I was hired this week to help coordinate a large Expo. How exciting to begin something new! Worry over starting up my old brain was not justified as it seems to be working well, and feels good to be putting some very underutilized skills back to work. Can't begin to say how many hours I have logged in the past few days and the smile on my face as I crank out the workload is such a pleasant change from my previous day to day.
Then fast forward to tonight...I open my facebook page only to be greeted by the offer to confirm my employment by my employer...never had this happen before and seriously I felt as giddy as a teenager. Silly how something like becoming an employee again can make someone feel. It was like I was being recognized again after feeling like a "nobody" for so long. It is NOT that I feel that stay at home Mom's aren't important because I vehemently disagree with that but in my case...my "stay at home mom" status was long ago used up. Seriously my "baby" turned 21 this year!!
So my journey takes yet another twist and I could not be happier for it. This week also I broke a VERY long plateau in my weight loss journey so that too feels amazing. So nice to feel excited for a new day, excited for the future and excited to be alive.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Friday, November 18, 2011
Surviving
I am a survivor of childhood abuse. I was raised to never speak of it, to remember the good and let the bad go. I was to love him, understand him, be kind, patient, grateful...
How does one do this in actuality? How do you lick your wounds alone and in silence? For me...I ate. I ate away the disappointment, the lack of support. I stuffed in the certain knowledge that indeed perhaps my father was right, I could never be smart enough, pretty enough, strong enough, basically that no matter what I ever did, said, believed or felt, I would never be enough.
Recently the pain of memories long repressed have reared their ugly head again. In my adult life I have sought out counselling about a half dozen times. Each time I leave stronger, more confident, part of my perpetual tape recording of unworthiness cut. But like an onion the effects of abuse are layered, one can not wish away a layer prematurely. Our wonderful minds sometimes don't allow us to peal away more than we can handle at a time. Rather we peal away to the raw nerve of our innermost pain until we can no longer peal away for that time.
With my weight loss surgery I am forced to deal with my actual issues as stuffing them away conveniently with donuts and soda just is no longer in the cards. I have tried! Not a good idea post surgical weight loss.
I went back to my counselor in the past two weeks and since my first time there with her was for an issue with my children we never got to delve into my own past. I was asked to write down a few items from my childhood that I felt might have left an impact in my life and to quantitate each event. I sat down and within minutes I had three pages of memories but was unable to place an order of importance on each event.
Which is worse, being beaten until blood dripped from your back and legs or seeing your sibling similarly beaten? Which has a greater impact, your brother being murdered or not eating day after day until you no longer felt hunger? Never knowing what might set him off, a look, a spilled glass of milk, constantly being on your toes to remember your manners for it wasn't just yourself you could endanger but the beating of your sibling or mother.
What we wouldn't have done to have a place to go, a bed to sleep in without the fear of being found. But sadly for us that was not to be. Today I attended a luncheon for a local shelter, I sat and listened as one after the other spoke of the good that came out of their stay in the shelter. How do we mend? Where do we mend? To whom do you turn?
This I know, we must never stop trying. We can't begin to know the pain and suffering of another individual. Happy well adjusted people do not over eat to the point of morbid obesity, alcoholics aren't thirsty...we are all searching for what ever is missing.
My greatest fear is that my father was right. I will work everyday to prove that he was mistaken, that I am pretty enough, strong enough, able enough. I am enough.
How does one do this in actuality? How do you lick your wounds alone and in silence? For me...I ate. I ate away the disappointment, the lack of support. I stuffed in the certain knowledge that indeed perhaps my father was right, I could never be smart enough, pretty enough, strong enough, basically that no matter what I ever did, said, believed or felt, I would never be enough.
Recently the pain of memories long repressed have reared their ugly head again. In my adult life I have sought out counselling about a half dozen times. Each time I leave stronger, more confident, part of my perpetual tape recording of unworthiness cut. But like an onion the effects of abuse are layered, one can not wish away a layer prematurely. Our wonderful minds sometimes don't allow us to peal away more than we can handle at a time. Rather we peal away to the raw nerve of our innermost pain until we can no longer peal away for that time.
