Do I Need to Hate You to Love Me?

Sometimes, I feel pretty unhappy with myself and my (pauses and whispers)… weight.

It’s uncomfortable. Society tells me it’s bad, even though, yeah, there’s a whole body positivity thing going on. 

My body does weird things like catch food in my boobs or not fit quite right in the seats at a sporting event. 

My ass kept knocking the paper off the document camera when I was teaching. 

And I’m probably squishing my partner during certain horizontal tango moments. 

Which I rarely feel like having.

And everyone is judging me… in my head.

I think the drive-thru people think I’m going to devour the two meals I ordered for me and the kid they can’t see in the backseat. 

I think when I order something sweet, the waiter is like “of course the fat girl ordered dessert.” 

And when the hubby and I go out to eat, clearly I ordered the salad, not the burger, because clearly I need to be losing weight.

And clearly no one has said this shit to me except the voices in my head.

So I’ve got issues and there’s lots to be said for losing weight. Ya know, besides the obvi health and ease of exercising and playing with my kid kinda things.

But in the spirit of body positivity, and because it’s probably the mentally healthy thing to do, there are things I do have to give my body a shoutout for.

It hugs and shows love. It cooks for friends and cares for my family. It moves and lets me enjoy the world.

Thanks body.

And there are also things I secretly love about my current, overweight body, specifically. 

It often does not give a FUCK if you are checking it out or not. It feels pretty confident to just go be in the world because… how much more embarassing can it get?

It has really learned to develop a sense of humor to interact with others because it can’t just rely on those good looks any more.

And it is big and fluffy and warm and perfect for hugging the crap out of my snuggle-bug of a kid. Everyone needs a bosom for a pillow.

What if I can’t snuggle as well 50 pounds from now? What if I’m bony and uncomfortable? (Mind you, I’ve never been bony a day in my life.)

So here is where we get to the big question. Why haven’t I started? Really started trying to get healthy and lose some of the, to be honest, 100 pounds I could lose and still not be at the bottom end of my healthy BMI range?

Am I scared I won’t be huggable for the kiddo? Am I scared I will just be too hot to handle? 

Am I scared that I can’t?

Yeah, the last one sounds right.

I’m not sure how to get started. Fake it til you make it? Baby steps? Donate my belly fat to my friend’s boob reconstruction? (Don’t I wish.)

But it probably has something to do with ditching the bullshit judgemental voice in my head. Lose it to love me.

You can feel bad if it makes you feel better

I have a parental quandary for all y’all out there in Internet land in regards to the kiddo.

But also re: parenting myself.

Yesterday I bumped a car in the parking lot at the daycare. With the kiddo in the car so he could have front row seats to me handling this mess.

I planned it that way.

So one, a dad friend saw the whole thing. So embarrassing.

Two, when I figure out the owner of the vehicle, he’s talking to another dad friend who get’s to hear my pitiful “I’m sorry, I bumped your car.”

Just a lot of witnesses to me fucking up. I don’t like it.

Anyway.

Dad of bumped car is super cool and nice about the whole thing. I am practically groveling for forgiveness. Payment for repairs yet to be determined.

And when we get back to the car, besides telling me that I need a new car with a screen (backup camera) the kiddo tells me:

“I’m proud of you.”

For what?

“For saying you’re sorry.”

That’s all it is to a four-year-old. I did the hardest, bravest thing ever for saying sorry without being told to.

Glad to have the chance to model that for ya’ kiddo.

My question regards today.

After clearly feeling pretty upset about it yesterday, I could still feel the tinge of embarrassment today. Which I have to say, for me, is pretty good. I was able to tell myself this was an accident, it happens.

No telling myself I’m shit or I’m a bad driver. Or a bad person. Just an accident that I still feel mildly upset and embarrassed happened.

Somehow this morning the kiddo starts asking about it. Again. Because… 4-year-old. And I mention still feeling bad about it.

He is totally confused.

“Why mommy? It was an accident.”

