The art of ignoring

Note: This post ain't pretty. But it is where I'm at and honestly? It's where I have been.



When I was a kid, and other kids teased me, my mom always told me to ignore it.

"Ignore it and they'll stop."

The thing is, although she was right in that situation, it's not exactly a healthy coping strategy for things that bug me now.

So here we go...

I want to get married to Joe.  I want to have kids with Joe.

And, for the most part, Joe doesn't want that.  It's not that he does NOT want it, he just doesn't WANT it.  Make sense?

Basically, he's not sure.  And the not sure thing?  It's eating at me.  So I'm eating it.

When I went into surgery, I weighed the same as I did when I went to my mom's for Christmas.  Since then?  I've gained 7 pounds.  So you tell me how I can not gain weight in two months, most of which I spend as a sedentary blob, and now I'm gaining weight like a champ when I'm busy and active?

Ahhh...yes.  That would be me - bolting from the reality that is my life.

I use food to veg out.  To check out.  To take my mind away from the reality that I have a few outcomes in front of me - most of which involve my relationship going by the wayside.

"But you seem so happy!," you might be thinking.

And the kicker is?  You'd be right.  I am *SO* happy.  We laugh and have fun.  He fits with my family and I absolutely adore his family and friends.  We have a good sex life and we are there for each other when things aren't so great.  We take refuge in each other's arms - like ducking under a shelter in the middle of the sh!t storm that is life sometimes.

But he still doesn't realize that.

And I am left feeling like I'm not enough.  Like this relationship, the best thing I've ever been a part of in my entire life, isn't good enough for him.

Wednesday, the day of my interview (that I rocked), I came home in a foul mood.  We had gotten a few measly inches of snow which turned all the drivers around me into sliding, fumbling nincompoops.  The normally twenty minute drive took over an hour and a half.  It was, to be clear, a very frustrating time.  But as I sat fuming in my car, cursing the drivers around me, I realized that I couldn't possibly be *this* pissed about the weather and driving.

I walked in the door and found Joe who was making dinner (the first in our whole time together).  He was smiling, warm, and happy.  And I wasn't.  I was cranky and when he asked about the interview, I told him I didn't want to talk about it.  I told him that it wasn't him, it was me, but that I just needed a moment to myself.  I went in my room, changed into warm and comfy fun pants and then came out to talk to him.

At one point, when we were talking about the job, he encouraged me to do whatever it was that I wanted.  Calm, supportive, thoughtful, and sweet - that's Joe. 

But all of the sudden it was too much.

"I don't get to do what I want," I said. "Because if I got to do what I wanted, I'd marry you right this instant.  I'd have your babies.  We'd get a dog.  I'd move in more of my stuff into our tiny place.  I'd quit my job, become an elementary school teacher in the same district as our kids so I could have summers and holidays off with them.  Don't tell me to do what I want...because I can't do that."

He stared at me and then opened his arms, where he folded me - crying, sobbing me - into his comforting embrace.  He didn't say anything to refute what I said.  He didn't assure me that it would all work out.  He didn't tell me that he wanted the same.  He didn't tell me that he didn't want the same.  He just hugged me.

It's the same dance we've been doing for months now.  It's this THING in our relationship - one of the few things we actually disagree on.  But this thing?  It's becoming bigger and stronger than I am sometimes.

It's not that I have to have kids or I won't be happy married to Joe.  If we couldn't have kids, we'd find some way to have them in our lives - adoption, fostering, or being a Big Brother or Sister in social organizations.  I'm not interested in marrying him for his sperm.  But I'm not going to say that having my own children isn't a HUGE pull for me right now either.

It's that I feel like I have two chances.  The chance to marry Joe and the chance to have kids of my own. 

My worst nightmare is having my OB say to me that it's too late to have kids.  He told us when I was in his office (during the whole uterine fibroid thing), that after mine was removed, we'd have a few years in which to have kids.  Then, my awesome lady bits would likely keep growing fibroids - ones as big as the grapefruit-sized one that I had removed - ones that probably would crowd out any fetus wanting to grow in there.  Is he 100% right?  Maybe; maybe not.  Could I go to other docs to get a different opinion?  Probably.  But the thing is, he's the specialist I trust.  I trust that what he's saying is true.

So let's say I hang in there with Joe and hope that he comes around.  Let's say he never does.  Let's say I eventually leave him.  Let's say that a while later, I find someone who is ready to settle down and treats me almost as well as Joe does.  Let's say that then?  It's too late for me to have kids.  Now I don't have Joe or kids.

It boils down to this: I'm finding myself trying to choose between the chance to have kids someday and the chance to be Joe's wife someday.  The hard part is that I don't know what my actual chances are at either.

If I were given the choice to marry Joe or have kids, I would pick Joe every time.  But the very real choice of giving up the chance to have kids for the chance to be Joe's wife is too risky for me.

But really?  That's big talk.  Because I also can't see myself walking away from a relationship as wonderful as I believe ours to be.  That doesn't come along every day...so why would I walk away from it?

But then again, if it's so great, why can't he see that?

So that's where we are - in a crossroads of our relationship.

In the good news department, we had a big ol' fight mid-Decemberish.  Mostly about other stuff...like his inability to trust me with some parts/aspects of his life...but this issue came up.  It's not exactly a unique fight - with me or previous exes.  He's 44 and until I moved in, he'd never lived with anyone else before.  Never been engaged either.  Inability to commit isn't exactly a new thing for him.  Ultimately, he agreed (reluctantly) to see a therapist - both for himself and with me as a couple.

Those people are specialists too...and they should be able to help us figure out what we want to do or what we don't, right?

He had his first session with the therapist in December.  We had our first session as a couple on the 13th of January and all I can say is oh.my.gosh this going to be tough. 

In the meantime, it's me.  Me and a whole lotta' uncertainty.

Know what's easier to face than the uncertainty?  The plate full of food in front of me.  The drive-thru lady during my lunch break.  The supermarket clerk on my way home.

Because in those moments, when I'm hurriedly eating food, I don't have to face the fear that I'm not enough for the person I've loved most in my life.  I don't have to worry about how I may never feel a baby kick inside me.  I don't have to worry how I'm going to handle being the Maid of Honor at my baby sister's wedding in two months when what I want most is to getting married myself.  I don't have to weigh possibilities or plans to change anything.  I don't have to think about steps to leave the best thing that's ever happened to me.  I don't have to deal with the worry that I might be pushing and sabotaging my relationship for something that I don't even know that I can do.  I mean, it's not like I've ever TRIED to get pregnant anyway.

So eating when I'm hungry?  I can do that. 

But stopping when I'm no longer hungry?  When I do that, I feel empty.  Alone.  Foolish.  Left-over.  Passed-over.  Not good enough.

I'm not sure what the solution is.  I know that I'm actively doing things to try to figure myself and us out.  I know he's doing the same.  I know that's something.

I want to fight for this.  But sometimes?  I want to ignore the fact that I have to fight for this.  I want to ignore the idea that another sh!tty thing might happen to me in the long line of sh!tty things that have happened to me. 

I want to ignore the voice that's screaming "I told you so" when I had the audacity to hope.

Emotional baggage

Good Lord.  I'm not sure I'm even going to publish this.  If I do, feel free to skip it.

