Gone Fishin’

 

 

Hundreds of friends on social sites but the sight-seeing I do is always alone.

Scenic routes to nowhere.

Breath taking views that always prelude
breath taking falls.

Pride is a faulty fence that won’t hold under your weight.

Especially mine.

I leaned in to rest and got too comfortable.

And I have been trying to dig myself out since.

I hate myself for it.

Because questions only give birth to more questions.

Conversations turn into more conversations.

Everyone is SURE of everything, which is really nothing.

Daring to dig deep but deep thinking doesn’t pay the bills.

 

Talk really IS cheap.

 

I prefer writing poems lately instead.

I like the indirect way it guts my soul.

It  holds me  under the  faucet, like a  fish.

Spilling cold water, blood and secrets.

Baited and hooked.

Filet of fresh foolishness.

Piercing the knife through my belly and up toward that trouble making throat where my voice always escapes me.

Running thumbs up my spine to clear all the waste, (just like you taught me) because no one else is gonna do it.

The sharp blade of reality will scrape the scales and dirt that burden you,

but it never really clears it all.

It only accumulates to add character and flavor.

Wrapped in garlic butter and foil and thrown to the fire to become something worthy of the fight.

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

New landscapes

There is much to be said about clutter and disorganization in your home having a direct correlation to your physical and mental health.  The internet is ripe with articles and testimonials about this phenomenon. Today, I was sitting in my backyard trying to have a clear and meditative moment when I decided that this was true.

My back yard looks like a desert wasteland.  You almost expect to see Mel Gibson dressed as Mad Max come walking around the corner of the house, covered with dust and scouring the land for supplies.  It’s embarrassing.   My husband and I joke about this to our friends but it is mostly to cover up the shame we both feel about having let it all go back there.  We have kids and a dog and Game of Thrones, obviously making yard work low on our priority list.  Its more like we warn people before they peek out the window.  We care about what our space and habitat looks like because it says a lot about who we are.  We are FAR from fancy but we try to make a good impression by sprucing and cleaning.  We want anyone who comes into our home to feel comfortable and welcome.  The success of Pinterest proves that we are a generation obsessed with cheap and easy DIY fixes for the home. We want to paint and spruce and decorate so that we feel “acceptable”.

It’s not that different from how we dress ourselves.   We primp and fuss with our hair and makeup, especially if we have somewhere special to be.  Clothes, shoes, bags and other accessories.  Women are known for paying attention to detail.  Lots of men are just as fussy about the way they look as us ladies are.  It’s just a necessary evil right?  We spend so much time showering, sugar scrubbing, shaving, lotioning and dressing.  Brushing, curling, straightening and spraying.  Blending, concealing, highlighting, and glossing.  Finally, we look in the mirror and survey if we are ready to leave the house.  Are we acceptable to be seen?  To step out in the marketplace and participate in life?   Even though these painted versions of ourselves aren’t truly who we are, they make us feel good enough about ourselves to go ahead and try.  We head out the door to conquer our day and the first time someone tells us we look nice we immediately say,”NOOOOOOOOOOOO.  No I don’t, I’m gross. But thank you.”  We mustn’t believe anyone when they actually compliment us, right?

If you busted your ass gutting out your back yard and pulling weeds and planting new sod you wouldn’t dismiss someone telling you how great it looked!  Why?!  Because you KNOW IT LOOKS GOOD GURRRL.  YOU WORKED HARD! It paid of and now you can take a deep breath, open a cold bottle of beer and enjoy.  Doesn’t that feel good?  To have gratitude for a nice space to sit and make memories in?  What in THE WORLD would happen if we treated our bodies the same way?  Like a sacred space, to enjoy sitting in and making memories with?

Looking around my yard and then my home I realized that in the same way I had kind of given up on my appearance because of not feeling good about myself…I had kind of done the same to my space.   Why has this evaded me?  Has there just been a massive point of no return?  Where I have given up caring about not only my body and how I can dress it…but it seems also my home and yard with it?

