Faith-When Size Doesn't Matter

I have never really cared for hot holidays. I think it is a combination of sticky, sweaty childhood memories and my insane issues with body image. I start dreading them as soon as Easter is over. Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day all commemorate people and places well deserving of a national holiday, so I know my dislike for summer festivities and such is selfish. Nonetheless.

I am 47 years old and there are many things so much more important than the size and shape of my thighs or the all over my body jiggling feeling that seems to go on long after I have stopped moving. Those thighs work well along with the rest of my body.  My children's bodies are healthy. My entire family, from my 70 something year old mom to the baby due in August is healthy  and well. So why, I mean I'm hardly a hormone-driven teenager anymore, do I still freak out at the thought of wearing shorts or, O.M.G. a swimming suit. I cringe at the idea of wearing a swimming suit even in my own back yard. Some of this insanity may have something to do with the recommendation from my therapy team (Team Breath.Repeat) that I pursue treatment for disordered eating. Honestly, I do not have a memory of being carefree in or about my body, a fact that sometimes fills me with shame considering how blessed I am in so many ways. But again, it is nonetheless the truth of it all.

Amy Steinberg, the best female vocalist and lyricist world wide, in my opinion, sings Beautiful in Me which you can find here (also available on amazon and itunes). My favorite part of the song says, "I got these thighs, I got this hair. I will not even dare compare." This verse is even more appropriate if one knows that my hair is the curliest, frizziest crown of glory ever. The song contains a very affirming body image message. "Today I choose to only see the beautiful in me." She actually sang this song just for me once. I work on accepting my body a lot. I have been for a long, long time. I do not seem to be making much progress on my own. I think the team is right. I really am going to need some help with this one. And I think it is time.

 Fighting addictions is often like the whack-a-mole game, that annoying game at Chuck-e-Cheese. You know the one where the player has a hammer-whacker thingy and whacks a little rodent-like head as it sticks out of a hole only to find another rodent face staring at you from another hole. It is very annoying and very much like addiction. With help, you get one under some control and another is vying for placement. And when dealing with addiction, there are no tickets to exchange for some sort of plastic loot. You just get more work. Some folks would say more opportunity for growth. I believe this to be true, but I usually feel like I have enough growth opportunities already. No need to add more, I'm saying.

I've tackled the relationship addiction. After 6 years of SLA recovery, I am still so grateful for the freedom from bondage I was in for years due to serious, sometimes deadly, problems with relationships which affected EVERY aspect of my life. I have worked doggone hard on trauma issues. The Life Healing Center in Santa Fe is the most therapeutically safe place in the world, again in my opinion. I learned so many, many things during my stay there which I still apply to my life on a daily basis in an effort to heal from the steady diet of chaos that was my childhood. The disconnection and dissociation are so much better. That constant static or fuzzy television noise in my head is more manageable. I have more nightmare free nights than before I went to LHC, and when I do find myself in a bad place, I am better equipped to handle it.  What I know about my disordered eating, however, what I have always known about it, is that it is the most elusive and most difficult rodent  for me to whack. There may be more than one type of bondage, but no matter the kind, bondage is miserable. I feel like Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors who cannot get away from Audrey 2, regardless of the consequences. Come to think of it, that could be a pretty thorough analogy from the beginning. How much harm can a little extra of this or that really hurt, after all? Until it does. It hurts in a way that has nothing to do with that helping (or second helping) of Moo-Licious ice cream.

Anyway, I need help. When I have asked for help before, I have gotten it. Why am I so scared of this? I mean how hard can it be, really? Why so much shame around this? I mean how much shame can be involved in getting help with disordered eating after I have been the ONLY sex and love addict in a treatment center full of alcoholics and drug addicts. I was wickedly popular. And the treatment did help. I learned that even though my behavior has consequences, I am not a bad person. I did what was suggested and it has changed and is changing my life. Why do I sense that the Higher Power who has gotten me this far is unavailable or unable to help me with this? I believe this is going to require a Leap of Faith. Just a small leap, because with faith, size really does not matter.

Dear Fear of Failure

Fear of Failure,

You have certainly been a powerful part of my life. Unfortunately, you have been one of  the most powerful, but I am relieved to see the back side of you. It has taken years to gather the positive resources necessary to reach the place in my life where I can say GET THE #(@) OUT! I have earned the right to every #(@) YOU I send with you as I kick you out of the door.

