The Scale Goes Up

I have to keep reminding myself of my criteria for a good day – having done something to better myself or my business.  Although the scale went up a few pounds today (I’m going to blame my sister-in-law’s delicious, if not salty, dinner).  I can’t let these little things get me down.  Bodies are weird.  They do weird things.  And today is a good day.

I spent the morning wrapping up a project for a client and catching up on a couple of things for business, ate lunch and tried to get in some fluids, and then I’ll be spending my afternoon volunteering at the Family Court for Ask-A-Lawyer.  Have a couple errands to run, but those may have to wait until tomorrow.

I’m tired and would really rather nap through my afternoon, but responsibilities.

Sleep later.  :)

 

Impossible Choices

Two posts in one day, what? lol  This is what happens when I sit down at a computer and need a break, I guess.  Okay, so I think the real reason I haven’t wanted to go to therapy lately is because my therapist gave me what feels like two impossible choices recently.

Like I said earlier, I am beating the proverbial dead horse in therapy these days about my mother and my past.  I’ve talked about everything, over analyzed it all. Life has given me enough perspective that I’m back to the point that I was before I had my breakdown: acceptance.  I was abused as a child and it’s okay.  I’m not ashamed of it and have no qualms telling other people if it’s appropriate in a given situation.  While what I’ve been through will always be a large part of my rhetoric as I learn more in recovery, it is not everything and doesn’t need to be.

One of the things I’m stuck on is my ongoing relationship with my mom.  It’s not a good one; and it won’t be until we either work on it together or I give up on it.  So, I have to make the decision whether to actually invite her into therapy to really work on our relationship or finally make the decision not to pursue it anymore.  Not an easy choice.

I love my mother; I always will.  But… Is it wise of me to continue to pour effort and energy into a relationship that I’m not sure is even remotely salvageable? Is it wise of me to open up my heart in a very vulnerable way to someone who has done nothing but let me down again and again and again?  If therapy with my mother were actually successful and positive, I can’t even begin to explain how rewarding that would be.  But….  am I willing to take the risk that it will be equally devastating if therapy with her were a complete bust? I’m not ready to make that decision, so I’m letting it be for now.  Giving it a rest and just accepting that it will be annoying until I make a decision one way or the other.

Of course, there is also the need for me to work on myself more.  Because I’ve kind of hit this therapeutic plateau (at least that’s kind of what it feels like), my therapist suggested that I try group therapy, because I would probably get a lot from it.  That’s probably true, but the thought of it gives me anxiety.  I’m not ready to try something like that yet, no matter how helpful it might be in the long run.  And, realistically, I may not be ready until after I feel normal and figure out how I feel about life after weight loss surgery, if ever I suppose.

These feel like big life decisions that I want nothing to do with. lol

For now,  because I don’t know what else to do and I’m not ready to move forward with myself or my mother, I’m just going to keep figuring out this post-op life, and keep working on balancing business and life.  I’m also going to focus on enjoying the time I have with my brother and his family.  We laugh and talk and argue and he’s supportive of me and my business.  I try to be as supportive of him as I can be.  It’s nice.  It’s therapeutic in it’s own way.

Anyway, I should get back to working.  It feels nice to write again. Have a great rest of your week.  Thanks for stopping by :)

Sleepless Night

Quick post this morning after a sleepless night.  Running on fumes, but it’s worth it this week.  Life is a marathon and it’s all about the #journey.  💜

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Mental Cool Down

Today has been a busy day.  One of several this coming week. *sigh* While I need to get some sleep, my anxiety and excitement are going crazy, so here I am to tell you all that’s on my mind.  Thanks for listening.

Had a lazy Sunday morning (the best, right?), jumped in on #SundayBlogShare with Suzie81 Speaks for a minute (it’s fun, you should try!).  Then, caught up with  friends on Facebook and 💜ed away on Instagram while a movie and a few guilty pleasure shows from the last week play in the background (e.g, all of the Little Women shows on Lifetime). Got in my water for the day (gave up soda a week ago last Friday), had leftover pizza and dessert (yeah, I’m getting it in while I can, so shoot me). After lunch, it’s off to work. 

Work on Sunday – boo! But, my first solo trial starts on Wednesday (eek!) and so time with the clients and the quiet time after to focus was really great. I’m still nervous (and a bit excited too, I can’t lie), but I feel more prepared than I did yesterday.  That’s a fantastic feeling, let me tell you.

