I'm dating Jillian

This morning, I had a horrible thing happen...

My jeans ripped.  At work.  Where I didn't have more jeans or pants.

Know what I did have?  A fleece jacket (pretty much part of the required uniform in Colorado).  So I quickly tied it around my waist and went into my boss' office.  I started to say that I had an emergency and that I needed to take an hour off.  But instead I told him the truth - which was basically that I had an emergency and needed to leave for an hour).  He was understanding and I went home to change.

They didn't split in my thigh area, but rather in the butt.  And after I took them off at home I still didn't see a stress part where it stemmed from.  It's not like these were especially threadbare, so I'm not sure what happened.  These jeans weren't tight on me (no shoehorn needed to get into them!), but they weren't baggy either so I really am stumped.

Know what I do know?  I need to buy more jeans.  And I REALLY hate that idea since I already have TWO new pairs of jeans in the closet that I can't fit into.

(sigh)

This actually is good though.  Because after losing two pounds this past week (YAY!) I decided that even though I want to continue to pay attention to my food, what I really need/want is to move more.  And I know myself well enough that I need to have a goal or I get lazy about exercising.

I actually have two goals.  But the first involves a certain little lady who yells.

That's right, folks.  I'm taking the 30 Day Shred Challenge. 

I promise (to myself mostly...but putting this out there means that I'm more likely to not squelch on the promise) to sweat with Jillian for the next 30 days, starting today.

I've done the shred before - and even done it consistently.  But 30 days in a row?  Not so much.

I know that Jams and Debbie did it.  So I know it's possible.  AND I know that my body will love being able to do something positive.  My mind will love being able to accomplish a goal - one that isn't tied to a certain number of calories eaten or pounds lost.

Joe knows about my goal and he promised to be in another room while I'm doing it if he's at home.  AND a good friend from college is coming to visit me on the 18th of next month...so I'll have completed this and won't have to worry about the conflict of a guest.

I know I'll regret writing this tomorrow...but I'm kind of excited about spending this much time with Jillian.

What about you - any short term goals you have that you're willing to share?

Just do it

When I was in high school, I was in band.  I know what you may be thinking, being in band is stupid.  Only geeks, nerds, or dorkfishes were in band.  And you know what?  You may be right. 

The difference is that my high school had a fantastic band.  As in the year I graduated, we were invited to play for the Russian government in Moscow.  As in composers wrote music for only our band to play.  And, as in we got this major award a few times, one that's only given out to one band in the nation each year.

Anyway, our band director was a pretty mean guy.  Sure, he put his pants on one leg at a time and all, but he was terrifying.  Oh who am I kidding?  He still IS terrifying. Everyone respected him - or at least that's what it seemed.  He demanded perfection and usually?  He got it.

He had a couple of sayings - ones that he'd say so often we'd all be rolling our eyes inwardly each time he said them.  When I was in high school, I suppose I was like most other high school students - which is to say, that I already knew everything and had little interest in listening to an old man (I mean, he had to be in his 40s!) telling me stuff that I'd never use.

As I've gotten older, I suppose I've gotten dumber, because his sayings are more motivational now.

"If you don't clap for yourself, who will?"

"Become the most enthusiastic person you know.  Even if you don't feel enthusiastic PRETEND to be enthusiastic.  Then you'll find that you ARE enthusiastic."

"Even if you don't feel like doing it, do it anyway."  We'll ignore the undertones of high school pressures of sex FOR NOW.

I think that I've been waiting to FEEL like losing weight.  I know I need to.  I know my joints want me to.  And I know it'd be healthier for me to.  I know I need to pay attention to my hunger signals. But I don't feel like it.  Even though if I don't do something soon, I'm going to need to buy new pants.

(sigh)

So today, even though I don't feel like it AT ALL, I'm still going to do SOMETHING. 

I have a phone interview at 1 PM that would mean a significant pay raise.  Not quite sure if the company is a good fit or not right now, but I suppose that's the point of first interviews.  I don't expect the interview to last all my lunch hour, so I plan on walking around my new office area with what's left of the hour. 