And I start trying to compare the light scratch on someone’s car to when one of his friends breaks his toy. And that I don’t want to upset other people.

He is still stuck on it being an accident.

So I ask, “So you’re saying since it’s an accident, I shouldn’t feel bad about it?”

Yeah.

“Hmmm. Maybe you are right.”

Because I DON’T KNOW!!!

I have low self-esteem and enough guilt for an entire Catholic church on Easter Sunday. But what the heck am I supposed to be teaching my child in this moment?

Empathy for others and to realize they might feel bad and that saying sorry doesn’t just erase everything? And that as a caring person you shouldn’t be ok with upsetting other people?

OR

Is the 4-year-old right? I did it on accident, I handled the business of trading info. I apologized. A lot.

So I should just move on?

Seriously. Interwebbings. Help me parent my child.

And myself.

It feels good (to know you love me for me)

E-J oh E-J has done it again.

I’ve been thinking a lot about motivation. Like, why change what I’m doing?

And I don’t think just thinking of all the negatives is great motivation. Lose weight because you can’t hike a mountain. Don’t eat pancakes because sugar comas feel like shit.

There has to be some sort of immediate reward for doing it different. Pavlov and his dog, ya’ know.

So I talked to my therapist about it and she says it should feel good to make better, healthier choices. Like, only eating half the pancakes and still being able to create coherent sentences should feel good.

And I had no idea what she was talking about.

Choices? Feel good?

I only know how to badger myself.

Which I thought was a joke until the next day when I went to a spin class.

See, after my therapy session, I decided to go old school/elementary school and create myself a sticker chart. Yeah, like we give to THAT kid to encourage good behavior. My sticker chart is to encourage me to notice when it feels good to make good choices. Drink some extra water, get a sticker. Eat healthy, get a sticker.

Yeah, it’s really simplistic, but apparently it’s what I need. Because apparently, I am incapable of finding the good in some situations.

Which brings us back to spin class.

This was my second time going. The first class is a whole other story full of embarrassment. There’s enough embarrassment in this story for now.

My friend invited me to try a cycle 101 class. I guess you don’t even call it spin anymore. Whatever.

It was supposed to teach you some basics–go at a bit slower pace.

About halfway through, I am realizing I suck at rhythm and that I am about to puke.

And you’re all clipped into the bike and being that it’s only my second class, I can’t freaking get out of my clips to go hurl in private. So TWO, that’s right, TWO different people who work there are trying to help me get unclipped.

I finally escape to the bathroom and try to cool down. I’m splashing water on my face, walking it off. And some dude who works there is outside the ladies restroom hollering at me, “Are you alright?” A couple of minutes later: “Do you need a cold towel for your neck?” And a couple of minutes after that: “Are you sure you don’t need a towel?” I’ve been telling him I’m fine. But this finally got an annoyed, “Really, I’m ok,” out of me.

Can’t a girl just puke in peace?

Well no puking occurred, but my friend did come in and check on me. I felt so bad she’d left her workout.

But we both go back in and finish it out.

Yay me.

Right?

Wrong. I go home and stare at my sticker chart, telling myself all the good. I worked out, I tried something new, I got back on and finished instead of just quitting.

But I can’t seem to put that sticker on my chart.

Because all I really hear is, “Yeah, but you really fucked that one up. How embarrassing that you had to walk out.”

And that folks, is the whole fucking problem.

Maybe it sounds small, but multiply that response by EVERYTHING I do in my life.

I am a child, with a sticker chart, learning how to feel good about myself.

Even when it isn’t perfect. ESPECIALLY when it isn’t perfect. Cuz when is it ever perfect.

My husband looked at my chart and said “That’s not something someone who is ok needs. You’re starting from square one.”

And I said, “I think I’m weaving the mat I can stand on at square one.”

It may be dramatic, but I have this sense that I have never actually had a strong foundation. Ya know, what do they call it? Oh yeah, self esteem.

I never had a strong one of those.