With my weight loss surgery I am forced to deal with my actual issues as stuffing them away conveniently with donuts and soda just is no longer in the cards. I have tried! Not a good idea post surgical weight loss.
I went back to my counselor in the past two weeks and since my first time there with her was for an issue with my children we never got to delve into my own past. I was asked to write down a few items from my childhood that I felt might have left an impact in my life and to quantitate each event. I sat down and within minutes I had three pages of memories but was unable to place an order of importance on each event.
Which is worse, being beaten until blood dripped from your back and legs or seeing your sibling similarly beaten? Which has a greater impact, your brother being murdered or not eating day after day until you no longer felt hunger? Never knowing what might set him off, a look, a spilled glass of milk, constantly being on your toes to remember your manners for it wasn't just yourself you could endanger but the beating of your sibling or mother.
What we wouldn't have done to have a place to go, a bed to sleep in without the fear of being found. But sadly for us that was not to be. Today I attended a luncheon for a local shelter, I sat and listened as one after the other spoke of the good that came out of their stay in the shelter. How do we mend? Where do we mend? To whom do you turn?
This I know, we must never stop trying. We can't begin to know the pain and suffering of another individual. Happy well adjusted people do not over eat to the point of morbid obesity, alcoholics aren't thirsty...we are all searching for what ever is missing.
My greatest fear is that my father was right. I will work everyday to prove that he was mistaken, that I am pretty enough, strong enough, able enough. I am enough.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Day to day doldrums
I have come here to post a few times over the past week and left with nothing to say. Those of you that know me, know that I seldom at loss for words. Guess there just hasn't been anything, "news worthy" lately. I could tell you all about how my puppy got spayed last week...poor baby, or how my daughter is enjoying college life, my sons caught an alligator (shudder to think!) or how my hubby has been busy working longer than normal hours on night shift. But these things all put together just reflect another day, another week, another month, none so very different from the ones before. The things in life that as we go through them seem big but then fade into the background that is life itself.
We are seldom defined by the big things it is the humdrum of life that better defines who we are. My daughter and I were speaking last weekend when she came to visit how dramatically my life has changed. When the children were little, it changed in an instant, someone tripped and broke a bone, a school project long forgotten was due in the morning, a heart was broken, feelings hurt...all things that needed an instant response by mom and I was always at the wheel to steer them to calmer waters.
Now my life is defined in a slower more deliberate way. Still there are those moments that require instant response but they are further and farther between. Where then does a mother go when she is no longer defined as a mother? Shifting gears is a slow and confusing process. In it's wake I will take more time to see the world around me. Volunteer more, reflect more, nurture myself more.
We are seldom defined by the big things it is the humdrum of life that better defines who we are. My daughter and I were speaking last weekend when she came to visit how dramatically my life has changed. When the children were little, it changed in an instant, someone tripped and broke a bone, a school project long forgotten was due in the morning, a heart was broken, feelings hurt...all things that needed an instant response by mom and I was always at the wheel to steer them to calmer waters.
Now my life is defined in a slower more deliberate way. Still there are those moments that require instant response but they are further and farther between. Where then does a mother go when she is no longer defined as a mother? Shifting gears is a slow and confusing process. In it's wake I will take more time to see the world around me. Volunteer more, reflect more, nurture myself more.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Fall
Well for most of the country Fall has fallen upon us. I live in Arizona so for us it is but a day on the calendar. Our temps have fallen though they threaten to be back in triple digits by tomorrow...mid October! For the entire summer I have given myself the excuse that I can't exercise due to extreme heat...what then is my excuse now?
The morning and evening temps have gone down to a quite comfortable walking level, why then can I not find myself outside taking advantage? I have gone for some short walks with my dogs but honestly these walks are too little and too infrequent. I have been using my Wii and enjoying the exercise and dancing games, but that too is infrequent and fleeting.
This week I have honestly NOT been living by the code of my surgery. It is as if I am determined to fail, why do I do this to myself? How do I climb out of this hole that I have created? How do I find a way to WANT to climb out? My life pattern has remained the same...I do well, I stop doing well.