My dad is supposed to come and visit mid-October.

My dad and I have a VERY interesting past - and by "interesting" I mean hard and chalk full of crap that I'm STILL trying to work through with my therapist.

It's another fat girl with daddy issues.  Surprised?  Me neither.

He made it clear growing up that he didn't ever want to have kids.  He dislikes them immensely and we were kept away from him at almost all costs.  When we were around him, we were taught to listen to him and not talk about ourselves.  Healthy, no?

So while, yes, he did pay for us to go to college and yes, he was technically around, he showed unlove to us kids all the time.  He didn't want to be around us ever and other than my older sister's varsity soccer games, couldn't be counted on to come to any of our functions.  All of those were left to my mom. He didn't remember birthdays, didn't want to meet any of our boyfriends, and didn't wish us well on prom nights.  I never went to a father-daughter dance and I can't imagine what would happen if I asked him for a hug, even now. 

He is completely introverted.  An awkward guy who says things that are hurtful on a regular basis - mostly because he doesn't possess what normal people call "people skills."  He's full of himself, terribly insecure, and recently retired.

The thing is, he watched a movie I haven't seen yet called Everybody's Fine (I think that's the name of it), starring Robert DeNiro.  Apparently, it's about a dad who visits his kids all around the country.  All I know is my dad thought it was sad and has started to book trips to visit us girls (there are three of us, I'm the middle one) around the country.

As tempted as I am to pull this whole "Cat's in the Cradle" thing on him, I realize that he's trying.  I realize that even though I've never heard him say that he's proud of me or that he thinks I'm beautiful that he's trying to be a better dad.  Or maybe he's just lonely.

So, my dad was supposed to visit me mid-October.

Only when I thought I was going to get that job that I interviewed for, I called him up and said that that weekend may not work.  I asked him to hold off on his plans.

This past week, I'm proceeding with my life as if I did not get that job.  Which is actually okay...I think if they offered me the job (they still haven't made an official decision yet), I would have to think long and hard before accepting it - it doesn't feel like the right fit.  So I called him up and asked him if that weekend would still work.

He said that he was sick but that he would look into it.

And rather than checking back, he just booked the flights.

Only now we can't get the guest suite where we live.  Which means that to have him somewhat close by, I will be spending $200-$300 each night on hotels.  Hello downtown hotel rates!

Know what I don't have these days?  An extra $750-$1000 to spend on my dad coming to visit.

So I called him up - I explained the situation.  I offered to pay for the guest suite (which is only $80 for all three nights combined) and the $100 to change his flight.  He interrupted me and said "It's actually $150 to change."

Have I mentioned that my dad is a retired doctor?  Who has three luxury cars?  And any gadget/TV item they make?  Okay then.

And he said that he didn't want to re-book, that he wanted to stay in a place that had breakfast available, that he wanted to have his own space (i.e. not stay with us) and that he wanted to be able to walk to "shops." 

I looked AGAIN last night and can't find anything much cheaper.

So I cried.  I cried because I'm sad.  I'm sad because I don't want to believe that my dad is still so selfish.  I'm angry that it's still all about him and what works for him.  I'm sad that my dad can't just go with the flow, can't just realize that I'm doing the best that I can.

I cried because I still feel like *I* must be flawed.  If I wasn't so flawed, he might forgive me for not reserving the guest suite earlier (which is actually quite an ordeal and the lady in charge of booking things gets CRANKY when you change stuff around).  If I wasn't so flawed, he might say the words that I've always wanted him to say.  If I wasn't so flawed, I might be loved.

I know.  I'm messed up.

So I stopped.  I asked myself what was REAL and what was some of the same crap that I've been believing for years.  AND I asked myself to behave in a way that was healthy.

That's when I realized that I was exhausted.  I haven't been sleeping well and I have some health issues that are concerning to me.  I decided to sleep on it.

This morning, I emailed him.  I explained that spending that much money on a hotel is just not an option right now.  I explained what I was willing to pay for and three viable options.  I asked him to choose the option he felt most comfortable with.  And (as my mom would say) SO HELP ME HANNAH* if he complains one bit, I'll remind him that HE chose whatever option he chose.

The truth is, he does love me - he must, right?  Or else he wouldn't travel to come see us.  The truth is, I am lovable.  Sure, I'm flawed, but I am doing the best I can.  I'm a loving daughter, a loving person.  And he may never change - no matter what movie he sees.  So I need to stand up for myself, to be a healthy advocate.

I feel better after having hit the "send" button.

Two things I'll be telling myself all day:
1) I will NOT eat my emotions regarding this.  Even if he responds in a crappy way.  My desire to be healthy is valid. What I wrote was fair.  Actually, it was more than fair.
2) I will go for a run at lunch.  The temperature is in the low 70s today.  Getting out, smelling fresh air, and feeling sunshine always grounds me.  I can't wait around for my dad to treat me with love and respect.  I've got to treat myself with love and respect first and foremost.  And taking time away from my desk, doing something that makes me feel better, is a fabulous way to accomplish that.



*Seriously, who is Hannah anyway?

Unpacking my head

One of the things I've loved the most about Geneen Roth's books is that she has highlighted the importance of being familiar with and accepting of your feelings.  The thing is, sometimes I feel like that doesn't apply to me.  I'm an engineer by trade and schooling.  I think logically.  I don't NEED to figure out my feelings.  I can think my way through them.

Know where that got me?  280 pounds.  So obviously, I wasn't doing something (many things?) right.

So I'm willing to give this whole "Feeling your feelings" thing a shot.  The best way I know how to do that is to get it all out in the open.

But growing up, my mom was always quick to point out that things could always be worse.  And she's right.  They can.

So, before I start going on my soap box of whining, I'd like to clarify a few things:
I understand people are dying of hunger all over the world.  I understand that I'm lucky to live in a country where there are basic rights that are respected.  I'm blessed to have a sexual orientation that is widely accepted and promoted.  I'm lucky to have been born in a family where we always had enough to eat and where education was encouraged.  I am healthy. My family and friends are healthy.  I'm blessed to be in a relationship that is healthy, nurturing, and really a great team - many people don't have that.  I am lucky.  PLEASE don't comment that things could always be worse.  I get it.  Really, I do.

BUT...I'm dissatisfied. 

Let me back up. 

In February, I decided that I might want to put my house up on the market - it wasn't a good fit.  Things didn't feel right in that house, despite me trying to make it work for three years.  I deep cleaned and de-cluttered my house, putting about half of my stuff in storage at my boyfriend's (Joe) storage unit.  Most of the stuff were things that I knew I wouldn't need soon.  I could unpack it all when I got in my new place!

Less than a month later, it was up on the market.  Five days and 2 showings later, it was under contract.  We closed in April.   For the first few weeks after my house was under contract, I looked very hard for a new place to move into.  And I couldn't find anything that I liked.  So Joe offered the chance to live at his place until I found something.

I rented a storage unit of my own - this time putting 99% of my remaining stuff in boxes and meticulously labeling everything so that I could find it when I moved out of his place.  I really believed that being at Joe's was a pausing spot until I found the place where I was supposed to be.

Only after I was living there, it occurred to me that the place I was supposed to be was with him.  I realized that I didn't want to move away from him - even if it was only a few minutes away.  I loved him.  The bond that I felt was too powerful to ignore.