Adding to my nerves and excitement, though, is my apointment with the dietician tomorrow!  I have absolutely no idea what to really expect.  Again.  I’m just trying to go with the flow.  With that said, what the heck was I thinking making the nutritionist appointment a day and a half before trial started?!  I think I just really wanted to get it going. It was a month between the seminar and the nutritionist, after all. I didn’t want to wait!

Still, I should know better.  Lol

I have to say, when it gets super busy like this at work, I really worry that weight loss surgery isn’t right for me right now.  How will I ever prep prep prep?  How will I exercise faithfully? How will I possibly manage my anxiety and depression as I work through what I’m sure is going to be a rollercoaster? Oh, and still function at work? I’m so terrified of failing in the long run.  I know I’ve been successful at lots of things I’ve set my mind to, but not this.  Never this.  It’s scary to think that I’ll go through all this and fail again. 

I mean, I can hardly remember a time when I wasn’t overweight. But then I remember that I’ve got a couple of months (at least, I hope) without something really big like trial after this week is over (thank you baby Jesus!), and I stop worrying so damn much.  I’ll have time to focus on making changes before surgery, on working through this process.  Or I’ll make time.  This is important and will be a priority.

All I do know is I’m pretty at peace with the decision to go for surgery, despite all that.  It finally feels like the right time. 

Oh, today I also found a few cool, friendly people on Instagram and Twitter who are sharing their weight loss surgery pictures and journies! It’s super inspiring and gets me excited to see what my results and stuff will be! I hope I can do well. :)

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Mindfulness

My therapist challenged me to write down my thought process as I try to be more mindful and exercise self compassion.  I had a moment last night where I tried it out and, I have to say, it’s surprisingly effective when dealing with some hard feelings.

Just yesterday I finally decided to come clean with you about one of the things that I carry the most shame about – my weight.  Part of my current weight problem is, for sure, binge eating.  A Friday night, far too much take out, and a bottle of Captain Morgan are my poison.  But last night I guess I was feeling kind of empowered by sharing. So while I still ordered take out and had a couple of drinks, I did really well and didn’t over do it on the take out.

Well, Frank (yeah, its on a first name basis kind of level), the delivery guy from my favorite Friday night place noticed too.  He said something to the effect of, “Looks like you’re ordering light tonight.” Ugh. He was right.

Frank’s words ran through me like a white hot fire. I was instantly burning with shame, embarrassment, guilt. In true form, I also immediately started beating myself up.  I’m a fucking fat ass that orders too much food. I’m gross, ugly, and killing myself. What the hell is wrong with you, you idiot?!

Thankfully, I’ve gotten pretty good at shutting the negative thoughts down fairly quickly.  But I’m learning that’s not enough.  Just stopping the negative thoughts doesn’t do anything to help or reverse the effects that the negative thoughts have on your psychological well being. It’s like stopping the bleeding, but never dressing the wound.

So, I rose to my therapist’s challenge and did a bit of a stream of consciousness writing to work through it.

3/6/15

“You’re ordering light tonight,” from Frank the delivery guy. Thinking about it, I am ordering light. That made me feel shitty. Fat. Gross.  Slow down.  No, I should feel proud of myself because I’m doing something to help myself.  That’s nothing to be ashamed of at all. Slow down.  Why do I eat so much?  Feel anxious without ordering lots of food? Worried I’ll be hungry.  Worried I’ll feel. It’s okay to feel.  Worried I won’t have comfort. It’s okay,  you can comfort yourself.  You don’t need food to comfort you.  You don’t need food to comfort you.

And when I was done, I felt okay. I didn’t eat the entire box of donuts.  Progress!

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Now You Know

Out of fear and shame, I haven’t shared much at all about one big (BIG) issue in my life: my weight.   It’s so easy to hide in the blogosphere – and is one of the reasons I took to blogging in the first place.   No one has to know what I look like to appreciate who I am and what I have to say.

Unfortunately, this thing I am hiding is obvious (to those who can see me) and is killing me.  Using food as comfort to sooth my broken spirit for nearly 3/4 of my life is killing me.  Walking past a reflective surface and either turning my head or averting my eyes is killing me.  The binge eating is killing me.  Holding myself back from certain things in life because of my weight is killing me.  My weight is going to kill me if I don’t do something about it.