Why do we fall down? What keeps us down and how do we find something worth getting up for? I am a blessed person, my husband has a good job and we have enough. Often we don't get everything we want but always there is enough for what we need. I am a simple person, surrounding myself with a few niceties but for the most part happy with what I have. I feel complete...yet hopelessly incomplete.
I have fallen...how, when and why will I get up?
The morning and evening temps have gone down to a quite comfortable walking level, why then can I not find myself outside taking advantage? I have gone for some short walks with my dogs but honestly these walks are too little and too infrequent. I have been using my Wii and enjoying the exercise and dancing games, but that too is infrequent and fleeting.
This week I have honestly NOT been living by the code of my surgery. It is as if I am determined to fail, why do I do this to myself? How do I climb out of this hole that I have created? How do I find a way to WANT to climb out? My life pattern has remained the same...I do well, I stop doing well.
Why do we fall down? What keeps us down and how do we find something worth getting up for? I am a blessed person, my husband has a good job and we have enough. Often we don't get everything we want but always there is enough for what we need. I am a simple person, surrounding myself with a few niceties but for the most part happy with what I have. I feel complete...yet hopelessly incomplete.
I have fallen...how, when and why will I get up?
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Damaged Goods
For so long I felt that I stood basically alone in the knowledge that I was indeed damaged goods. Silence and secrets kept that certain knowledge from ever being questioned or challenged. I learned young that we are to keep our family secrets hidden, that nothing good could ever come by letting anyone know your situation. Unspoken messages proclaimed loudly that we are best viewed as wallflowers. I mean actually who really inspects wallpaper closely, it is something to be viewed and appreciated from afar. Best to make sure that people only saw enough of you to recognize and appreciate the flower that bloomed for all to see, never looking to see the bent and broken stem held up with duct tape and a prayer.
How often do we really inspect those around us for damaged root systems? Especially children. And at the root of who we are, do we really ever grow past being children on the inside? Along with the lesson of not speaking that which was by nature unspeakable, the lesson of duck and weave was embedded with force, with each blunt blow to the trunk of my body and the very occasional blow to the face, I learned to duck those that might ask questions and weave from the eyes of those that might view the residual damage. The internal bruises were mine, they were kept clearly out of the vision of all, mostly even to myself. Or so I thought.
For as long as I can remember food never assaulted me, never questioned me with impenetrable stares, refused to ask of me more than I could give. Food soothed my cuts, calmed my fears, shielded me from anticipation for the next episode. Food offered up to me solace from the world. Comfort for another day. Then food itself turned on me. Long ago the concrete source of my abuse was removed, age and distance saw an end to the physical but honestly any abused person can attest that we tend to pick up where the abuser ends, continuing the berating, the belittling, keeping the recording of abuse playing long after the music stops. Yes, food, the fickle friend, decided to bestow upon me many weight related maladies.
High blood pressure, elevated cholesterol and triglycerides, the constant threat of diabetes, pounding at my door. But the worst part of all with dance with food was that she told the story of our affair. I never had to open my mouth to utter words, simply open it to dine on her lies and deceit. She promised me fluffy bites of sweetness, crunchy morsels of saltiness, cold cool drinks of liquid sweetness, she seduced me completely and I allowed it. I bought the lies that she sold and she left the tail tale signs all over my hips, my waist, my bosoms. We sinned in private but she revealed our relationship in public, eventually forcing me to become reclusive. She won out...or so she thought.
The day that I made the decision to severe my ties with food's glutinous promises, was the day I freed myself from my self inflicted prison. As I walked to the operating room, I stripped her of her power, the surgeon severed any future hope she had of keeping me captive.
We do somehow survive our past, we do find ways to comfort ourselves, in time we hope to thrive...but in the meantime we find a way to inspect our damage, speak of that which we only believed to be unspeakable. If we are lucky, we discover others that plant seeds of hope within, those that accept us for who and what we are, that see our past our damaged places to find what we too can offer to the world. We find our station in life.