So when the shit hit the fan and I was a new “sucky” mother with a dying mother-in-law, who kept not being able to show up to her job, and then got a new job that was impossible to be good at…

I just crashed right through. Because there was no foundation there to catch me.

So I am a child, with a sticker chart, building a foundation.

One good feeling at a time.

And I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart

I just saw my therapist and discovered something completely sad.

I have no confidence.

She asked me to tell her things I was good at.

I came up with three.

One of which is that I’m a squishy comfort to my child which is really just a jab at my weight.

Yes. A jab at myself.

Because that’s how mentally healthy people treat themselves.

As I write this, I’m scared. I don’t even have the confidence to recognize and declare this a problem. I’m sure plenty of people out there would have a hard time coming up with things they are good at.

But then it’s a problem for them too.

Because of anything we do, we should know we are good at some things. We should feel good about ourselves.

When I quit my job, I thought getting healthy meant physical health.

I quickly came to realize it also meant mental health–depression, anxiety.

But jeez louise, I didn’t know I needed to rebuild myself from the bottom up. That I am sitting here, a pile of scraps, not even sure how to connect end to end and give that piece a name.

WTF happened to me?

And I guess my therapist would say, “Does it matter what happened? Or does it matter where you want to go from here?”

I have had blazing moments of confidence in my life. Moments that won me awards or got me the hot guy in the bar. Moments I loved me and what I could do and could create.

And I’m worried that I just don’t DO anything now that is worth being proud of or feeling good about.

I am really good at loading the dishwasher.

Surely that is NOT what my therapist is looking for.

And then if feels all chicken-and-eggy.

I need confidence to get out there and try new things. But it seems I also need to be doing things that I can feel proud about to build my confidence.

I think my head is going to explode.

Perhaps it would just be easier to just lie here and watch The Mindy Project. Surely she has the answers.

Because I’ve got to find 10-15 things I’m good at by therapy next week.

When I was younger, so much younger than today
I never needed anybody’s help in any way
But now these days are gone, I’m not so self assured

It’s always hard to sit down and write again after a long time off. And I know I’ve written that before. So I’ll try to move on.

But I do have to say it is hard to sit here and write about my fat ass when there is so much SHIT happening in the world. So many terrible things that make my problems with weight and depression seem pretty trivial.

Except I guess today it isn’t so trivial because I have spent most of the morning curled up on my yoga mat crying.

It left some really cool imprints on my flabby belly.

But. I can’t get out there and try to help make the world a better place from my yoga mat.

So what is one to do when taking a walk, watching your favorite TV show, and even stuffing half a chocolate bar down your throat still doesn’t get you moving? Doesn’t get you out of your FUNK?

No. Seriously.

What is one to do?

I need an answer. And everyone I know is normal at adulting and is either at work or taking care of children. I’m the only one stuck on a yoga mat.

So blank page… you got an answer?

All that goes through my head is my neverending to-do list. Cook. Laundry. Dog nail trim. Buy a new hose.

And that just makes me want to cry more somehow.

Perhaps I’ll start with a shower so my funk stays an internal matter and not a noxious one I am inflicting on my fellow humans.

If I can make it out of the house.

Whenever I want you
All I have to do is dream

Oh for fuck’s sake. My dreams.

Sometimes I wake up and it’s a blank slate; I have no idea how I passed my hours of slumber. Sometimes I am rattled awake by the most vivid, intense dreams.

Lately they have involved my grandma. Yeah, the one that just died.

And somehow I’ve managed to tie in my house issues with my dead grandma issues.

For example, I dreamed I was taking my dog to board and it was at my grandma’s old house. They had changed the property a lot, so it took me a while to recognize it. But when I went inside, I could tell it was her house. Now, funny dreams, it wasn’t anything like her REAL house. But I seemed to really connect to these restaurant style booths and glass candle holders–like those were the leftover signs of grandma.

It made me cry.

The one last night was even weirder.