It's not anything significant - nothing like when I used to change into my running clothes, run a 5K and then shower again in my lunch hour...but it's SOMETHING.

I don't feel like it.  But I'll pretend that I do anyway.  Maybe Mr. Lambrecht was right...maybe doing it anyway will make me more likely to want to do it next time.

Fake it until you make it, right?

I might be hiding Jimmy Hoffa

Yesterday afternoon, I had the best of intentions to eat, go to therapy, workout and watch The Biggest Loser.

Confession: I didn't do that.

Instead, I remembered that I had a follow-up appointment late in the day with my OBGYN to make sure that everything post surgery and post ruptured cysts were okay.

This meant that I was lucky enough to get another visit with the vaginal ultrasound.  I even told the tech when she inserted the ultrasound wand (which, for the record, seems less magical every time it enters me) that I was tired of her finding stuff in there.  And guess what? She found something else.  Seriously, next time?  I wouldn't be surprised to see Jimmy Hoffa's face in there.

Yes, that's right folks, I like to grow things "down there."  It's like my own little science experiment.  This time, it's another large ovarian cyst - only on my right side.

The good news is that I'm not in a lot of pain and now that I know what ruptured cysts feel like, I hope to not worry excessively when it ruptures.  The really good news is that they're not endometriosis cysts.

The thing is?  They're ovulation cysts.  As in, I'm still ovulating.   As in 95% of women on the pill don't ovulate and I'm not one of them.  My eyes got huge when my doctor told me that as Joe and I have recently resumed...ahem...snuggling.  BUT he swears that I'm not likely* to get knocked up while on the pill - something about mucous blah-bedy-blah including lining of the ya-ya sisterhood not allowing that to happen.  I was too busy daydreaming about sex in Sex Ed to while they went through this crap to know what he was talking about.  I blame Matt Grondin and Michael Shannon for being so undeniably dreamy - there is no way anyone in our class concentrated on medical terminology when they looked that cute.

Anyway, I kind of freaked out, but then I called my mom.  Turns out, she also had uterine fibroids and cysts while she was on the pill AND lumpy boobs.  I am under the assumption if she had all that and still managed to get preggo 10 times (yes, that would be 7 miscarriages) that perhaps I am a Fertile Myrtle as well.  Therefore conception is now on the list of "Crap I'm not going to worry about until later."  Just underneath that?  "How to survive 7 miscarriages."

After my vaginal ultrasound and waiting to see my doctor, I ended up being very late in leaving to go to my therapy appointment.  No time to stop and grab something in the drive thru - and besides, I really wasn't hungry - I was worried.  So I just went to the appointment where we talked about my inability to deal with uncertainty well.  Hello, timing...

I finished with my therapist, drove home, and had brown rice with veggies and chicken.  It was good and tasty.  Afterwards I watched The Biggest Loser.

But I didn't exercise.  Tonight?  I plan on exercising - even if just a bit - just so I can get back in the habit of it.  The opportunity to make my body do something - anything - that I want it to has got to feel powerful...especially since it hasn't been listening to me as of late.


*"Not likely," according to him, means that I have a 1% chance of getting pregnant while on the pill.  I groaned aloud when he told me that.  What I wanted to say was, "Seriously, doc.  You've GOT to stop saying that I have a low percentage chance of something happening.  I like to over-achieve.  I like to do things people don't think I can do.  Saying that I'm 'not likely' to have something happen is like you double-dog-daring my lady bits to grow a baby.  Stop it or I swear I'll hide your keys where only your ultrasound tech can find them."

Don't go breaking my heart...

When I first started watching The Biggest Loser two years ago, I saw the initial weigh ins and mentally attached myself to the woman who weighed the most like what I did at the time.  We were the same - a great team - and we were going to reach a lower weight together!  But as weeks went on, and her pounds melted off with no chance of me matching her, I felt frustrated with my own body.  What was wrong with me?  Why couldn't I lose weight like gangbusters, too?

