Erica, don’t hurt Erica. This was one of my grandmother’s oft-used sayings, mainly about my ever skinned knees and stubbed toes. Lately, my sister, on our daily phone calls, tosses it out as a reminder of a different sort; when I’m busy self-flagellating about any number of things. You likely know the drill: skipping a workout, working too much, eating too much, drinking too much, worrying too much; the list goes on. I’m not sure why we (mainly women, yes) love to tear ourselves apart. But we do, and then it becomes a habit. We somehow forget how many times we hustle to the gym when we don’t feel like it, or skip dessert when we’re desperate for just a bite of chocolate. I know that this constant striving for “better” is unattainable. And at my age (and you know how old I am), it’s also dumb. So, I’m taking up the mantra, Erica, don’t hurt Erica. Thank you, Grandma Fran, for your ageless advice.

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