In May we talked and agreed that we would officially live together.  We agreed that we both wanted to see where this went - neither one of us had ever lived with someone else before - so that was a big step.  We wanted to take it easy, but we both agreed that I should stop looking for houses.

Since then, we've certainly had some disagreements - all normal.  99% of the time, we're really happy.  We really gel.  We are a great team.  In my opinion, we just fit.

Yesterday I had to go to the storage units (both in the same facility) to look for a few things.  And I couldn't find a bathing suit for a water aerobics class I'm taking with Katy.  So I started digging around in the unit.  And I got reacquainted with my stuff.

And HOO BOY there is a lot of it.  And you know what?  Sometimes I miss it.  I miss the furniture pieces that I picked out after I graduated.  I miss having a wall of pictures (all mismatched frames) of people that I love dearly.  I miss being able to step on my grandparent's rug that they bought when they lived in India.  I love the margarita glasses that I picked out on a whim in Mexico.  And I wish that I could use the couch that is way more comfy than Joe's.

The stuff in Joe's unit are almost all in black garbage bags (only a few have labels slapped on them).  I thought that it would only be in storage for a month or so - until I could sell my house.  I have no idea where stuff is.  Going through that unit makes me cranky.

MY unit (with meticulously labeled boxes) is much better set up.  BUT since the season is changing soon, I'm going to need to find all of my winter stuff.  I'm going to need more space.

AND this gets to the heart of my whine.

I like where we live.  I like the convenience of living downtown.  I LOVE living with Joe.

But I want more.  I want to have some more of my stuff AND live with Joe.

(deep breath)

Truthfully, I want a ring.  I want to be his wife.  I want to be a mom.  I want to start that portion of my life.

I want to be able to invest the proceeds of my house sale in something other than an online bank account (because if we break up, I'll need access to it right away, right?). 

I want to merge our lives together.

I don't want the storage units.

He knows this.  We've had direct and indirect conversations about it.  He loves me.  I know that he does; he says it and he shows it on a daily basis.  A little over a month ago, I told him plainly that I wanted to be his wife.  He understands.  But he's freaked out about the idea of marriage.  And yes, he has business cards for therapists (he initiated it)...he just hasn't made the appointment yet.  It's been over a month.

When people ask (and yes, they ask often) "When are you all going to get married?" and "Aren't you worried that he's never going to propose?  What would you do then?"  I put up a brave front.  I say that I'm happy.  Happier than I have been in forever.  I say that I never thought that I could have something like this...and I'm thrilled with how happy we are.

And I am.

Only when I'm not. 

My brave voice says out loud to people, "I'm happy now.  And when I stop being happy, I'll do something about it.  If being married ever gets to be more important than being with him, I'll know it's time to leave."

In the security of his arms at night or in the morning, I realize that I might not have that kind of strength.  This is the best relationship I've ever been in.  It's healthy, nurturing, loving, and kind.  It is almost everything I've ever hoped for.  As we snuggled last night, I felt so loved - my soul felt warm and cherished.  Why would I throw that away for a RING and a name change?

I am happy.  Most times, blissfully so.

But if he won't make the appointment for the therapist to discover his issues with marriage, how long will I really wait?  Is it even healthy to do so? 

This is the best thing I've had - ever.  It's rare.  I believe that.  Why can't he see it?  I recognize that he's thinking: if this is so great, why can't she just be happy?  Why does she have to push for the next step?

My real fears: What if I'm not good enough to be with for forever - what if that's what he really believes?  What if that's what I really believe?  What if by waiting for him, I turn out to be a fool?  What if this ends and then I can't ever be a mom because I'll be too old (I'm 33) to be one anyway?  He's 43 and has never been married or engaged - what if he is just one of those guys that won't commit?  What is so wrong with wanting to be with someone who wants to claim you as his own?  What is so bad about wanting someone to make a life long pledge?  Why won't he receive the gift that I want to give him (my pledge, my commitment)?

Like I've said: we've talked about it.  We're just in different places.  When I bring it up, he withdraws and gets sad.  He feels bad that he doesn't know what he wants.  He feels bad that I feel sad.  I feel bad that he's feeling pressured to make a decision.

And yet, the feelings don't get resolved.

I just don't know if what I'm doing is right.  I don't know if what I'm doing is healthy.  Am I being too selfish? Am I being too needy?  Or is he being stupid?

Most of the time, I'm FINE with it.  But when I go to the storage unit, I realize the truth: my life is on hold for him. 

It feels so risky - this waiting game; the stakes are as high as they've ever been. 

I don't want to leave because I AM so happy most of the time.  I believe that this is real, genuine, and healthy.  But I don't want to give myself the message that I'm not worth a ring, a promise, or a partner either.

Hey Geneen, how's that for feelings?  Sitting with them isn't DOING anything.  Eating them isn't helping.  Talking about it doesn't change anything. 

I have no idea what else to do.

Pausing

'Member last week when I wrote that I was eating and eating and didn't know why and couldn't stop?  Yeah, me too.  It sucked.

Here's the thing that I didn't mention about Friday afternoon. I knew that I needed to cry about Chassis. So I actually went to a store and BOUGHT the movie "Beaches." If you haven't seen it, just know that it's almost the saddest movie ever made and gets me to cry every time. I knew I would feel silly about just sitting on my couch trying to cry, but if I had something to HELP me cry, that'd be great, wouldn't it?

Right next to the SuperMegaMart is a Dairy Queen.  So Friday at lunch, I treated myself to the DVD and a blizzard.  Okay, actually, two small blizzards. Healthy, I know.

Anyway, I went home after work, ran in the rain, took a shower, and then opened the brand new DVD case and plopped the disc into the DVD player.  NOTHING.  As in, it didn't work at all. 

So my perfect crying prompter wasn't working.  I sat on the couch and TRIED to feel sad about Chassis not being there...and I did feel sad.  I even cried a little.  But I couldn't quite get all the crying out.

Until Joe climbed into bed with me.  Then?  Why then I bawled my eyes out to Joe.  You know, the hiccuping, gasping for breath crying jags that leave you feeling like a freak and are kind of worried that you might suffocate because then someone will have to TELL people how you died and then that's all people would be talking about at your funeral?  Yep.  THAT kind of crying jag.

Honestly, I felt so much better afterwards, but I knew that the true test would come this week...when life started happening again.

Last night Joe and I were on our way home and we ran into another neighbor.  This neighbor has a little girl who came over the night before Chassis died just to meet her.  Of course, this neighbor asked about the dog- seeing as how he hadn't seen Chassis in over a month.  Joe looked at me, made a sad face, and then squeezed my hand in support as I told the neighbor what happened.

I told him in plain words and waited for the wave of grief to hit me, just as it had before.  But it didn't.  I paused, thought about it, and realized that at least for that moment, I was okay. Of course I still missed her and of course the topic was sad, but it wasn't all consuming like it was on Friday morning.

Today, I woke up and ate a piece of string cheese because I was a bit hungry.  I had a double fiber english muffin (toasted) with peanut butter on top around 11 (because that's when I was hungry).  Even though my lunch hour is at noon, I followed the guidelines of mindful eating.  I even turned my chair around at my desk so I could stare out the window as I enjoyed the english muffin.