The second season that I watched, I tried a different tactic.  I picked someone who was about the same weight I USED to be when I started my weight loss journey.  Then I tried to beat them to their lowest.  Only that didn't work either.  Who knew Tara was going to be such a stud muffin and shed more weight than any other woman on the show?

The third season, I figured out the perfect motivational tool.  Again, I'd pick someone that weighed what I used to.  But then I'd use her and her body as motivation for what I could look like if I just tried harder.  Only that kind of felt like I was beating myself up. And I was.

The fourth season, I told myself that I'd just be happy if NONE of the women's starting weights were less than what I currently weighed.  And that was great...for the first week.  But weighing less than morbidly obese people (who got to be on the TV show by being morbidly obese) feels like stacking the deck.  The win isn't as sweet.

But no matter what the tactic in any given season, I'd always feel super lazy as I watched the show.  There were people - some twice my size - exercising and grunting and here I was eating on my couch (apples or carrots, but still...).

So this season, I'm trying something new.  Last week was the first episode...and while I don't quite understand why they had to introduce new trainers OR why we can't see their faces (Are they in the witness protection program?  Were they disfigured by a horrible tragedy?  Or is Joe right...are they ninjas?*), I still like watching the show.  But two hours out of my night is just too much to sacrifice.  So what to do?

I'm going to sweat in the workout room of our building.  I have my first therapy appointment of the year at 5:30, which gets done at 6:30.  Because my office location moved at the end of 2010, I can now eat on my way to the appointment so dinner is not a limiting factor.  I can make it back home by 7 and be changed into my workout stuff and into the workout room by 7:10.  All I'll miss is the recap of the week before...and with as many contestants as they have on the show right now, I can't keep their names and colors straight anyway.

There is one runner chick who used to run during Tuesday nights, but I think she might've moved out.  I guess I'll find out tonight.  Even if all I do is the elliptical, I'll feel much better about not wasting time in front of the TV.  I can workout until I'm tired (no way am I going to last 2 hours this first time) and then go back to our place to drink water and relax...assuming the exercise didn't break my heart.

The Biggest Loser and me - perhaps the best team since The Captain and Tennille.  {insert groan here.  I know...I had to work hard to set that one up, didn't I?}

*Cute story...since I ended with such a punny joke.

My co-worker was out driving with her 5 year old grandson at the end of the year.  They stopped at a stoplight and on the corner, there was an Indian woman with a burka on. 

Her grandson gasped and then said in an amazed whisper, "I think I just saw something!"

"What do you think you saw?," she asked.

"I think I saw a ninja!"

Heavy heart

On Friday I found out that my good blogging friend, Margie, from My Healthy Living Thru Weight Control passed away a few months ago.

If you knew her or read her blog, you know that she was a long time WW member - who had met her goal weight and had been maintaining it successfully for many years.  She and her husband, Bruce, traveled around the US and went walking often.

It was on a walk that they were struck by a suicidal driver and were both killed.

Honestly?  I still can't believe it.

Margie was one of those people who was always supportive, especially on the ugly posts - the ones where you bared your soul and scoured wounds.  We had several email conversations and when she visited Colorado and couldn't stop anywhere close to me, we vowed to meet up the next time she was in my state.

She had mentioned the idea of stopping her weight loss blog a few times and honestly, I thought she was just taking a break.  Plus, I had the whole fibroid thing and was not checking anyone's blog for months.  I feel horrible that I didn't immediately think something had happened when my emails were unanswered and although I checked her weight loss blog, I didn't think to check her other one for news.

I feel so sad that Margie is gone.  I feel happy that she and her love were able to pass together.

But I feel so sad that Margie, who was a bright and beautiful person, is no longer here to share her light.

It's selfish...I know.  But it's true.

This weekend, I tried to think about what always struck me the most about her...and I think that it's that she was always kind and supportive - exactly the kind of person I want to be.  BUT she also was relentless in her quest to maintain a healthy weight.  Sure, she and her husband were retired, but that didn't stop her from sharing a plate of food (to exercise portion control) on her vacations or monitoring her weight closely each day.