What would happen if I gave up fighting with myself this summer about how much I weigh, how I look or what im gonna wear and devoted all of that energy instead to rolling up my sleeves and cleaning up and fussing on this home that I have been graciously given?  What if my physical, emotional and spiritual self transformed in direct correlation to my feeling good about my living space as it had the other way around?

Am I crazy?

Realology

 

 
The real me.

I don’t think you can handle the real me.I don’t think I can handle the real me, which is why I spend so much time and energy trying to dress, suppress and cover.

The real me keeps up with Kardashians and enjoys every ignorant drop of pop-culture, and  I know you do too…or they wouldn’t be rich. We all watch.  The real me has been known to set the DVR…don’t want to miss any rubbish.  The real me watches all the awards shows, red carpets and live coverage even though I pretend like I’m above it.

The real me sings “laa laa laa laa, wait till I get my money right” while I type this.  Because sometimes, the real me listens to some dirty, filthy rap and hip hop.

It’s poetry.

I love it.

Can’t help it.

I’m jealous of it.  Its art.

It is.

It’s real and raw and I can’t help but appreciate.

The real me has the mouth of a sailor. I try not to, but sometimes…you just gotta…I’m tired of pretending I don’t.

I have the sense of humor of 8 fraternity brothers.  Every damn lewd thing under the sun I think is hilarious and it’s probably extremely inappropriate.

The REAL me likes a good love scene in a movie. You won’t catch me blushing or turning away.  Bring it on, I’m not afraid.  My husband has no complaints.  He knows the real, real me and luckily he loves me anyway.

The real me thinks its funny.

SO funny!

The real me can take a joke and surely throw one your way.  The real me will likely make fun of you, it’s an unfortunate self survival technique.  Because making fun of myself is what has kept me alive.  It has saved me.  It’s what I know..so I also know how to apologize.  They go hand in hand.

The real me likes to get tipsy every now and then when my kids aren’t around.  Tie one on and have a silly good time.  Sing oldies at the top of my lungs and laugh at everything.  I like a margarita or a simple beer…which is a sin nowadays.  Everyone is a beer snob and expert.  Maybe I’m just insecure and lame because I feel like the fancy beer tastes terrible.  The real me won’t care because if she drinks enough (which is rare) she likes to smoke a cigar.  The really sweet and cheap ones from the gas station.  The real, deep down me wont feel gross, guilty or in trouble…because she has nothing to hide.  

 

The real me knows..that God already knows.  

 

He already knows the real me that sneaks leftovers from the fridge when everyone is asleep.  An extra scoop here, a bite there.  The real me that over eats to stuff down the urge to go ahead and just be the real me, and let it all hang out.  The real me that loses battles against pastries, bagels,calories and food journals.  Clean eating plans that fall short despite how hard I try or how firm my resolve.   So I try, but I want to have my cake and eat it too..and show no evidence of it.

Don’t we all?

The real me questions God and the bible and if this whole thing isn’t just a big scam.

The real me wonders if I’ve been brainwashed all along.

The real me knows I can’t say these things out loud because (gasp) what would everyone think?

Well, the real me doesn’t need your prayers.

God is always here for me, however that works.  The real me knows that God is real and loves, even the real and raw hidden me.

 

The real me needed your true friendship …you know the kind that you thought you had already given to me and then bailed on when you found out that I was TOO much?

The real me has few real friends.. you wouldn’t approve of.

We laugh at crazy stuff and talk about the dark things that crowd the soul with the practice of keeping them silent…but when they reach the light of day the power hold they had on me fall to the ground like a pile of rusty chains.

Hold on, there’s more.

The real me likes to be alone, but its hard to do things alone.

The real me wishes she could beg for help but she wont because shes prideful.  So,so, so prideful.

I’d rather die than ask you for help again.  Ever again.

The real me wishes I could say that to your face but I wont.  I know that deep down, the real me isn’t that polite.  The real me would shrug and keep walking because the real me doesn’t pretend like everythings fine. The real me is so damn tired of taking the fall.  So tired of taking the blame .  So tired of being responsible. So tired of being at fault.