I am aware of no gratitude from having known you. Some day my perception may shift into believing you have initiated positive growth in some way. For now, however, my only awareness is of the countless number of things I have been afraid to try and to pursue because of you. From climbing a damned tree to believing I could ever again write a poem, from daring to swing with abandon at recess to the willingness to accept someone's love for me, you have been my constant companion. As both a soft, quiet whisper and a powerful and piercing voice, you have prophesied how I could and probably would fail. Your mantra has been the theme song on the soundtrack of my life, and just like that stupid song one cannot get out of her head, you have haunted me. Your power has been nothing but a dam to possibilities.
So #(@) OFF NOW!

I am going to know failure in my future; I am going to know even more success. But what I am not going to have anymore, what my ears refuse to listen to again is your echoing message. I will no longer sway in rhythm to the fear of failure melody you love to sing.

Today it is time for a new song.

Courageously,
ME

If Your Friends Jumped Off A Bridge...

In addition to my oldest who is 22, engaged to be married, and a sweet, beautiful girl who already knows practically EVERYTHING and only needs her mother in times of crisis, I also have 14 year old twins, females. They need their mom for money, that's a laugh, and a ride. One is blonde and has blue eyes while the other is more like her mother and oldest sister, brown hair and brown eyes. Anyway, the brown one proudly handed me my Mother's Day card last Sunday. It had about 5 stick figures jumping off a bridge and one lone stick figure standing safely on the side looking down at the others. The inside said, "See, and you thought I wasn't listening." Not only did it fit her personality perfectly, she has quite a sense of humor, it also mirrors our relationship in a a lot of ways.
I have a difficult time discerning the difference between the times when my kids are listening, however reluctantly, and when they are rolling their eyes behind me just waiting for me to shut up my endless speech on subjects for which I'm hardly qualified to have an opinion, let alone speak. What's more, the times I grow some and decide to speak up regardless of the blonde one's overwhelming disgust at my completely uneducated comments, I get the ever eternal, older than God, Why.

Why can be followed by any number of phrases and such. One of my most interesting, yet confusing 'why's came to me like this "So, why HAVEN"T you ever ridden an alpaca?" It was asked in the most accusatory fashion and I found myself feeling downright guilty for not seeking out an alpaca in the middle of the soybean and cotton fields in my back yard and riding the damn thing. Never mind I've yet to see one that is ridable, rideable, able to be ridden (i.e. not in a zoo or on tv, etc), the guilt can be paralyzing.

Not counting the gajillion 'why's I asked my own folks, I have been the recipient of at least that many as a parent, if not more. I swore growing up that I would never insult and dismiss my own children's honest and sincere questions with the insulting and dismissive response I received from my own mom: BISS.TW (Because I said so. That's why). For the most part I've followed that vow. I just tweaked it a little and answered my sweet babies inquisitive natures with IDHTGUAW (I don't have to give you a why.) So much more respectful and affirming, don't ya think?

Do You Bring TOO Much to the Table?