So at noon, I went to exchange the defective DVD to SuperMegaMart.  As soon as I got in the car, I thought "Oh!  Dairy Queen is RIGHT THERE.  I can have one! YAY!"

And then right on the heels of that thought, I paused and realized that I wasn't hungry for one. 

"But you CAN have one.  No one will know!  You've eaten mindfully the last few days.  Just go ahead and treat yourself!"  These were all the thoughts in my head.

And because I have given myself permission to have one if I really want one, I decided to NOT have one.  I knew that if I *really* wanted to have one at a later time, I could, but at that moment, I didn't really want one.

I exchanged the DVD and then came back to the lunchroom where I sat without any other distractions or people and ate a slice and a half of a medium leftover pizza.  Hoo boy was that tough (to eat without distractions).  But I did it.  When I was finished, I drank more water and then paused - asking myself if I was still hungry and if I needed to eat more.  I wasn't.  So I stopped.

Now I'm at my desk, feeling satisfied with not only the amount of food that I ate, but also the progress that I've made.

I'm taking a moment to pause and bask in this success.  Because as small as it is, it's one of the few moments of success I've had recently.

I'm pausing to realize that when I actually pay attention to how I feel and truly experience those feelings, I will and can make the best choice for me - mind, body, and soul.  And that is pretty exciting.

I'm a bit scared to hit "publish" because I know that this feeling and successful actions may not last.  I'm usually waiting for the other shoe to drop and bring me back down to failure (which in my mind, is my default setting). 

But I've decided to post it anyway.  I want to document the success that I've had.  Before I changed my subheadline to the "table" quote, it used to be "This is where I come to celebrate my successes and learn from my mistakes." 

Lord knows I publish my mistakes...and since this is definitely a success, I'm celebrating it, even if it doesn't last long.

Second verse, same as the first...

Want a happy fun post?  Then skip this one.  No really.  Maybe the regular me will be back tomorrow...but what you get today?  Broken Down Fun Pants.

I'm eating too much; eating past the point of being no longer hungry.

I'm aware.

But I'm doing it anyway.

I try to think to myself: "What are you feeling?"  But that's so obscure.  The answer that comes back is, "I feel....like I want those cherries" or salad or almonds or....ANYTHING that I was about to eat.

I don't get it. 

I have great days that are "on plan" (on plan being days that I follow mindful eating practices/guidelines) and then days where I'm just NOT.

Mindful eating?  Give me a break.  Sometimes my mind is SUCH in another place that it's not like I'm even in the room with myself when I'm eating.  To clarify, I'm not binge eating.  But I am eating when I'm not hungry.

I don't want restrictions.  I don't want to worry all the time about my carbs, calories, points, or grams of protein.  I don't want limits and I don't want rules.  Also I want a pony.

Alright, I added that last one because I get it...I'm sounding whiny. And I'm being unrealistic.  I know.

The thing is, THAT is the circle that I'm trapped in.

Step 1: Realize you're hungry.
Step 2: Eat something.
Step 3: Realize you're still eating even though you're no longer hungry.
Step 4: Stop.  My "wise self" asks my "inner self"  WHAT she's feeling.
Step 5: My inner self shrugs and says something profound like, "I dunno."
Step 6: My wise self flips through her "How to be a Wise Self Instruction Manual" and can't find what to do in this situation...
Step 7: Inner self says something like, "I don't want to have rules right now.  Isn't that what this whole thing is about?  No rules?  So let's just eat now and figure it out later."
Step 8: Wise self and inner self eat together.
Step 9: NOM NOM NOM NOM

Ugh.

The cycle gets harder to break each time I allow myself to keep eating.  Whatever this uncomfortable feeling is that is prompting me to eat is being reinforced by my eating when I'm not hungry.

My secret that I don't want to tell you?  Pants are getting tighter.  So yes, I can avoid the scale, but the inches are creeping back on - albeit slowly.  I'm not up in my size of clothing or anything, but I KNOW that I'm bigger.  I'm just aware that I'm not the same size as I used to be. I can't explain it other than to say I am tangibly bigger. I just know it.

The harsh reality is that I'm slacking.  And I can't seem to find the motivation to not continue to slack.  Are rules of mindful eating too namby pamby?  Maybe.

As much as I'm want to say "My body just KNOWS what to do when I listen to it" and believe it, I think that I'm having a hard time re-listening to what my body knows to do.

So how do I listen to it again?  I mean, really? 

It's tough because not many of us are practicing this mindful eating approach.  And my two decades of dieting are telling me that this is proof that I can't trust myself and that I should just restrict again.  The thing is, I know I can do that (restrict, start counting calories, carbs or points) and the pounds WILL come off. 

But I want to break that cycle...the cycle of restricting because I'm upset about weight gain.  And then, when I'm smaller again, coming face first to this place - of having to question the WHY of it all again.  I know that restricting (and then losing weight) will mean that I'm fixing the symptoms without CURING the disease. 

And for the love of all that's holy, I want the disease to be cured.  I want to STOP worrying or thinking so much about eating (or not eating).  It's like if I were a sex addict, I would consider castration.  I mean, really.  I want the urge to control, count, weight, judge, or measure GONE.  I want everything associated with dieting to go away.

Now, instead of obsessing about points, calories, scales, weights, measures, or grams of anything I'm obsessing about WHY I want to eat.  I feel crazy because I eat and I don't know WHY. If I know why I can fix it, but I really don't know why. And believe me, I'm asking myself WHY.


So, the irony is that I'm still thinking of food and thinking about eating just as much as I was before.  The weeks when I first started were almost effortless.  The swarming thoughts about food and all of the ways to control it were gone. 

I want that back; the clarity.


I'm frustrated.  I'm weary.  And right now, I'm tired of writing about it. 

It's like I need to be re-booted from this cycle...but I can't find my reset button.

Any ideas or suggestions are VERY welcome... with one caveat - please, be gentle. 

Sweetness

I've held onto this post all day long, but to not publish it means that I'm STILL hiding and cowering. I can't let the shame that I feel continue to rule my life.

-----------------------------------

I'm not quite sure how much psychology plays into what foods we crave on a daily basis, but I'm craving sweets BIG time.

All day long, all I can think about are cookies, shakes, ice cream, chocolate, and candy.

All. Day. Long.

A therapist that I saw many, many years ago said that when little kids steal candy, it's because they're really wanting something sweet...as in a sweet action towards them or for them. I stole candy ALL THE TIME when I was a kid (from my sisters or parents - not from the store). I'd hide it all over my room and then eat morsel after delicious morsel of sweet goodness - getting sick on the sugary sweetness of it all. I know the taste of tinfoil that wraps little candy eggs because getting all the foil off before shoving it in your mouth wasn't always necessary.

Every now and again I'll do the same thing, but it's been a while since I've been bitten by the sugar monster.

If there is any psychology related at all, I suspect it has everything to do with my mom's recent visit.

At one point, she told me that she thought that I was much more relaxed and at ease than I had been in a long time. I asked when she noticed the tenseness - was it when I moved to Colorado? Was it when I moved into my itty bitty tiny house a few years ago?

"No," she said. "It probably started around 6th grade."

I was shocked.

She said that I was always complaining that people were picking on me and that things weren't fair. She added, "What did you expect me to do about it?"