But the real me cant say that out loud.  We must always keep up appearances.

 

The real me has secrets and regrets.

Darkness. Beyond what you could even imagine.

The real me has carried it a long time.

The real me is so sorry,  You wouldn’t believe how sorry! I could never express. It’s buried too deep.  But the real me is on her way to freedom.  Digging these old things up and letting them go.  So, let go and just let the real me hang on out there…good, bad and ugly, this is what it is.

We’ll see whose still standing here after.

We are all liars, thieves and pretenders.

What would be the harm if we just sat in our discomfort and exposed who really are and what we really feel?

So lets just get real.

Realology.

Get a move on!

I just sat down at my computer and cranked up the music.

Subwoofer and all.

It feels so  good.  First song to pop up on my Pandora (Love’s Holiday/Earth, Wind & Fire Radio, if you’re feeling funky) is  Michael Jackson’s “P.Y.T”.  Just what I need to light a fire under my ass this morning to literally dust this thing off and get down to business.  He  sings,” don’t you know now is the perfect time…” and he’s right, it is.

It has been way to long.

I have been avoiding my blog, my writing and generally all things I enjoy for sometime now.  I don’t know why I do that?   Must be a part of the weird and continual self-abuse that is my default when times get stressful.   I tend to fold up shop on all things productive and go back to the old way of thinking and managing my emotions when something sucky happens. And yes, sucky stuff has happened.  But I am still here.  My family is doing well.  I have a roof over my head.  All is well. Gratitude washes away all the weariness that has threatened to take over.

The good news is, the time between my old default setting and the fresh and ambitious setting that I prefer is getting shorter and shorter.  Thanks be to God!  My desire to THRIVE is greater than the desire to be feel sorry for myself.

One of my best friends reminded me of a great quote yesterday by the legendary Tony Robbins, “motion is emotion.”

Motion is emotion. 

Our body language and energy level is connected to what we think and feel about ourselves.  How we feel about ourselves dictates the quality of what we do day in and day out.  Even though I feel as though I have to learned this lesson over and over…here it is again today and I’ll be damned if a negative attitude hadn’t snuck in and tried to take over again.  Which is a shame because I have so much to tell you guys about the past few months.  I have gone (mostly) sugar-free.  I have started Pilates.   I began acupuncture to help with managing my foot pain and also to promote healing so that I can get to where I want to get with my fitness goals.  I have been enjoying some great accomplishments!  Even though I have a long way to go, I can”t afford to pull the plug and crawl back into my comfortable cave where everything dulls and comes to a screeching stop just because it seems too overwhelming.

You can’t make momentum out of nothing.  

So today I will GET UP.

GET A MOVE ON.

Maybe put on some Beyoncé and get my groove on.  I will not lie down and let poor and lazy thinking allow me to slip into fatigue and depression (again).  I think this is a danger for any of us moms who stay at home during the day (but that is a whole other blog post!).  If I am making the choice to sit and marinate in all of my negative feelings and fears, how can I ever expect any changes to occur or progress?  This was where I always seemed to fail before.  Throwing in the towel and resorting back to the same old thing before the new thing could take hold.   Putting a halt on all of the things that help me feel better and do better  is about the worst thing I can do.

I will WRITE.

I will post it.  Even if it sucks.  Because I know I should.  Because I know it helps me feel better.  Because I know it helps connect me to everyone else who reads these words and resonates with what I feel, and I know I’m not alone.   Because I know it is my art and my gift and if I want to get better at it, I need to quit worrying about who will read it and what they will think of it.

It’s the perfect time.

Especially now that Pharrell and Daft Punk are in my ear telling me it”s time “to get lucky”.

 

 

 

 

 

A few weeks ago…

The following is a journal entry I wrote almost three weeks ago right before leaving for camp. I had been really struggling since my “sober” living had crashed and burned.
I had no intention of sharing this on my blog publicly, but I’ve been healing and learning such good things that in order to share in some of my joy you’d have to appreciate the depth of the REAL (gotta keep it real over here!) depression I was digging myself into:

I see myself in the reflection of my friends sunglasses and my heart sinks because it reminds me that I am much much bigger in real life than I think I am in my head.

