

This isn’t a good excuse, and someday I will stop buying the check lane Coke (for real this time, dammit!!). But it’s important to acknowledge that breaking those bad habits takes practice and time. The act of cutting things out, in my experience, is harder than the act of adding something new. It’s certainly less exciting.

When I’m feeling especially down on myself for failing to live up to my personal expectations, I try to remember how far I’ve come. I used to think sourdough bread tasted too sour, and I really hated it. I wouldn’t touch sauerkraut and the idea of cooking a whole chicken was disgusting. Today, I think store bought bread tastes like cardboard, I eat sauerkraut by the spoonful, and not only can I cook the whole chicken, I can butcher it first.

I may not be the woman I would like to be, but the woman I am today is quite a few steps closer to aligning with my values than the idealistic, pregnant 22 year old I used to be.

So, every time I fall back on old habits, I try again anew. I’ve come this far, after all, I can push forward a little bit more today, tomorrow, the next day, until my life finally matches the values I hold dear. Until then, I’ll give myself grace if I slip and buy the occasional check lane Coke.

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