She was dedicated to her healthy lifestyle - even though she was older, even though she had already lost her weight, and even though she could've done what many of us do - relaxed a bit in her attack. 

Her resolve and dedication to her lifestyle and her health should be a reminder to me.

I have missed Margie and I will continue to do so.  I hope that her (and her husband's) passing was quick and as painless as possible.

When I got home on Friday, I hugged Joe for a solid few minutes, crying on his shoulder, and continued to tell him just how much he meant to me.  I hope I remember to do that often.

The HAM level

A few months ago, my friends and I were trying to decide where to go to eat.  Matt said to me, "We'd better eat or Kelly will reach ham level."

"Huh?"

"Oh, Kelly gets hungry and then if she's not fed soon, she gets Hungry And Mean - HAM."

We laughed and that acronym has stuck with me ever since.

This past Tuesday was my first day back to work since the end of October.  Truthfully, although I'm not very satisfied with my job, I love working.  I like being productive and doing SOMEthing other than sitting around healing.  That, quite frankly, is boring.  What I do doesn't save the world or make a huge difference in any way.  But I do a good job - I've been the top person in my position for the past two years and I just got a raise.

Anyway, in my zeal for getting things done (and quickly) I've re-realized the importance of eating when I get hungry; of listening to my body's signals telling me when it's time to eat.

Take yesterday.  I woke up and was hungry.  I snacked on a small handful of almonds on my way to work - to tide me over until I could have the oatmeal that I could make in our microwave.  Only things got busy and after a few hours of meetings and phone calls, I realized that I was hungry.  Mostly because I was grouchy and got very irritated when our receptionist told me that our files now go in a different bin.  Since I'm usually of a sunny disposition, it occurred to me that I should eat. 

'But it's only 11,' I told myself.  I already had breakfast - why am I hungry?

By 11:25, I couldn't wait any more - I was too hungry.  When I went to the fridge to get some fruit, I realized that I actually hadn't had oatmeal - I guess I just remembered eating earlier and thought that it must've been breakfast that I ate.

In any event, I had my oatmeal but was so hungry that I ate it too quickly to really enjoy it.  And afterwards?  I was still ravenous.  I made myself wait another 15 minutes so that I could accurately re-assess my hunger, but it was tough.

Even though I'm swamped at work pretty much all the time now, I need to remember to drink water and to eat when I'm hungry.  If I don't, I get headaches and I definitely get cranky.  Maybe not HAM status, but close.

I guess it's just interesting to me that two years ago I would've gotten cranky because I was tired, lethargic, and on a sugar crash.  But now, I get cranky as my body runs out of fuel.

For the record?  When I got home last night, I sat down, started to eat something, realized I wasn't hungry but was exhausted.  I decided to take a short nap until Joe got home...and that "nap" lasted 2 hours.

Oooh...taking care of myself feels so darn good sometimes.  So good that I might just take a nap tonight too. :)

Wanna' be motivated to run?

So, it's no secret that I like to run.  If you've been following me for awhile, you know that I've been motivated by numbers and stats to run longer, faster, quicker, and smarter.  I've maintained and built that motivation through Nike+ - which requires a little sensor either in or on top of your shoe (I have mine in a pink waterproof pouch, as you can see on my shoes here).  After your run, you sync your iPhone/iPod with the Nike+ site and TADA!  Instant stats!

But lately, I've had some glitches with the Nike+ running system and with it not syncing correctly or with having it stop and start at strange times throughout the run.  It's annoying.  Sure, I could pay extra money for the New And Improved Nike+ App, but I don't feel like I should have to pay for an application when I already had to buy the sensor.

On many sites, I've seen a RunKeeper App that has been touted as being fantastic.

But that app?  It's $9.99.  Have I mentioned that I'm cheap?  I am.

The great news?  RunKeeper is allowing anyone to download their RunKeeper app for free during the month of January.  No code to use or promo to enter.  Just go to the App Store on your iPhone or via iTunes and download it.