Wow.
I really am THAT big?

The past few weeks have been the first time in my life I have felt different and actually fearful in public. People can be truly cruel and I am shocked sometimes by what people have the balls to say to my face. At least have the decency to laugh behind my back.
I am terrified of my upcoming camp and family reunion commitments but at this point I cant get out of either of them.

Timidness is an interesting feeling as an extrovert, not a feeling I have been accustomed to. It seems a new level of social anxiety has set in.
I feel paranoid constantly that someone’s cell phone is turning me into a fat person gif.

Gulping down (no pun intended) the harsh reality that the things I used to get away with as a “normal fat girl” (like squeezing into booths, behind steering wheels and movie theater seats) are becoming almost impossible as the obese (morbidly, technically) woman I have allowed myself to become. I am quickly running out of things I can get away with. It is so frustrating because each attempt at weight loss seems to only catapult me into a new level of miserable fat-ness. Gaining more weight and losing only hope.

Outings out with family are more and
more unpleasant because I know I am an embarrassment. We went strolling about for my sisters birthday a few days ago and I couldn’t wait to get back to the car.

That isn’t me!!

I grow more understanding of recluses who hide away in their homes with each jaunt out. I understand what motivates people to stow away inside dark rooms enjoying the relationships they’ve made with television characters because they are one sided and can’t look at you with condescending sympathy. People look, gawk and stare in real life. It’s much less awkward and painful just to stay home. My hubs thinks I’m paranoid…but he just doesn’t know the reality of the harassment I’ve encountered.
I’m glad he doesn’t.
It would be that much more shameful.

My bones are groaning for a change.

My time is running out before my
body starts to turn on me. The person I am on the inside is full of energy and life and doesn’t match this person I’ve become on the outside.

This isn’t me.

31 years old is too old to be tempting fate. My peeps need me.
My hearts desperate prayer is to put an end to this madness and be the version of me I am supposed to be.

So why do I continually find myself getting worse and worse?

Musings from a hot car

July.

I can’t even believe it. Before we know it it’ll be the start of the holiday season. Time rushes by as an adult. As a kid, the summers were long and drawn out. Sticky and hot. Somehow the hotter the day, the more time seemed suspended. As if the hours would get stuck in the stale heat that left us bound in front of open windows, fans and Nickelodeon. We weren’t the kind of kids who grew up with air conditioning. But there were endless amounts of otter pops.

Yesterday, while waiting for my husband to run inside a store to pick something up real quick, the kids and I waited in the car for him. We had all 4 windows down and were only waiting for my hubs for about 8 minutes. You would have thought my children were gonna die. They couldn’t handle being hot. I couldn’t believe the fits that were thrown. They live in a comfortable, air conditioned existence.

Hmmmm.

This got me thinking. My husband and I both want to give our kids a life we didn’t have. We both came from families with lots of kids (me being the eldest of 4 and he being the second oldest of 5). When a family has lots of kids the money for extra curricular activities, sports, movies, and vacations is almost non-existent. We both wanted a small family so that we could afford to do these things with our kids, and raise them comfortably. Even having the TWO kids gets expensive! I honestly don’t know how people do it with more! Our friends with large families have often teased us about having more kids,
but we are confident in the decision we’ve made. But sometimes I wonder if we aren’t creating entitled and apathetic monsters in the process. I think that I am pretty strict with my kids. We have rules, chores, and consequences in our home. Yet, I still find myself asking so many questions. How do you take the best care of your children without spoiling them? How do you teach them work ethic and responsibly without cracking a whip? How can we instill gratitude and empathy from this air conditioned point of view?

Everyone has their opinions and techniques. Once upon a time I would have thought I knew exactly how to execute these things with my kids. Having worked in child care for 10 years I was confident that with every new stage I would know exactly what to do. Well, was that ever WRONG.