How often do we really inspect those around us for damaged root systems? Especially children. And at the root of who we are, do we really ever grow past being children on the inside? Along with the lesson of not speaking that which was by nature unspeakable, the lesson of duck and weave was embedded with force, with each blunt blow to the trunk of my body and the very occasional blow to the face, I learned to duck those that might ask questions and weave from the eyes of those that might view the residual damage. The internal bruises were mine, they were kept clearly out of the vision of all, mostly even to myself. Or so I thought.
For as long as I can remember food never assaulted me, never questioned me with impenetrable stares, refused to ask of me more than I could give. Food soothed my cuts, calmed my fears, shielded me from anticipation for the next episode. Food offered up to me solace from the world. Comfort for another day. Then food itself turned on me. Long ago the concrete source of my abuse was removed, age and distance saw an end to the physical but honestly any abused person can attest that we tend to pick up where the abuser ends, continuing the berating, the belittling, keeping the recording of abuse playing long after the music stops. Yes, food, the fickle friend, decided to bestow upon me many weight related maladies.
High blood pressure, elevated cholesterol and triglycerides, the constant threat of diabetes, pounding at my door. But the worst part of all with dance with food was that she told the story of our affair. I never had to open my mouth to utter words, simply open it to dine on her lies and deceit. She promised me fluffy bites of sweetness, crunchy morsels of saltiness, cold cool drinks of liquid sweetness, she seduced me completely and I allowed it. I bought the lies that she sold and she left the tail tale signs all over my hips, my waist, my bosoms. We sinned in private but she revealed our relationship in public, eventually forcing me to become reclusive. She won out...or so she thought.
The day that I made the decision to severe my ties with food's glutinous promises, was the day I freed myself from my self inflicted prison. As I walked to the operating room, I stripped her of her power, the surgeon severed any future hope she had of keeping me captive.
We do somehow survive our past, we do find ways to comfort ourselves, in time we hope to thrive...but in the meantime we find a way to inspect our damage, speak of that which we only believed to be unspeakable. If we are lucky, we discover others that plant seeds of hope within, those that accept us for who and what we are, that see our past our damaged places to find what we too can offer to the world. We find our station in life.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Alone Again...Naturally
Not so very long ago I dreaded being alone, that is where I did most of my eating. My children have now all flown away and my husband is married to his job. I spent many a day, week, month or year pretty much alone anyway, even surrounded by my family I kept alone, well within the confines of those walls that I so meticulously built. Growing up in constant abuse teaches one to keep quiet and do your best to blend. It was my desire always to be a wallflower, never dreaming of grand plans, never desiring the best of life, just learning to hope for enough.
I am blessed to have found a husband that truly does accept me for who I am, not asking more of me than I can give. He has certainly lived through some pretty bleak times with me and never wavered in his commitment to me or our marriage. He too has walls, tall ones with some pretty sturdy material that even after 25 years of marriage I have not managed to weaken. Seeing him through the years never feel good enough has caused me a great deal of pain but strangely enough it has of late taught me not to do the same. His constant feelings of inferiority have been overshadowed only by my own. As this surgery has given me fresh perspective and renewed hope I now see that these feelings are overdue to be challenged.
Now seeing my father as a lost and scared individual causes me to revisit my abuse and recognize it in a different light. There isn't an excuse for abusing a helpless child, there never will be, but now as an adult it is easier to view the experience as being perpetrated by a sick individual whose own personal needs were never addressed and met. Gone is the hate that once firmly gripped me, gone is the terrified girl that so often hid in a closet praying to escape that days beating.
We come here alone, we leave here alone, we gather experiences, hopes, enlightenment and if we are lucky we gather peace. So at this junction I can say proudly that being alone is no longer scary, it is no longer something to fear. Alone is where I now recharge, it is where I listen, it is where nature whispers to me, it is where I have begun to disassemble all the walls that have for so many years protected yet prevented me from living. As my years of fat begin to melt something new and exciting is emerging, I can't wait to get to know that lady in the mirror a little better...alone, naturally.