True, in order to utilize it the best (or maybe at all?), you need at least an iPhone 3G or better (because it tracks via GPS), but since I have that, I had no problem downloading it.

I'm super excited to use it.  It looks like it has training programs built in so that if you want to run in intervals, it'll tell you when to run or walk over your music that's already playing. 

As someone who has taken a break from running recently due to surgery, I'm excited to get back in the swing of things (errr...the stride of things?) and to build up my distance, speed, etc. safely.

So if you're interested at all, I'd highly recommend downloading it - even if you're not sure you'll use it.  Saving $10 is big in my book.

And to be clear, it's not just for runners.  If you walk, speed walk, bike, skip, pogo stick, or skate, it should work for you too - which is pretty great seeing as how it's not run off a sensor in your shoe.  The GPS allows it to accurately track how far you've gone within the time that you've allotted. 

And also?  The folks at RunKeeper have no idea that I'm writing this.  They didn't pay me or communicate with me to promote this...it's just something neat that I found and thought that you all might be interested in. :)

Eating - a truly enjoyable experience

(source)

It's no secret - I've wanted to start cooking for a while now.  Lest you think that I'm a complete idiot, I know how to cook some things.  It's just that what I know how to cook are holiday favorites or...well... a full Thanksgiving dinner.  Mostly because those are the meals that I've helped with over the years.

Sure, I know a few "normal" recipes here and there that I learned in college, but for the most part, my cooking has been limited to Hamburger Helper, sandwiches, and cereal.  Yes, even for dinner.

I'm not proud when I say that more often than not, I've grabbed something via a drive-thru on the way home.  And since dating Joe, the process hasn't changed much - the restaurants just got nicer.  Suffice it to say, much of 2010, we ate out for dinner.

It's expensive.  And while it's nice every once in a while to have someone else do the cooking, at our house going out to eat becomes a bit of a chore.  See, I have to wait for him to come home and THEN we have a 30 minute discussion on where we should go.  So usually, I'm eating later than I'd like - and it takes up more of the night than I'd like.  Moreover, it's not a particularly stress-free process. 

I've shied away from cooking regularly for two reasons: 1) I'm not a huge fan of leftovers and 2) it seemed like just another GD thing I had to do on my list of eleventy things to do in a given day.  'When I come home, I want to relax' I tell myself.  I deserve being taken care of, don't I?  So spoiling myself by eating out often seemed the best way to indulge.

But being on disability for 8 weeks (followed by vacation for 2 weeks), gives one a lot of time to reflect.  I've felt like I didn't accomplish anything while I was off work and my need to be productive in some way started to become more apparent.

So the last few weeks, I've decided to actually do more cooking - at least 5 dinner meals a week are going to be done inside our loft walls.  It's a big switch.

I started out 2011 making something I've never made before - chicken soup.  I cut up all the veggies and chicken.  I seasoned the broth to taste the way I like it.   I used the noodles that Joe loves.  And while it may have been more hearty than other chicken noodle soups, it was fantastic.

It was so good, in fact, that I made it again on Monday for dinner.  Yesterday, I made gumbo in the crockpot for dinner as well as tuna fish salad for my lunch for the rest of the week.

When I get to chopping or cooking, a few things happen.

1) I unwind by listening to music I like and enjoying tea, wine, or ice cold water while I do it.  It's a fantastic way for me to relax - not listening to talking, television, or anyone else.  It's just me and pleasant sounds.

2) I know what's going in my food.  While I do want to be better about eating only when I'm hungry, I find that knowing exactly what I'm eating is helpful AND fun.  I get to pick out fresh ingredients at the grocery store.  I get to explore what foods I like and what spices I don't.  If the end result tastes good, I know more about what I actually like...which makes the next time I'm eating out easier to choose what I want anyway.

3) I get a feeling of satisfaction by knowing that I am doing something productive.  And when I eat what I made?  I feel proud that I made something healthy, tasty, and nurturing for me.