Bottom line? My kids are amazing. They have tender little hearts for people and animals that they have acquired in spite of me and my parenting. I know that God has a plan for their lives and loves them even more deeply than I do. I just want to get it right!

Sometimes it’s just hard to let to and trust.

Why I am not a mommy blogger

I have resisted the term “mommy blogger”.

I kind of hate it.

Not that I have anything against “mommy bloggers”, I just don’t want to be labeled one. But then I have to ask myself why? Is it because I feel the term leaves so much out about who these women might be as human beings? Maybe, knowing all my inadequacies keeps me from feeling worthy to dub myself as such, implying some sort of expertise in the field…which I am far from?

Perhaps? Who knows.

It makes me sound like a jerk for insinuating that there might be more to a woman than just her being a “mommy”. (GASP!) Many of the faith based mommy blogs are so…well…sweet.
They are nice.
Lovely.
They are perfectly color coordinated. They are filled with triumphs as moms and tender accounts of motherhood. And it seems, all of them beaming with spiritual maturity. Some women find these inspirational, I find them to be more of bright gleaming light on my insufficiencies, stained carpets and frumpy clothes.
I am not well put together or polished. I have dirty dishes and unidentified smells going on around here. (My project after writing this post, lucky me.) No matter how hard I try, I am not organized or scheduled. I sometimes long to be. This could very well be my aversion to the “mommy blog” world. That perfectly cleaned, frosted and accessorized realm of the Internet that bids the “mommy” to come on in and have a cup of coffee while we swap some tips on how to be awesome?

I’m just not invited to that party.
I’d have nothing to wear.
My attempts at making hand made invitations to perfectly themed birthday parties to impress my friends lasted about 2 1/2 years or so…my poor second child will never know of these sorts of grand affairs and she is perfectly content with her Walmart birthday cakes, thank you very much.
My scrapbooks? Don’t even ask.

The truth is I am a mommy and I also am (for whatever its worth) a blogger.

I have talked very openly here about my battle with food addiction/recovery and self esteem. Sharing this process of learning how to genuinely love myself and be kind to myself. (Still working on that one!) I’ve grappled with beauty and body issues. And YES, I’ve confessed much about my efforts as a mommy and a wife.
But also as a sister, friend and daughter.
I want evaluate my life for REALS and look upon my friendships and relationships in a real way. In hopes of growth.
Not just because I am a mom, but because I am a human being trying to get it right with this one life I get to live.

Throughout all of this I’ve been constantly examining my faith. Steadily combing out all of these different layers of my life with fine toothed bristles of honesty, especially where my faith is concerned. If there is anything I can say about myself, it is that I DO NOT want to be a phony. This might put some people off…but this is REALOLOGY, so we gotsta keep it real.

I was set free recently and resonated with Rachel Held Evans when she wrote in her book, A Year of Biblical Womanhood, “As a Christian, my highest calling is not motherhood; my highest calling is to follow Christ.”

Wow. Stop.

That’s all I really need to hear to get me through the rest of this day. What a wonderful reminder that despite all of the different denominations and camps…controversies, interpretations and commentaries and yes, even bloggers, there is but one thing I am called to as a woman of faith…

Jesus replied, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
(Matthew 22:37-39 NLT)

Love God.
Love people.
Love myself.

Okie dokie.

Let’s dig deeper?

“Confidence is the only key. I know a lot of people who aren’t traditionally ‘beautiful’ — not symmetrical or perfect-bodied or perfect-skinned. But none of that matters because all that shines through is their confidence, humor and comfort with themselves. I can’t think of any better representation of beauty than someone who is unafraid to be herself.” –Emma Stone

Unafraid to be herself?

When I read this quote it really struck me. I love Emma Stone. She is so cute and funny, it seemed perfect that she was the one who had said these words. This in fact is the one thing almost everyone agrees is the single thing that is attractive in another human being. Seemingly, not directly based directly on how someone looks. Is confidence REALLY the key?