I am blessed to have found a husband that truly does accept me for who I am, not asking more of me than I can give. He has certainly lived through some pretty bleak times with me and never wavered in his commitment to me or our marriage. He too has walls, tall ones with some pretty sturdy material that even after 25 years of marriage I have not managed to weaken. Seeing him through the years never feel good enough has caused me a great deal of pain but strangely enough it has of late taught me not to do the same. His constant feelings of inferiority have been overshadowed only by my own. As this surgery has given me fresh perspective and renewed hope I now see that these feelings are overdue to be challenged.
Now seeing my father as a lost and scared individual causes me to revisit my abuse and recognize it in a different light. There isn't an excuse for abusing a helpless child, there never will be, but now as an adult it is easier to view the experience as being perpetrated by a sick individual whose own personal needs were never addressed and met. Gone is the hate that once firmly gripped me, gone is the terrified girl that so often hid in a closet praying to escape that days beating.
We come here alone, we leave here alone, we gather experiences, hopes, enlightenment and if we are lucky we gather peace. So at this junction I can say proudly that being alone is no longer scary, it is no longer something to fear. Alone is where I now recharge, it is where I listen, it is where nature whispers to me, it is where I have begun to disassemble all the walls that have for so many years protected yet prevented me from living. As my years of fat begin to melt something new and exciting is emerging, I can't wait to get to know that lady in the mirror a little better...alone, naturally.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Surviving a Stall
Since my WLS I have spent a great deal of time researching, reading and learning. EVERY person that loses weight goes through the dreaded stall. I had my first post surgical stall at three weeks and it lasted for three weeks. I have found that this time frame seems to be a commonly heard complaint by many in the surgical weight loss community. Because of this knowledge the fear commonly associated seemed to be tolerable. Fast forward three months...the pasts three weeks have been quite trying because in addition to not losing I have also not seen any non-scale victories either. This has been a challenging few weeks.
I have convinced myself over and over these past three weeks that indeed this isn't going to work for me. Going so far as to make peace with my still overweight but greatly more comfortable girth. I had settled in on the mind set that I can walk more comfortably, wear more clothes, bend over without pain, do household chores with greater ease, basically the brainwashing from within was in full overdrive. BUT yesterday I dropped a pound...no excitement was to be as flukes happen all the time. THEN this morning I dropped yet another pound, the party was early (I was running an early morning errand for my sister) but the dancing in my bathroom was sudden and unexpected. Since I worked so hard to convince myself to be pleased where I was, the gratification I felt at those two consecutive pounds was more than expected.
So for those of you that are attempting to lose, surgically or otherwise, please believe us when we say that stalls are normal, they are part of the journey, we ALL experience them and you will overcome. You will forget this advice, you will believe it doesn't apply for you and you will want to throw in the towel. The good part of a surgical intervention...they attach the towel to you, no longer can you "choose" to throw it in. With surgery we are all in, everyday, in every situation. Overeating is no longer an option. Just be sure to take a minute to HALT what you are doing and ask yourself what emotion is causing you to want to overeat... are you Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired? Just take an extra minute to identify your feelings and stop eating through them.
I have convinced myself over and over these past three weeks that indeed this isn't going to work for me. Going so far as to make peace with my still overweight but greatly more comfortable girth. I had settled in on the mind set that I can walk more comfortably, wear more clothes, bend over without pain, do household chores with greater ease, basically the brainwashing from within was in full overdrive. BUT yesterday I dropped a pound...no excitement was to be as flukes happen all the time. THEN this morning I dropped yet another pound, the party was early (I was running an early morning errand for my sister) but the dancing in my bathroom was sudden and unexpected. Since I worked so hard to convince myself to be pleased where I was, the gratification I felt at those two consecutive pounds was more than expected.
So for those of you that are attempting to lose, surgically or otherwise, please believe us when we say that stalls are normal, they are part of the journey, we ALL experience them and you will overcome. You will forget this advice, you will believe it doesn't apply for you and you will want to throw in the towel. The good part of a surgical intervention...they attach the towel to you, no longer can you "choose" to throw it in. With surgery we are all in, everyday, in every situation. Overeating is no longer an option. Just be sure to take a minute to HALT what you are doing and ask yourself what emotion is causing you to want to overeat... are you Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired? Just take an extra minute to identify your feelings and stop eating through them.
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