So, now you know.  I can’t lie, it’s pretty effing scary that you know.  It’s more important that you do know, however, because I don’t want to die.  Telling you is my way of moving the process along, of being accountable to myself.  I’m holding myself responsible for this problem in my life, because I’m the only one that can do anything about it.  On the flip side, I’m trying as hard as I can to be gentle with myself about it too, because it’s not all my fault.

There is ample scientific evidence showing that people who have suffered childhood trauma are at a much greater risk for obesity (along with depression, anxiety, and other fun things which I’ve been blessed with as well).  In fact, one article says that “[a]mong those who had been subjected to severe abuse, the risk [for obesity] increased by 50 percent.”

Fifty freaking percent…

It’s not clear how the study draws the line for  “severe abuse,” but I’m pretty certain if you’ve read any of my posts going into detail about the more significantly traumatic experiences in my life (here), you’d agree that there was some severe abuse going on in my home.   Two of the worst events happened at about 7 and 9.  So, it seems to make sense why I started gaining excessive weight at right around 9 (especially considering that a battery of tests didn’t (and haven’t) show any medical justification for the weight gain).

One of the reasons I’m able to share this with you now is because I’m finally really trying to do something about it.  I’ve been talking with my therapist more openly about my weight issues, am looking into extra counseling specifically geared toward eating issues, and have my first appointment with a bariatric surgeon scheduled next Friday.  It’s all so terrifying, because I’ve failed so many times trying to do something about it.  I don’t want this to be just another one of those times.  It’s also terrifying because without food, what comfort do I have?  That’s where the therapy comes in handy, I suppose.  I really just hope this is another step toward being healthiest, happiest, best me I can be.

Family Dinner

Visits with my parents are always difficult.  I never know how she will be. She was in rare form last night.  In a poor boundaries, being nasty, aggressive and passive aggressive,  cold shoulder, my house my rules,  poison tongue kind of way that only she is capable of. 

Since I’ve been talking more with her, she’s gotten more comfortable and is slipping right back into old habits. The highly inappropriate call on Valentine’s Day to tell me what I should be doing to celebrate being single.  Last night’s foray into the mother of my youth.

I didn’t let it ruin time with my dad. We were able to have a few private conversations like we started doing after I became an adult.  And, despite being in pain from diabetic neuropathy in his legs and feet,  he walked me out to my car like he always does.

Despite her, it was a pretty decent visit overall.  That’s progress.

Happy

I feel like I should be it, but I’m not.
I feel like it surrounds me, but my walls are up and I still can’t break through to let it in.

Intellectual capability and emotional intelligence are on vastly different ends of the spectrum.  I know what it is supposed to look like, can spout off a hundred synonyms for it, but being it? Not a clue.

Just when I think I have the hang of it. As I begin to believe it isn’t a myth made in the minds of idyllic youth,
I’m back down again. Withdraw, isolate, give in to the depression as it rolls in like fog in the night.

Those who have it live wholeheartedly,  says Brené Brown (aka #VulnerabilityTED). To live wholeheartedly is to truly believe you are loved and are worthy of love.
I am neither.  I am neither. I am neither.
Except I am loved; this I know.  I still don’t have it.

Maybe I’m scared of it.  Maybe I need to face the fact that I don’t feel worthy of it.  Then I can figure out how to move forward.  I’ve been trying to dismiss the idea every time it comes up as a thought.  Bad thoughts *swat* dead like a fly. I’ve gotten pretty good at turning them off when I notice them. Or I rationalize,  logic, etc. etc. my way around the thought until it’s my bitch and I can stop thinking about it for a while.

But that I’m not worthy of it? I mean,  that kind of makes sense.  As for how that makes me feel? Not a clue.

My Hope

4/28/13

…

I wonder what people will think of me after I die and they read my journals.  I hope they see a person who,  despite the issues she has, was able to conquer it all to become a successful,  well adjusted, loving,  caring human being.

If I have children,  I hope they love,  respect,  and cherish me and the relationship we develop over their lifetime.  I hope they feel nothing but unconditional love from me. That they can be who they want without judgment.  That their lives end up better than I could ever hope.  Above all, I hope they are happy.  Happy with themselves.  Happy in life.  Happy in love.  That they find themselves amongst people who cherish them as much as I do. That they do not suffer of some of the things I suffer from.