What about the very fine line between confidence and arrogance? When is it genuine vs. put on? How do we learn these things, then teach them to our kids?

Confidence?

I guess today I’m not writing a blog post as much as I feel I might be researching for a juicy one!

What makes you feel confident?

Is there a time when your confidence was shining through?

How do we gain this?

What are your thoughts??

In a perfect world

I posted on Facebook yesterday about how my daughters horrible eczema feels like a neon sign across her body glaring and announcing all my failures as a mother. Despite all attempts at trying to get it under control, it always seems to return. The worst part is knowing that she is miserable and I can’t seem to help. I had a lot of wonderful advice and suggestions roll in from friends and I’m sure we will find something that helps her eventually.

God reminded me and quickly humbled me of my friend who is still driving back and fourth to the hospital daily to care for and be close to her three week old infant who is in the NICU post surgery. She has been the epitome of strength and bravery as I’ve watched her wade though, but I can’t imagine how she really, REALLY feels. I bet it feels pretty lonely. How much easier is my eczema problem knowing that there are moms out there dealing with some truly hard and heart breaking situations.

The truth that I’ve had to face (again) upon waking up this morning and thinking all of this through, is that I carry crippling insecurities as a human, but especially as a mother. If I’m keeping things REAL over here at Realology, this topic seemed heavy on my heart to sift and pray through…and share honestly about.

I can remember when I first had my son; after the hospital nurses and family members had all departed, it was just he and I up in the wee hours. Making any and all attempts at breast feeding, there were times I would have to get up in the night by myself to pump. It was terribly painful for me and I remember crying and feeling so alone. Those are never the stories you hear when women talk about newborns and breast feeding and new motherhood. I guess from day one I felt like I had missed the mark because I wasn’t having this euphoric and intoxicating experience. I was lonely. I was tired. Don’t get me wrong, I was in love with my baby. I would stare at him for hours it seemed, marveling at all of his features and faces he’d make. But I was always jealous of my friends whose mothers would come and camp out at their homes for weeks to cook and clean and BE there to guide…I imagine it would not have felt so scary and isolated.

If I think about how quickly my kids are growing and how instantly they will be consumed with friends, clothes, music and different things outside of our home it actually makes my heart sink and I feel sick. It is terrifying. I want to freeze time, so I can get it right before we move into the next phase. I want to freeze time so that I can savor each little moment. Every snaggle-toothed smile, every giggle, every snuggle. In real time it seems I take so much for granted.

In a perfect world I would have already ironed out these issues I have with myself, body, and faith. I would be the mother that I am in my head that has a proper schedule (that I actually keep) that makes proper meals all the time, that doesn’t let my four year old daughter run around wild in her pajamas till noon. I would be the mom who doesn’t give a blip or feel less than in my heart when dropping my son off at the school and notices all the women who have walked their kids to school. Wearing cute workout clothes and holding coffee cups. Visiting and chatting with each other, causing me social anxiety reminiscent of high school. I would be the mom who is ever present, never distracted or ( dare I say it out loud?) annoyed by my kids.

In the spirit of being kind to myself I’ll say that I know that I am trying my best and that my intentions are golden. My husband is amazing and encourages me daily, letting me know that he is glad that I am the mother of his children. My kids are doing pretty well despite my neurosis. I am only human and the beast of comparison will rear its ugly head again and again in my life. The hope is that I will give it less and less power in my head and heart.

Speak the truth in love

I’ve been teetering this past week or two with the feelings of victory and momentum I’ve gained with my weight loss and the ever-present darkness of self-doubt that waits to pounce on me and pull me back down into the bowels of the addiction/binging prison that I’ve left behind. I am in a delicate time in this process where I KNOW that I have given up so much and am working hard to overcome the comfortable habits I’ve been living with and allowing to cripple me for a lifetime. It’s easy to become doubtful or fearful of failure because the results are not as exciting or rapid as I was hoping…and the addict in my brain is convincing me it’s not worth it. I know that it is…I’m just being honest about the reality of the war in my head.