And can I just say that watching Joe eat a meal I thoughtfully and deliberately made is just about the best feeling?  Especially when he goes for a second helping?  Oh man - such a great feeling.  He likes what I cook or bake and I feel good knowing that I'm fueling him with things that are good for him.

Cooking makes my meals more enjoyable.  I've destressed while preparing the dish so that when I eat it, either with Joe or alone, I'm in a place that I can truly enjoy it.  I'm pampered because it's a meal that I want, a meal I like, and it's using ingredients that I like.  I know what's in it - and the freshness of veggies and spices makes the meal truly tasty.

The whole experience of preparing, sharing, and eating is pretty great.  And while I'm not Betty Crocker or June Cleaver yet, I'm proud of my presence in my home just the same.

Who knows, I may be domesticated yet.

Secrets

My high school friend, Robin, used to say in a sing-song voice, "Secrets secrets are no fun; secrets secrets hurt someone." Truthfully, she said it when she felt like she was being left out of something. Probably because I was busy being silly with anyone and everyone around. But the sing-song rhyme has stuck with me.

Yesterday (as I was cutting about fifty thousand vegetables for a healthy gumbo that is hopefully getting yummy in our crockpot at home as I write this), I was thinking about how true that saying actually is.

Secrets don't just hurt the person who feels left out because they don't know what is being said. They hurt hurt the secret keeper too.

I mentioned this yesterday in my post, but there were two Oprah shows while I was off that really spoke to me. The one with Portia De Rossi and the one about what is normal. She basically took a poll of her audience members on various topics and then compared their results with some other study. Most of them were silly and not really helpful. And then I found this one:

Since it's all blurry, I'll read the type for you:

Have you ever hidden a food wrapper in the garbage so people don't know what you ate?
67% of her audience answered yes.

On one hand, I felt great.  I thought I was so different when I ate crap that I didn't want someone else to know about and then threw it away in a place no one else could see.

And truthfully?  I've even done it a few times since moving in with Joe.

So part of me felt great - I'm not alone!

But the other part of me realized how messed up that actually is.  I don't want to live a life in secret.  Moreover, I don't want to be the person who doesn't feel like they can be honest for fear that someone else will say something, will judge, or will not understand.

And you know what?  I'm not limiting that to food wrappers either.

There came a time when I was very vocal about my struggles and about my mind on this blog.  And people were supportive.

When I quit Weight Watchers in May, wanting to finish my journey on my own in my own way, there were a few hateful emails that I received.  It was discouraging but I kept on.  I have had a lot of support (a LOT of support) even from Jams, who IS a WW leader (Thanks Jams!).  The support and encouragement far outweighed the Negative Nelly's, so I dismissed their emails...even if they nagged at me from time to time.

But then I started being vocal about wanting to eat intuitively.  I even posted a few days about our rights to eating intuitively.  And I was mocked - a few times - privately and publicly - by a few people.

Even before that, I found myself not wanting to write about the struggles of intuitive eating (and there are plenty if I'm being honest with myself) because I didn't want to be misunderstood.  I didn't want my struggles to be interpreted as the program not working.  It does work.  I have met people who have been thin for years after struggling with weight for decades.

But to be 100% honest, I didn't write about it because I didn't want to get picked on as other bloggers had.  My eating isn't 100% clean all the time and I don't want to be the posterchild for anything.  I'm not claiming to be a nutritionist or a person who knows everything about what they're doing.

What I do know is this:
~ restrictive dieting feels wrong to me because the plans that I have tried focus on lots of things other than actual nutrition.  Because it is a matter of simple math (calories in must be less than calories out), it's easy to tell yourself that the 100 calorie ice cream bar is healthy.  Or that because you ate 18 slices of bacon (but no carbs!) you're okay.

~ The truth (for me) is that I feel better when I eat better.  I run faster, I think clearer, and I am happier.  Eating more nutritionally dense foods makes me a better person.