And, I could FEEL myself shrinking inwardly.

I wanted to yell:

What did I expect you to do? I expected you to stand up for me when I was being beaten up by bullies instead of telling me about how Christ turned the other cheek. When the friend from church came over and sat on me, tickling me until I peed, I expected you to tell his mom that she couldn't come over unless she watched her kid more closely. Instead, you invited him over for the next 10 years to continue to torment me as my older sister looked on and laughed. When my 8th grade teacher told me, in front of the class, that I couldn't ask any more questions because I irritated him, I expected you to have a conference with the principal and demand him to apologize to me. I expected you to stick up for me when my dad told me that I was getting fat and pudgy (and reminded me that no man likes "fatties"). I expected you to stand up for yourself when he said the same to you. I expected you to put a stop to the molestation that was happening to me in your own home.

Quite frankly, I expected you to be the adult. I expected you to let me be a kid without having to guard myself against constant attacks - against myself, my psyche, and my inner child. I expected you to be my safe place to fall.

In my whole life I've never been mad at my mom for not protecting me - I've felt sorry for her - that she was in her own version of hell. I know that she did as well as she could've. But it doesn't stop me from wishing that things were different.

Lately? I wish that I could've had that caring mom that I could've turned to and would've fixed the problems so that they didn't continue happening.

But they didn't. And so I grew up...comforting myself the way I knew how. And safeguarding myself as best I could against more attacks. I swore I'd never have kids - because I couldn't bear the thought of someone else feeling the way that I felt when I was growing up.

All of these thoughts drifted through my mind when she asked what I expected her to do. Knowing that she feels bad enough for what had happened, I dropped my head and just continued cutting up the t-shirts for the project we were working on.

I'm tired of the shame. But I'm realizing that the anger that's bubbling up is taking energy too. That leaves me feeling drained and down and hopeless than anything can or will change.

I wish I could put into words to someone what my life was like. Was it always horrible? No. There were good things. But it wasn't great. And it certainly wasn't healthy.

I wish I could feel heard.

I wish I could feel understood.

But instead, I eat.

(sigh)

Big Heist, Big Payoff

You know those movies where they show burglars trying to get into the bank vault?

They inevitably have a stethoscope, some sort of lock picking set, and (of course) experience with picking locks. Usually there is some sort of sensitive time situation where the burglar is saying that he's almost got the lock unlocked...he's almost there. Just a few more seconds and then...payoff!

In the movie, you can hear the tumblers falling into place. It seems that the burglar can almost FEEL the lock coming open.

Well, it occurred to me this past week that that's kind of where I think I am when it comes to my relationship with food.

I'm armed with my stethoscope - which in my mind is my intuition - a very useful tool if only I listen to it. If and when I listen to my body, I'll be able to figure out what to eat, what it needs, what it craves, and how it feels when I'm hungry.

I'm armed with my lock picking tools - which in my mind are the books that I've read or plan on reading on this subject. They can or will help me figure out HOW to listen to my body. They will reinforce my healthy habits and my belief that food does not have to be something I stuff down without being mindful. In this batch of tools, there are also some distraction and coping techniques for when I'm craving food for emotional reasons.

I'm listening to my body. I'm listening to my heart. I'm learning that food can be something that is utilized simply for fuel. I'm learning that exercise can be done because it's fun and feels good rather than a way to punish myself for eating too much of something I "shouldn't have."

And you know what? I don't have that vault unlocked just yet. But I can feel that it's coming loose. I can almost hear the tumblers falling into place.

And just like the burglar in the movie, there are just a few more lessons I have to learn and then I get the big payoff. I get to be free of overeating foods until I'm stuffed. I get to be free of all of the emotions that come along with eating past the point of satiety. I get to be free of the shame, the guilt, and the passive act of violence against myself which IS what compulsive overeating is.

It also means that even if I find myself up against that locked vault again, I'll be able to know that because I've unlocked it once, I can do it again. As I practice picking that lock again and again, I'll have the experience to know what to do when in a high stress situation - be it moving, changing jobs, death of someone I love, getting married, having babies, or anything else life will bring.

The payoff? It's actually LIVING life.

So, in other words, I'm stealing my life back.

Grey matters

I should know better than to write something in a passing remark (or in my case, paragraph) and then just leave it hanging out there for you all to digest as you wish. So I'd like to take a moment to clarify my thoughts from yesterday's post.

If you look back to all the posts where I've mentioned the word "mindful" I think that you'll see that this mindfulness? It's been on my mind for a while now. For a while, I've noticed that that seemed to be the missing ingredient in my weight loss.

Lemme' back up.

I wasn't a chubby kid. I started gaining weight in my teens and when I graduated from high school I was a size 16/18. I have basically stayed that same size for the past 15 years. Sure there were a few years in there where I was heavier (including the years that led up to my starting WW), some where I was lighter (including the time that I got almost to goal at WW in 2001).

I first started Weight Watchers in the 8th grade. I remember that I was in the 160s. I don't remember whose idea it was, my doctor's, my mom's, or mine. But I joined. And I failed miserably. Because what is one of the worst things you can do to kids when they're asserting control over food? Force them to go to a Weight Watchers meeting with a member from your church and then bird dog them like hell to make sure that they're following the program. I know my mom thought she was doing the right thing, but it didn't exactly work out.

And each week, I'd sit around hearing women talk about fat, weight, and portion control. Years ago when I first started going, the leader I had made everyone take a turn in the meeting and say how much weight they lost or gained that week. Every person had to participate. To put it bluntly, it sucked.

Since then, I've joined WW several times. The program changed to a points system. I'd lost 46 pounds (in 4 months) to get to my lowest weight since I don't know when.

I did it by counting points. I did it because I know that a whole sleeve of fat free Pringles is 7 points. I ate sleeves of Pringles rather than eating fruit, veggies, and protein. I did a low fat, low calorie, high carb diet. And I felt like shit.

But I did it! I was a size 10 - and at 5'9", I looked great! Only because I didn't learn any healthy eating habits, it didn't stay off...and before I knew it, I had gained back those 46 pounds (and more!) in a few years.

But because it worked, I went back in July of '08. I lost 55 pounds in 10 months. And then I stopped. I hit a wall.

In August of '09, I was disgusted with myself. I wanted to lose weight. I wanted to be healthier. So why couldn't I just do it already? I decided to see a therapist. I wanted to get over the abuse that happened in my childhood, wanted to get over an ex that cheated on me, and I wanted to shed this weight...once and for all. So I decided to see a therapist (you can read about that decision on my other blog, here).

And you know what happened in the therapist's office? I started to grow. I started to realize that I *can* trust myself. I started to realize that trusting myself brings GOOD things but that it's not always easy. I trusted myself and Joe when he went on a vacation with a woman (a vacation on which, they stayed in the same room - different beds - but still!). My friends said that he would cheat, that something was going on. Hell, the voice in my head warned me that that was the case. But I trusted myself and my gut on what kind of guy he is. I started trusting myself in relationships - both in personal and business. I started trusting that money would be there...I didn't need to hold onto it with such a tight fist.

I relaxed, I breathed. I realized that it felt better to not see the world in black and white, right and wrong, good and bad, or all and nothing. Life in the grey area? It felt SO good, so nurturing, so...healthy.