This weekend was filled with fun and friends. My husband and I were out on the town and fancy free! We had the pleasure of traveling to be at friends surprise party and then made plans to join another couple in San Francisco. We stayed overnight, got to sleep in, walked around and had brunch before heading back home yesterday. As far as kidless weekends go, it was glorious!
And as far as anyone else knows, I had the time of my life! And I did…except there is always the underlying issue I have to deal with whenever I am participating in being a human being in public. What is that issue?

I’m still fat.

On the outside, and to most everyone I am still fat. Even though my clothes are fitting better, and my body feels slightly different and just genuinely BETTER…the fact remains. Don’t get me wrong, I am so thankful for the changes I can actually see and feel, though they are slight, they have boosted my confidence and have spurred me to keep generating the momentum I need to keep going.

That being said, to meander down a busy street in a big city on a Sunday morning is still just as awkward and painful and humiliating as it was 25 pounds ago. With each pair of raised eyebrows, and stares and scoffs I could feel a ding and a chip and a swipe at my thin little armor of confidence. People’s faces speak a language all their own, to which I have become fluent. The look I get most of the time after someone sizes me up is one that says,
” Wow. Really? You should be ashamed of yourself.” Or “Poor thing.” Shaking heads in disbelief. Which is usually followed with a look of confusion when realized that My hubs is MY HUBS and actually WITH me. He thinks this is all in my head. I wish it were. The sad thing is, we ALL do it. I’m guilty of it too. The sharp and simple judgements we make when we see others. When we “people watch”.

These kinds of experiences have gotten worse with each pound I have packed on over the years. Yet I still shudder to think of the experiences had by those who’ve had it and will always have it worse than me. In any case, we become numb to it. The embarrassment of being in my skin returns and that little momentum and hope I’ve worked so hard for disappears under the weight of all the familiar looks and snickers. But I’ve learned how to ignore it. Let it roll over me like a wave while I try to keep my cool and not let it affect the bluff of my composure. I don’t want to upset the herd or bring MORE attention to myself so I tuck it away. Fold it up and slip it into that lock box in my heart that’s reserved just for shame and self loathing. In the past, it would have set me up splendidly for a private and ugly couple of days of binging and self-abuse. But since I am committed to NOT dealing with things in my old familiar ways, and am also committed to being honest and REAL in this process and can longer engage in old behaviors, I am writing about it instead.

This is an excerpt from an article I read this morning which I thought was brilliantly written:
“The way that our country treats human bodies, fat and thin and in between, is barbaric…We frame people’s bodies as physical manifestations of their supposed moral failings, just so that we can congratulate ourselves on not being them. We publicly humiliate and dehumanize children to prop up the multibillion-dollar weight-loss industry. And then we tell fat people that they’re the villains.”
http://jezebel.com/5908787/being-mean-to-fat-people-is-pointless-a-good-old+fashioned-plea-for-civility

So if my new method of dealing with things is to SPEAK the truth to myself instead of LISTENING to that old tape of lies in my head…then the truth is, my body is NOT the manifestation of my moral or even spiritual failures. My worth is not determined by strangers or anyone else who thinks they can size me up by how I look. I am a human being with life and loves and feelings. Just as anyone else is whom I may be tempted to look upon and judge harshly. I no longer have to keep a cold, hard, locked box in my heart. Because that is not freedom. When I am convinced that I should, my faith reminds me that there was a dire price paid for me to have a warm, fleshy heart. Free to love and feel abundantly. A heart free to be tender and kind despite the risk of being hurt and torn. A heart that needed to be reminded that this whole pursuit of a “meaningful makeover” is not about becoming skinny. I may never, ever, ever, lose this weight. That wasn’t and can’t be the point. The point of all of this is to love myself because God loves me and thought me valuable enough to breathe life into my lungs this morning and allow me to wake up and write this down.

“…and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror. Look a little closer. Stare a little longer. Because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told you to quit. You built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself…you signed it “they were wrong”…”
– Shane Koyczan