~ When I eat less, I'm satisfied.  I don't like the feeling of being stuffed.  And I often would choose low point foods or protein laden foods (in the past) and then gorge myself on them to the point of being over-full because I wanted that feeling.  The feeling of being stuffed made my soul feel full; made my life feel full; made myself feel less alone.

So, for me, I don't want to focus on one type of food, on a number (either for calories or points), or on other restrictive approaches.

Maybe that means that I take longer to lose my weight.  Maybe that means that I never lose all my weight.  But if it means that I'm a happier, saner, fitter person, why should I do anything differently - aren't I worth doing things the way I want to?

Lyn from Escape from Obesity has taught me so much in the years that I've been reading her.  If she would've stopped when people started being hateful, she wouldn't be where she is now- a healthier mom and a healthier woman.  I've really appreciated that she blogged her way through it - it let me know that there is no shame in stumbling.  Our approach of losing weight isn't the same, but we're in each other's corner just the same.  She never quit...and I'm not about to either.

The progress that I've made has had much more due to the space between my ears than I ever imagined it would.  I've processed those thoughts most effectively through this blog.  In fact, if I could offer anyone advice when starting out on the weight loss journey, I'd say: blog, vent, journal...or SOMETHING to get your true thoughts and feelings out there.

And just like yesterday, it's about time I took some of my own advice.

So here's the deal: I'm not going to hide behind my computer any more.  I'm going to share my struggles with my life - just as I have been - and my food journey.  I'm going to blog about my life, my relationships, my exercise, my relationship with food and anything else I want.  If you feel like coming along for the ride, I'd love that - I truly would.  I really enjoy reading about your triumphs and your failures. 

But if you feel like my way is crazy, insane, or just fodder for rants on your blog, please leave. 

Just because I'm not going to have omissions from my life doesn't mean I'm not going to omit your comments.

As I've found recently, being healthy means me standing up for myself when necessary.  It's about time I do just that.

Scouring old wounds

While I was out on sick leave, I watched a lot of television.

Scratch that, I watched a WHOLE BUNCH of a lot of television.

There were two shows that really stood out to me and they were both Oprah shows.

The first was of Portia De Rossi's interview circuit - right at the beginning of November.  She has a new book out, Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain and it's all about her struggle with her weight. 

She doesn't have the same weight problems I do (in that she was anorexic whereas I just binged), but we have something in common: we both used to hate our bodies and we both used food as an attempt to control our lives.

I found myself glued to the TV when she was speaking about her issues.  Because I swear, I could've been saying the same thing.

"It's not the weight gain from the six ounces of yogurt that worries me.  It's the loss of self-control.  It's the fear that maybe I've lost it for good. [...] It crosses my mind to vocalize my thoughts of self-loathing. [...] You're nothing.  You're average.  You're an ordinary average, fat piece of sh!t.  You have no self control. [...] As I reach the bathroom and wipe away the last of my tears, I'm alarmed by the silence; The Voice has stopped.  When it's quiet in my head like this, that's when The Voice doesn't need to tell me how pathetic I am.  I know it in the deepest part of me.  When it's quiet like this, that's when I truly hate myself." (capitalization of The Voice, mine)

A year ago, I believed the words above more often than not.  Being a survivor of molestation by a close family member will do that to you, I suppose. 

Every family is a system.  It's own rules and ways of dealing with things.  My family dealt with the "big issues" by ignoring them.  Smoothing over the rough spots, behaving as if nothing happened that was horrible, disgusting, and traumatizing.  My dad was an officer in the Army and my mom did her best interpretation of what an officer's wife should do.  Look great, be obedient, and toe the line.  We followed suit.  Never raise your voice in public.  Always smile.  Give someone else the right of way.  Turn the other cheek.  Be gracious.  Listen to others, don't speak out.  Be a perfect little lady.

When my dad's eyes clearly roved to his interns, my mom looked the other way.  When my father lashed out to my mom in verbally unkind ways, we all silently went to our rooms as if to pretend it didn't happen.  When someone had a bad day, we all vowed to try to make it better in ways that only co-dependents can do.  Don't TALK about the bad day, just do what you can to make it better.