…

Life is Not…

A couple of the euphemisms about life make such little sense when you really think about them.

“Life is a highway…”  

If life were anything remotely like a highway, I would ride it all night long.  Driving (sometimes well in excess of the speed limit, I’ll admit it) has always been zen activity for me.  The feeling when you open up a v8 to skirt around traffic, take a turn, or jump off a stop light is exhilarating. My car has always been my think tank, my record studio, and my home away from home.  And two months on the road the fall of 2013 only deepened my bond with the road.

But news flash!  Road trips are nothing at all like real life.

On the road, the scenery changes in the most wonderful ways with each passing mile.  Even the flattest lands of Wyoming and South Dakota have wonders to enjoy.  New towns, interesting tourist attractions, cows galore (Freckles’ favorite) and miles of sunflowers to keep your attention.  Something new may be waiting just around the next turn.

Real life, on the other hand, requires a conscious effort to find and appreciate beauty in the scenery you see every single day.  We drive the same road to and from work, see the same people, have the same conversations, live in the comfort of a routine.

On the road, change comes naturally to us.  Change is part of the thrill.  It is both expected and welcomed with an open mind and heart.  Real life, however, is resistant to change.  Polar opposites.  Change, even if for the better in the end, is often wrought with difficulty, frustration, anxiety, remorse, and regret.   It’s no surprise, then, that real life often lacks any of the luster and appeal of the open road.

So no, life is not a highway, Tom Cochrane.  But it made for good music, so I’ll let it slide.

“Life is like a box of chocolates.”

Life is not like chocolate either, unfortunately.  Chocolate is delicious, melty, and comes in so many varieties.  Milk, dark, white, nougat, caramel, almonds and more.  Chocolate is one of the only things that can stop a raging hormonal woman dead in her tracks.  With chocolate, all can seem right with the world – at least temporarily.

Real life regularly leaves us feeling disappointed and depressed.  Then all we want to do is eat copious amounts of chocolate.  In every possible form; hot chocolate, cookie, ice cream, cake, you name it.  Chocolate is a treat to enjoy and savor.  Life is not always a treat.  In fact, life is sometimes fucking awful.  Your local news will tell you how bad it is in your neck of the woods any given night of the week.  Invasions.  Wars.  Politics.  Shootings.  Riots.  Climate change. Death.  It’s all too much sometimes.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say there was too much chocolate.

Okay, fine.  Forrest Gump’s analogy wasn’t about the chocolates themselves.

Like a box of chocolate, life looks delicious in the beginning. It comes in a pretty little package, it smells divine, and your first bites into pieces of life are usually glorious foodgasms in your mouth.  Then comes that weird piece with the fruit nougat that you can only spit out with disdain.  Real life is sometimes a series of those fruity abominations.

For most people, that strange fruity abomination doesn’t stop you.  You have no fear of trying again with the chocolates in the hope of reclaiming the deliciousness of that first bite.  Life is kind of like that too. We usually are capable of diving back in to life after failure without hesitation, without fear.  But sometimes the message gets crossed.

Normal people realize that only a portion of the chocolates are weird and gross.  For some of us, we learned things along the way that make it seem like throwing away the entire box of chocolates would be the best option.  No passing go, no collecting $200 dollars, no attempt to buy a new box of chocolates.  Just throw it all away.  When your wires are crossed, sometimes you end up in this cycle of ignorance of the fact that a chocolate covered caramel wonder is waiting for you out there.

But throwing away our life when it’s disgusting, or ending it after a moment – even if it was a long moment – of that nasty fruity concoction is preposterous.  Unless you – and only you can do this – find the beauty and deliciousness in life, you may find yourself drowning in the overwhelming oppression of the daily grind.

For some of us, it’s harder than you might think.  I’ve been there on and off over the last few years.  It has been so difficult to find satisfaction in this life I have created for myself.  I had convinced myself – it was all I could do to survive, I think – that once I was here, once I was a lawyer, once I had succeeded in education and career, happiness would rush down upon me and my life would be fulfilled.  It hasn’t quite worked out that way.

Sure, life is sort of like a box of chocolates. But real life is really about how you react when it seems like that disgusting fruit filled hunk of trash is all you’re getting.  It’s about how you handle moving on to the next piece of chocolate.  Sometimes, even when our stomach hurts from too much decadence, we have to go back for more.