I was at her apartment with… her? My other grandma? I don’t know. But we were there to clean up because someone had died and we needed to empty out the space. I don’t know if it was her who had died (because in a dream you can go back to your own apartment even if you are dead), or my grandpa, but either way I was very worried about how upset she would be going into the apartment. She kept reassuring me it would be fine.

We went in and started vacuuming the floor. But not with the floor attachment, just the hose. How inefficient. She started trying to help me with a second hose (go figure) and I got all upset that she shouldn’t be having to do that.

So is this about my grandma, or about my struggles to clean and organize my own house? Is Grandma speaking to me from beyond the grave? Telling me to get off my ass and clean?

She never would have been so rude in real life. But she would have made it clear that sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.

And I think that is part of what I will miss about her. She came from a time when you just did what you had to do. Life was hard, but you sucked it up and lived it.

She lived on a farm where you just gave birth, at home, whether the doctor had made it there or not. She watched her husband and two of her children die before her.

She just kept living.

And when it was near the end, and she was in a nursing home, and she was in a ton of pain from her physical therapy, she just kept trying. Cuz the only way out, was through. It was the task at hand, so that is what she did.

And I need that in my life. To push through the hard times (though they will never, ever be as hard as her life).

I need to just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

If a 96-year-old woman could fight the good fight, so can I.

Right?

All I ever wanted was right here
But I had to reach way down inside
I had to have faith I’d find
No Fear

I haven’t written in a while. And I’m scared to try again.

I’m scared I’ve lost the spark, the creativity. My dazzling wit.

But as my mom keeps telling the kiddo, “Feel the fear, and do it anyway.”

Why I haven’t been writing is a whole other story–I lost my grandma last week. She was 96, had been ill, so it wasn’t a total shock. But it has hurt more than I thought. Not sure I’m ready to write much more than that…

But in honor of the family matriarch, who sure as hell didn’t have time for FEAR, I’m going to stick with that idea for today.

In the middle of all of this, I started seeing a therapist. And I like her. She’s full of so many ideas and insights I can barely keep up. Like a college lecture, I feel like I should be recording it and going back to listen again later. Pick up as much wisdom as I can.

The big insight from yesterday was that I am obsessing and stressing about wild daydreams, like owning a farm, so I don’t have to deal with my actual anxiety over what needs to be done NOW.

If I’m researching land, I don’t actually have to clean the house. Or workout. Or cook apparently.

Or even sleep.

Yep. I was up until 1 AM stressing the idea of buying a piece of land outside of town.

It’s insane.

And I can’t seem to break the train of thought.

So goal today… do something for today, don’t just dream about tomorrow.

And I realize when I try to think about today, what it means to be productive today, I do feel a HUGE wave of anxiety wash over me.

There is so much to do I don’t even know where to start. And so much of what is “productive” as a stay-at-home-whatever-I-am, just doesn’t really make a noticeable dent. If I do laundry, no one really knows. It doesn’t change the look of this cluttered house.

So if I start thinking about making this house cleaner, neater, I start to panic because it is a completely daunting task to me. I don’t know where to start, and I know there will be a million moments of not knowing where to put things, where things go, what to get rid of or keep.

And I’d rather just sit here stagnant. It seems safer.

So feel the fear, and do it anyway.

Start somewhere. Pick one tiny task, and do it. Like this guest bed I’m staring at as I write that is covered in clothes. I could hang those up or put them in the laundry.

It’s just cleaning the fucking house, it’s not planning battle.

At least it probably isn’t for most people.

But for me, it is. Battle against myself and my fears and my feeling of being overwhelmed. Battle against anxiety.

Am I alone here? Is anybody else intimidated by an out-of-control house?

But big picture, I don’t want to live my life in fear. Fear of messing up. Fear of being judged. Fear of seeming stupid. Fear of failing–or even just being less than perfect.

Because I see it in my kid. He doesn’t want to do things unless he knows exactly what’s up and what’ll be going on. He wants to be successful and he shuts down when he messes up in public.

I want more than that for him. I want him to feel the fear, and do it anyway.

So I guess I better start walking the walk.