And when I was molested, I held the secret deep in me.  My mom let my dad treat her poorly and she didn't stand up for herself - why would I trust her with the secret?  She wouldn't have made it stop; in my mind, she couldn't have made it stop.  Why would I tell my dad?  He was frustrated with me just being a kid - he volunteered to be on call at the hospital so that he wouldn't have to be at home.  His dislike for us was read loud and clear.  Best to keep it to myself.  To not bother someone with it.

The problem with living in a family system of secrets and unsaid things is that it's like a deep wound.  Something cuts horribly; it hurts deeply.  And if you don't clean the wound of all the debris, dead tissue, and unclean things, it just festers.  It gets infected.  It gets hot to the touch; unbearably sensitive.  You can wear clothing to cover it and you can try to dress up other parts of your body to detract attention from it, but the truth is still there - festering, uncomfortable, painful to think about, and very, very real.

So 2010 was my year to remove the clothing, to take away the dressings, and to strip the rest of my wardrobe of the tricks I used to attract the eye away from my wound.  I stopped being the class clown at work and with people.  I stopped being the loudest in the room and started really listening.  I stopped needing to be right.   I stopped watching out for everyone else at my own expense.  I stopped being the co-dependent sister.  I started having healthy boundaries.  I started showing myself some self-respect.  I started to love both the me that didn't deserve to be touched 25 years ago and the me that gained weight to 280 pounds.

And at Christmas, I spoke with my abuser and told her what her actions did to me.  I told her how it made me hate myself all these years.  I told her how it's not a matter of forgiveness of the actions that she did - I forgive her of that.  It's coming to terms with The Voice that has told me that I'm worthless all these years. 

In January of 2010, I wanted to be healthier in my mind, body, and spirit.  How'd I do? 

Well, I'm 8 pounds heavier.  I'm sure I couldn't run a mile if I needed to as I haven't run one in 3 months.  I'm weaker.  I've lost muscle tone.  My abdomen is bigger.  I worked hard the previous year to lose 55 pounds - and here I am having lost just a bit over 40.

But my spirit?  It's lighter by far.  I've battled with some serious demons this past year and I'm still alive and kicking. 

My mind?  It's stronger than it's ever been.  Because there is something missing.  The Voice.  A year ago, I heard the voice daily if not multiple times during the day.  It had been my constant companion for years, such that I had tuned out what it was saying - keeping only the bad feelings around that it always brought with it.  But when I actually listened to it back in August, I realized that it's just an old record that is no longer relevant.  Slowly but surely, The Voice is gone. I'm not sure when I heard it last, but I sure don't miss it.

In fact, I was looking at some pictures from Christmas just now and saw a few that (ahem) aren't as flattering of me as others are.  My first thought wasn't of me being disgusting and unworthy of love (as it always has been) but rather of a renewal of my resolution to get in better shape.  I used to only notice the muffin tops over jeans, but now I notice the sparkle in my eyes and the sheen to my hair.  I can finally say that I am pretty.

This past year, I've cleaned out some wounds - ones that have been paining me for decades.  It hasn't been fun.  It hasn't felt good.  But it was the right and healthy thing to do. 

Right now, my wounds are in the process of healing over, of scabbing.  Ultimately, there will always be a scar there; I won't ever forget what happened.  But I don't have to live in fear of someone discovering it either.  I don't have to cover them up and I don't have to try to avert someone's eyes from it. 

For 2011, my goals are simple.  I want to be healthier in mind, body, and spirit.  In 2010, I chased away demons and scoured my wounds.  In 2011, I want to let the wounds heal and I want to honor myself.

The Voice has always told me that I couldn't lose all the weight.  The Voice has always told me that being thin meant being sexier and that meant that harm would come.  Being thin was desirable, but it wasn't safe.  But since The Voice is no longer present, it doesn't have a say.

This year?  It's my year to reach my healthiest weight.  

My fibroid is gone.

I'm healed.  I'm whole.  I'm healthy.

It's time to start acting like it.