And then, the strangest thing happened, I started to relax about food. I started to cringe when people termed their foods good or bad. I started realizing that the all or nothing approach to food was present EVERYWHERE on many blogs that I love to read, in the newspapers, and certainly on TV.

As I started learning to trust myself more, I realized that it feels SO much better than shaming myself into an eating style or exercise program. When running stopped becoming something I *had* to do, I enjoyed it as something I got to do. Taking that Mindful Body class back in February was life changing - I realized that if I trust my body with honest questions, it will come up with the right answers.

The thing is, by doing Weight Watchers, I've been able to figure out how when I follow the healthy guidelines, I feel better. I feel better when I eat meals with more protein (I really had no idea that I needed as much as I do). Because of WW, I started exercising again and fell in love with running.

I don't want to chuck all WW principles out the window...I don't want to throw away everything that I've learned. But I want to focus more on what will fuel my body for what it needs. I want to continue to trust myself in all aspects of my life - food being one of them.

I want to be able to scan my body for signals of when it's hungry and then eat - rather than eating because it's lunch time and that's when everyone else eats. I want to search my body for what it needs...if I haven't had enough vegetables, I want to eat them. Not because they're 0 points and I'm hungry and don't have points left, but because my heart, skin, eyes, etc. depend on that nutrition.

I want to run, play and (gasp!) ENJOY life versus being chained to the idea of points. I want to have a healthy relationship with food - and I can't do that when I still feel shameful that I don't track every day.

I don't expect everyone to understand. I don't expect everyone to support it. I know I might lose a follower or two. But I'm in this, ultimately, for me.

Weight Watchers is a great program. I've seen multiple people reach lifetime and keep off the weight. There are people that I absolutely love there who have given me a ton of support (my leader being one of them). I just want my eating to be a natural thing for sustenance rather than something that is governed by cravings.

My plan, at this point, is to continue going to WW - for the support that I get from the people around me. But I want to have a candid talk with my leader about the things that I'm working on. Basically, I want to go, get the support, hear good messages and but not feel guilted into tracking or be caught up in the scale. If I can't do the last two, then WW may not be a good fit for me at this time. It might be a better fit later...when I've mastered the art of mindfulness. But right now, I hate hearing people say in the meetings that they "can't have" something. I hate hearing people say that they had all veggies at a birthday party so they were "good" or that they stayed away from guacamole because it's "bad."

I'm open to all the options.

But I want to strive for intuitive eating. It might take awhile. And I might completely fail at it and be back to counting points in no time. It's going to be an exercise for sure...because I still can't turn off my brain when it sizes up points values for any given food.

But you know what? Maybe that's a good thing...maybe I don't have to do ALL intuitive eating or ALL Weight Watchers points.

Maybe what is best for me is a combination of the two -a mix, a blend... a grey.

There's a Hole in My Sidewalk

In my therapist's office, there is a framed poster that I keep re-reading.

The title of the poster is "There's a Hole in My Sidewalk" and it's a poem by Portia Nelson.

Here it is:

Chapter 1.

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost…
I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter 2.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in this same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter 3.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in… its a habit.
But, my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter 4.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter 5.

I walk down another street.

I LOVE this poem.

It sums up so many learning and life experiences that I've had. And for me, I think it's especially true about my relationship to (and with) food.

For 30 years, I lived in Chapter 1. I ate and overate for decades of my life. If you had asked me why I ate the way I did, I wouldn't really have an answer for you - or at least not a "good" one. I ate because it's what I always knew. I ate because it felt good - at least until it didn't. I was helpless. I was lost. I was miserable. My binges would last for weeks or even months. I gained weight like a champ and it took a long time to turn that train around to where I could start losing the weight. But even then, my relationship with food was a strict one - full of rules and conditions that were never able to last - or at least not for long. Not only did I not know what the solution was, I didn't even know what the problem was!

For most of the last two years, I've spent a lot of my time in Chapter 2. Sometimes I saw the hole and tried to ignore it anyway. I think that I had an inkling that food wouldn't help any situation, but I ate as if it did. I ate more (and faster) than I had before - hoping that I could trick it into working. But inevitably, I'd find myself in that hole - be it a sugar fog, a place where I despised myself, or a place where I cursed everything that MADE me that way. My binges were shorter, but the time between the binge episodes was pretty short too.

Eventually, Chapter 3 became more of the norm. Sure, I'd slip up every now and again when it came to food, but I recognized the feelings (and boy was that a process all of it's own) that led up to the food over-consumption. In fact, today I caught myself eating a handful of Hershey Kisses and literally thought "Wait. WHAT are you doing?" I wasn't even aware that I was in the "hole" at first...but as soon as I did, I realized that I was the one that was choosing to eat them. I put the rest of the foil-covered bites of goodness in a community bowl for others to eat. I am learning. I'm getting out of these "holes" faster now. I don't overeat often and gone are the days of eating bags and bags of potato chips and candies in one sitting.

Every now and again, I realize that I'm spending more time in Chapter 4. Maybe my weight doesn't reflect this change as much as it could, but I'm telling you...my relationship with food has gotten much healthier. I've been able to look at an opportunity to overeat and stuff myself and have been able to ask myself if that's really what I want to do. I've been able to recognize that the hole looks like home. It looks like it could be comforting and it sure looks like it would be safe. But I choose to walk around it anyway. I choose to find my safety in ways other than food. Sometimes I figure out the points/calories that that hole represents and decide to eat something different. I'm able to navigate around the hole with much more ease now. I'm able to use various tricks of the trade to avoid it.

With where I'm at now, there is no going back to Chapter 1. In fact, there is no going back to Chapter 2. I'm looking forward to spending most of my time in Chapter 4. I'm looking forward to living more in an awake and aware state - one where I'm conscious and mindful of my choices.

But, oh - to walk down a different street entirely? To become a person that just IS intuitive when it comes to eating?

Why that'd be divine.

My goal is starting to shift from being a certain number on the scale. My goal is to literally become a different person entirely when it comes to food - and have a body that reflects that. My goal is love myself enough to choose a different street/way of being.

My goal is to be on a different street altogether. It doesn't mean that I forget all about the holes. I still plan on being mindful of the triggers that I used to have. And it doesn't mean that I forget all the ways I got out of the holes. I'm not going to forget about points values or healthy eating guidelines.

It just means that I won't live my life in fear of them.

Do you mind?

I decided to enroll in a workshop this weekend at the last minute. The workshop was entitled "Mindful Yoga - Mindful Eating" and it was really great.

The workshop was four hours and in that time period we did what the instructor called some "light yoga" (which I guess was a nice way to say about 20 minutes of yoga) and then heavy talking (which is to say pretty much the rest of the class was about talking and listening).

The idea of the workshop was to be more mindful about many actions in your life - one of which should be eating. There was a lot of conversation about our relationships with food and at one point it became clear that the leader of the class, who was a trained nutritionist, thought that diets were a bunch of hooey. Instead, she taught us that being mindful eaters should involve a bond with the food to ourselves. When being more mindful about (and when) the food we eat, we can figure out if we're eating because we're hungry or if it's something else.

Not a new concept.