I am supposed to begin treatment at a local eating disorder outpatient facility. The facility has recently undergone some changes and is now part of another mental health care group. I say all that to acknowledge that it IS still in the growing stages and things do tend to go slightly awry at start ups and such. That being said, I have been in contact with the marketing director and also have gone through the assessment protocol. One of the qualifications is medical clearance, EKG, blood work, your basic physical stuff. So I took care of all of that. This was NOT an easy thing for me to do as the first, the very first, question on the physical clearance form is weight. Now, I do not weigh. There are too many reasons to list, so we will just leave it at that. But, I gathered up all my courage, stuck it in my bra where all important things you don't want to forget are placed, and went for the physical.
So far, so good. I made it. The next step was waiting for blood work, etc to come back and make it to the clinic so I could get started. Again, I've been in treatment for addiction before, just not for an eating disorder, and I am honestly more frightened of this than of any treatment or recovery work I have faced in my life. I know many reasons why this is the case, and I also know this fear must mean it is very important. So, again courage in the bra as I wait for the start date.
AND THEN, you knew there had to be more, I go to see my therapist last week. Great guy, been working with him for years. He has an abundance of all the qualities a good therapist needs to be effective. ANYWAY, he tells me he received a call last week from the clinical director of this program, a lady who is very well-known in this area for her eating disorder expertise. I have never met this lady. I wouldn't know her if she walked into this coffee house and sat with me. She, however, tells my therapist that she is concerned that I might be 'bringing too much to the table." WTF. Does that mean what I think it means? That I am too crazy for treatment? That I am a hopeless case. And what table? And what am I bringing to it that is more or less or different in some way than other eating disordered people seeking treatment. Let me tell you, my ego took a direct hit. I mean how could it not? I know I have issues, and I know I have been working on them for some time and have had some great success. I am not a liability in any way I can see. I'm not a s&*#stirrer. I participate and contribute to group when appropriate. It did help, a lot, that my therapist who knows me better than anybody, was equally confused and disturbed. I kept asking him what he wasn't telling me. What's wrong with me that even I don't know about yet? He had no answers. He was as baffled as the next person, who was me. Besides my ego being stabbed, I was scared. Now what? I was kinda leapfrogging to the program while I still had the balls to do so. Am I back at the beginning? Is my cobra insurance going behind my back in an attempt to rid themselves of my off the chart mental health bills? I don't know.

Keeping in mind I've never laid eyes on this woman, nor spoken to her, I cannot imagine where this information is coming from, so I think my therapist and I were perfectly justified to be in such a baffled state. Unless he was lying to me and knows I am so out there there are not even words to describe the state.

BUT, and isn't there always one, my avenger-therapist calls the marketing director, who he knows personally, and they determine it isn't even me the clinical director was referring to when she called. SHE CALLED THE WRONG THERAPIST ABOUT THE WRONG CLIENT. We aren't even going to go into the hipaa laws or whatever and releases of information that were never signed. While I was certainly relieved that I'm only the degree of nuts I've known about all along and there isn't anything new I need to be freakin' about, the whole thing doesn't instill a great amount of confidence in the program. Besides, the whole episode triggered my ptsd and now I probably need to return to the Life Healing Center for a refresher course. And, if I'm being told the truth that it is not me, there is someone out there who still has too much for the table.

Ok, final decision at this point in the day which may change in 2 seconds: I will probably enroll in the treatment program regardless of this mix-up. The primary reason, besides the fact they are new and growing pains are bound to occur, is that my therapist has great respect for the therapists in this program and maintains that despite what has happened heretofore I will be hard pressed to find the quality of therapists they offer. So, because I trust him, and because I believe this happened for some reason, I will go into the program with as open mind as possible, hoping I do nothing that my be too much for the table. I really have nothing to lose but some time which I am mostly wasting these days anyway. The treatment is fully covered by my insurance and good heavens knows this eating disorder that has ran my life since before conscious memories needs to be addressed.

ps. The zoo was amazing. Simply amazing. I made some incredible 8 year old friends. I believe we both enjoyed the field trip more just by being together.

Today I choose Zoos (and purple)

Today is Zoo Day. I get to/have to go to the zoo today. Honestly, I am honored to be invited. One of the little girls I tutor wanted me as her field trip companion, and it IS an honor and privilege to be invited. However, I am not a zoo-loving person. It just isn't my thing. I can take it in small doses, even smaller doses when the forecast is for 90 degree weather. I will, however, enjoy the day and the monkeys and fishees and other such zoo residents. I will, I will. I am choosing to enjoy the zoo. And to see the sunny, 90 degree weather as an opportunity to get a little vitamin D and further lead my skin into the weathered saddle look. It is going to be GREAT!!! Awesome even. My tutoree is a sweetheart and will make a great companion and we will throw peanuts to the bears or elephants or whatever animal it is that likes peanuts. We will squeal at the snakes and hold our noses by the hippos. I will fight the urge to check the time every five minutes and relish in the opportunity to be a part of something for someone else instead of just for me. Really, I will.

My blog has received its first comment. Given the choice, There is no one else  I would rather it be.  (though I'll take any and all comments just to know someone other than me, and on occasion Erin, is reading this thing). Erin of The Queen of Spain fame responded to a rather somber entry I made a week or so ago. I am wearing my team#SuckItLupus purple and am considering a few purple streaks for my hair. Nothing looks better on naturally curly hair than a little purple. Thank you, Erin.