But she took it further and asked us to try eating when we really were hungry. She asked us to eat the foods we (at our core) wanted to eat. And she coached us to stop when we were satisfied.

So yesterday, about 4 inches into my Subway sandwich, I stopped eating and threw the rest away. I was satisfied so there was no need to continue to eat just because it was there and was a usual portion size.

And today, I decided to grab my lunch at 11:45 because that's when my body was hungry - I didn't wait for my normal 12 (or in my case 1 because I want to spend my lunch hour running errands).

To me, this makes perfect and intuitive sense. It's one more step in the whole process of trusting myself more.

Why am I looking to anyone or anything (Weight Watchers included) to tell me what I can or cannot have? Why am I going hungry some nights just because I ran out of points for that day?

I caught up on everyone's blogs this morning and I read through one of MizFit's posts where she decided to not run a full marathon but instead run a half - because the full would be too much cardio for her. I loved that line - it means that this wonderfully fit woman (seriously, I'm guessing about 0.1% body fat on her from the pictures) knows her own body enough to say "no." She trusts and loves herself enough to do what is right FOR HER.

So I want to do the same for me. Am I giving myself permission to go off the deep end and eat high fatty foods all the time? No. Because that wouldn't be good for me either. But I want to arrive at a place where I eat when I'm hungry. I want to eat the foods that I know my body needs because I honor it. I want to not deprive myself or my body.

I want to listen to my body. I want to listen to my spirit. I want to stop thinking of foods as good or bad. I want to stop thinking of my journey divided into on the wagon or off the wagon. I want to stop judging myself and my actions. I want to move learn the lessons of what to eat because I'm listenting intuitively to my body.

I want to start beind mindful to myself...and being kind to my body.

This comes on the heels of reading Pema Chodron's book "Taking the Leap: Freeing Ourselves from Old Habits and Fears." I'm still reading the book, but to me, it just makes sense - it's an intuitive approach of how to handle our own emotions when they rise up. She writes about our own choice to repeat the same habits as we have been or to have the mindfulness and presence to catch it when it starts to happen. If we don't get caught up in the emotions right away, we can empower ourselves to stop, breathe, and let our own intuitive knowledge shine through.

And that's what I plan on doing: Trusting myself, loving myself, and being mindful. When I trust myself more - even (or especially?) about food - I'm teaching myself that I can be trusted to survive any situation. I can trust myself to come up with a great answer to a problem and can know that it will all be okay. Trusting myself doesn't mean I have to be perfect, on the wagon, good, or the best at anything. Instead, it means that I can just BE me - and that is enough.

In a good binge from years past, I could never eat enough. I would be SO uncomfortable - my body literally bursting with pain and I would still eat. I couldn't get enough. I certainly couldn't eat it fast enough.

So maybe, just maybe, as I start to trust that I am enough, I will be able to have finally eaten enough.

Getting it out in hopes of getting over it

I was born in Denver. Although we moved around a bit in my life, I always thought of Denver as my home. When I had the chance to move here, I did. I was certain that Denver is where I belonged. And when I moved here, I was certain that my life was going to come together, finally.

When I moved to Denver almost 7 years ago, I started dating a guy. At first, it was WONDERFUL. I mean, absolutely blissfully fantastic. I left the first date calling my mom - telling her that I finally met the man I was going to marry. A few weeks after meeting, we exchanged the "I love you's" with ease. Everything felt wonderful. Everything I thought I wanted, I had. I was living in Denver. I was dating a guy that looked like he stepped out of a Land's End catalogue - blonde hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a smile as American as apple pie. The complete package; he even had a yellow lab for Chrissakes!

Life, surely, couldn't get better than that.

The problem was, I felt like I didn't deserve it. I was not a whole person but rather someone looking to someone else for validation.

At first, I thought that the guy liked me for me. But as each month turned into the next, it became apparent that he didn't really like me at all - maybe just the thought of me? So, like any insecure person who doesn't feel like they have worth, I opted to change. At first, it was small things and then I started to change key parts of my personality.

He withheld sex - first because of his own mental issues. Then it was due to a medical reason of my own (due to faulty testing as I found later). And as time progressed, it became apparent that this guy had ISSUES when it came to sexuality.

He was controlling in almost every way - and actually in the worst way - where he was sneaky about it. Multiple times throughout our relationship, he decided that he wanted to lose weight via an all protein diet...and since I (at the time) had about 20 pounds I wanted to lose, he strongly encouraged me to do the same. To be clear, this guy didn't have a lot of fat to lose. He was over 6' and weighed in at a max of 180. But like any good sheep, I followed the diet.

Except when he said that we shouldn't.

So we'd do this "all or nothing" type thing - one week we'd be eating only meats and the next week we'd blow it all on fatty and sugary foods. What I wanted to do that week was second to what he wanted to do. Come to think of it, that rule applied to us regardless of the topic.

He often remarked about how easy it should be to lose weight. He didn't understand why if anyone wanted to lose weight, they continued to eat "bad" things. "Why can't they just eat a salad? They remark on how hard it is to be fat and yet they order fettuccine alfredo." The message was clear: fat people are lazy and weak-willed; clearly, that's why they're fat.

Unbalanced? Crazy? Co-dependent? That doesn't begin to cover it.

In the middle of all of it, I had a medical complication from a rollover accident - one where my brain swelled. I was ordered to take a medical leave of absence for a few weeks and to not do anything strenuous. I was ordered to take it easy so that my brain would stop swelling and heal.

It was during this time that he chose to tell me the "new" reason we weren't being intimate. It was because I was too fat. He wanted me to run outside with him. "But I'm the same size I was when we started dating! I work out at the gym usually. Isn't that enough?" And the answer that I got was a resounding, "No." So I started to run outside with him - unable to keep up (my God, the guy had run a marathon!)...proving that he was dominant over me in yet another way.

I was so depressed that I had to be on medication for the first (and so far, only) time in my life. And that was yet another reason why poor pitiful me needed him. He reminded me often of the burden that I was placing on him.

So when I say I was miserable, I want you to understand how fully miserable I was.

But wait! This was the guy I was going to marry, remember? It's funny how much you endure when you've convinced yourself of something. For me, this was the perfect pairing... Due to previous events in my life, I was convinced that I was an awful person and I finally found someone who treated me as such.

We finally got to have sex after almost a year and it was the worst. sexual. experience. EVER. Seriously. TMI alert: There was a point I wasn't even sure he was IN me. And the small thrusting rabbit moves? PuhLEEZE! It was like getting humped by his dog. I debated trying to teach him a thing or two, but when he didn't show any interest in trying again the next day, I dumped him that very night. Apparently, even I had a breaking point.

It took YEARS to get over the damage that I had done to myself. As nice as it would be to sit back and call him a turd, my dependence on him was my own choice. I was responsible for staying in the relationship. I was responsible for not being strong and losing myself in him and the "idea" of us.

At first, I beat myself up about it - for being so stupid as to succumb to someone else's wishes. Then I gained weight - to the tune of 80 pounds - so that guys like him wouldn't even dream of coming near me. I never wanted to hurt like that again. Subconsciously, I protected myself the only way I knew how.

After that, I only dated guys that I wasn't really interested in. I only dated guys that were friends - ones that had to prove somehow that they really liked me for me - and even then I didn't believe it.

Losing the 55 pounds that I have so far as been a huge step. Keeping it off has been big. Not regaining the weight has been good. Learning about, and practicing, moderation? Eesh. I'm finding that I have to practice learning and re-learning that often. But actually liking myself? Well, that's been the real challenge.

The simple fact that this post has turned into a venting session about the relationship shows that I'm not completely healed. That relationship has fueled some issues in my current one, especially at the beginning - like when I wrote about it here and here.

There is this voice in my head that only I can hear every now and again. Sometimes it's loud and sometimes it's soft. Always it tells me that guys don't really like curvy women. It tells me that when I lose my weight, I had better be sure to keep it off for good. Because just like my dad and the previous boyfriend proved, no one *really* likes overweight women. It tells me that the number on my scale determines my worth. If I listen to it long enough, it tells me that I may never succeed so I might as well indulge. Today. Tonight. And if I can, RIGHT NOW.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to silence that voice completely. But I do know that my weight loss journey *has* to include a plan on what to do when I hear it.

I'm happy in my current relationship. When I went back to read the posts that I linked to above, I was surprised to read how I used to feel versus how I do feel. I don't worry about squishing my lover in bed. I don't worry about my fat rolls when he hugs me and I don't worry about what people might think about me being bigger than he is.

But every now and again, I hear the voice. And sometimes I indulge it and eat because I'm scared. I listen to that voice and that's when I'm worried that I won't be able to see the red flags that I should've seen in the previous relationship.

I've tried ignoring it. Sadly, that doesn't seem to help...because eventually that voice just gets louder.

Lately, I'm wondering if I should embrace it instead.

Maybe I should look at that voice as the one thing in my life that's tried to pamper me and protect me. Maybe that voice is ME trying to watch out for me. The pain that I experienced in that relationship is something that I never want to go through again so maybe that voice is trying to protect me from having to endure it again.

I was reluctant to write this post. I didn't want it to come across as me complaining or blaming my current situation on someone else. I didn't want you guys to pity me. But I also realize that if I don't ever unpack my mental baggage, I'll never be lighter - mentally or physically.

Even though it's cheesy, to the voice (that, for now, is quiet), I want to say this:

I acknowledge that you are there. I understand. I thank you for being there trying to watch out for my best interests. I want to say that I don't need your protection right now. But I appreciate your thoughtfulness all the same. Instead of you repeating the same record, could you instead encourage me to take care of myself with sleep, with water, and with friends? You are a valuable part of me. You know how bad it was. And with your help, in the right way, we'll never have to feel that way again.

We don't need to hang onto the pain.

It's okay to let it go.

The Pleaser

"The basis of shame is not some personal mistake of ours, but that this humiliation is seen by everyone."
--Milan Kundera

In my life, I've tried to please people...in fact as I think of it now, pretty much all my life, I've tried to please people.

On the surface, it worked out well. People walked away from me feeling happier about themselves. I'm sure if you asked people if they liked me or not, they'd probably tell you "yes." I made people feel important, comforted, and valued. I'm funny (in general) so they would usually walk away having laughed and feeling lighter.

If we ever had a disagreement, I'd find myself apologizing for things that I didn't do, didn't mean to do, or even had nothing to do with. Whatever it took to make that person feel better.

Did you fall through on a promise you made to me? That's okay. I'll still be here for you.

Did you treat me disrespectfully either in private or in public? That's okay. I probably deserved it. Sure, I'd take the treatment, maybe complain about it to my friends, and then never say anything to you. Why would I? If I did, you might question why I thought I was good enough to be treated otherwise. And then, undoubtedly you'd realize that I wasn't good enough.

Need a volunteer for your cause? I'm just the sucker you've been looking for. Especially if the position had a title. Because titles meant that I was worth something. I wrote about it in my post about finding REAL value, but basically, because I disliked myself, I only found value when other people liked me.

In fact, I even dated a guy in high school who repeatedly physically abused me. I've come to realize that I have felt so poorly about myself because of an overwhelming sense of shame.

I read in an article recently that stated that there is a difference between shame and guilt.

According to the article, guilt is a bad feeling that you have about some action. Like maybe you said something you shouldn't have. Perhaps you have a bad feeling because of something you didn't do but should've.

But shame? It's a whole other animal. The principle of shame revolves around a bad feeling that you have about yourself. A person who lives and breathes shame has it because they KNOW that they're not worth anything. Other people can be forgiven, but not them. Because they are inherantly BAD. Unfortunately, you can't convince them otherwise.

It's been within the last few months that I've realized that I have lived with shame for most of my life. Every little thing that I've done wrong was typical of me - because I was a bad person. And talking about the shame? Why that'd only highlight how bad I actually am, which they probably already knew anyway. On the off chance that they didn't know that (and they found out), they'd realize that they'd be crazy to be my friend, my boyfriend or even my co-worker. It's best to hide the shame however you can - and I found that I hid it best by trying to please others, taking on roles of responsibility, and by being funny. The perfect pairing to my shameful feelings? Anything that I could stuff in my mouth.

Somehow washing down shame with cokes, cookies, or chips made it easier to swallow.

Recently had a discussion with a friend of mine. He said that I had my faith in the wrong stuff. I should have my faith in Jesus. Because Jesus loves me, I should know that I have value and should stop looking at other people for it - even myself. But religion (at times) can feed shame...and for me, it hasn't always had the most beneficial results. Don't get me wrong, I still BELIEVE that there is a Jesus...but the concept of him dying just for me is lost on me most of the time. I struggle with the thought that someone could love me enough, especially when I haven't loved myself for decades. Clearly, Jesus and I are still working things through.

I've made great strides with my self-worth and balance. I've worked on saying "no." I've worked on moderation. I've worked on no longer pleasing everyone else at the expense of myself.

But I still haven't shed my shame completely, even though I'm working diligently with my therapist to do so. If anything, my anxiety is creeping up higher these days...because in a week, I'll be coming face to face with the cause of most of it.

And I guess that's why I'm writing this.

See, I was molested by a close family member of mine when I was much younger. That person will be in the house over Thanksgiving and, for the most part, my family would prefer that I would just drop it. Members have told me to "just get over it."

The old me, The Pleaser, would've dropped it - in fact, she HAS dropped it and not spoken of it for decades.

But as I wrote earlier, I'm no longer The Pleaser. And trying to "just get over it" doesn't work - and obviously hasn't worked. My therapist has helped me understand that even though I *know* that kids shouldn't be treated in such a way, that I feel that I endured that (and the ex boyfriend's abuse) because I was inherantly bad.

Shame...pure and simple.

So what is left is this wide gap between the old Pleaser and the new me - who tries to please and honor herself. Ignoring that this event happened does NOT honor myself. The chasm is big and I don't know what to do to bridge the difference.

To make matters worse, the boyfriend is coming home with me to meet my family for the first time. Awkward? Why yes...yes it probably will be. But will I get through it? Undoubtedly. Clearly, I've been through worse.

So, as I sit here, with my pulse racing furiously, I'm trying to remember that there IS strength in standing up for myself. I'm not planning on going in there and screaming and throwing my new non-pleaser self around...but neither am I going to let my true authentic self shrink from her own growth.

One thing's for certain: I will not wash down shame or numb myself with food.

And THAT pleases me.