To NOT Know Me is to Hate Me.

by cari

So, I was watching Ali McBeal, when MexiKen walks by and I offhandedly say, to him “I always thought she was so pretty; look at that hair…” (musing about Portia di Rossi.)

He quickly replies, “Who? HER? You think SHE’S PRETTY? Oh my gosh…Seriously? She has no boobs, a weird looking nose…there’s nothing pretty about her…”

NOTE: I do not spend my days trying to convince my husband thatother women are beautiful — AND, before you go racing down the road to crucify him for his comment, there is a reason I am sharing this with you, so keep reading…

In that instant — when my husband ripped Portia di Rossi to shreds – I had a moment of clarity that was so impressive, I’m pretty sure I heard angels and harps: What did that woman EVER do to HIM, or anyone else? Did she stare back at him from the television screen, touting her beauty and daring him to challenge her exquisiteness? Did she ever once utter the words, “I think I’m better than you; I’m beautiful, talented, famous, thin and have the most enviable head of hair on the planet”?

In a word: No.

She simply chose to share her gift and her passion of acting with an audience, and never once intimated that anyone was less of a person than she was. She did NOT deserve blind criticism and demeaning comments my husband had uttered. She was just doing her job and I felt bad for her.

And then Linda Rondstadt started singing to me…”You’re no good, you’re no good, you’re no good, baby you’re no good…Ouch. I felt ashamed and guilty, because I realized that I do that – maybe not to her, but to others. I mentally classify people and chip away at them. If someone says that this or that celebrity is beautiful, and I don’t agree, I say things like, “I don’t think she’s pretty; she has a horse face. But *somebody* thinks she pretty. I wonder who SHE knows…?” (Just typing it feels ugly). If someone says an artist sings well, but I think they sound like they’re gargling, I will put them down. I mentally keep score, ensuring that I always come out on top…And don’t ask me where I learned to do this; we all pick up habits along the way, and it’s the bad ones that usual stick.

The interesting thing is, I am judged by people, just as Portia di Rossi is judged (so, I should KNOW better, right?) Believe me, people say hurtful and mean things about me, without even knowing me, just as people say mean things about her, without knowing her (or any other celebrity or notable person out there).

I’m not telling you this because I need to be told I’m wonderful and should ignore anyone who says mean things about me (so, no need to post a supportive comment, but thank you anyway…), and I don’t think I have anything in common with Portia di Rossi (Gosh…I envy her hair…) because I know that blind criticism, misrepresentation, and unfair accusations come with the territory. The point is that I should not be thinking nasty things about people — especially those I don’t know – because:

1. I don’t like it when people do it to ME, and
2. It’s just wrong

In a nutshell: People don’t deserve much of the criticism I have reserved for them, and I know I don’t deserve much of the criticism leveled at me.

Fortunately, I criticize MYSELF enough for an entire ARMY of haters, so a few more insults isn’t gonna make a difference (LOL). But, that’s what therapy is for: Learning kind and compassionate self-talk — about yourself AND others.

Anyway, lest you click off so you can go find an unflattering picture of someone to post on your Facebook wall, what I want you to take away from this is: Ultimately, it is human nature to tear others down because we foolishly believe it will make us feel or look better, but ironically, it does NOT make us better people…it makes us worse.

What is it moms always say…? “It’s all fun and games, until somebody gets hurt!” People DO get hurt. Every day. Just pick-up a National Enquirer, and tell me the majority of articles are meant to make celebrities feel “good” about themselves…Not gonna happen. Not until unicorns can hover (to quote Pat Gray from this morning’s Glenn Beck show…)

The bottom line?

• You don’t need to add to the abundance of negativity in the world.
• You don’t need to put others down, believing you’ll build yourself up.
• You don’t need to unfairly judge people, especially if you don’t know them
• You don’t need to fill in the blanks with insults to make yourself feel better.

Next time you see a celebrity that “everyone” touts as beautiful, or you hear a singer that everyone is raving about – even if you DON’T agree – check yourself and see if you are silently “hating” them for things you can’t possibly know.

I promise: I WILL.

My Whiskers Are Too Long

by cari

Leave it to MexiKen to put this into perspective for me. This past weekend was weird for me. It happens from time-to-time, despite my very strongest and bravest “self-talk” to the contrary. I begin to wrestle with MY SIZE. In my defense, I’ve only been *small* for about 3 of my 44 years, so it’s possible to venture back to familiar (comfortable?) territory sometimes. I’m not really sure what caused it this time, other than pure exhaustion and overwhelm, but I found myself wandering around the house in a funk – even after spending some quality time with Enrique. Usually, physical activity clears my mind and sets me on a good footing, but on this particular day (might have been the rain or the wind), I just couldn’t shake it, and I curled up in a ball on the couch with the supreme goal of catching up on all of my DVR’d Ally McBeal episodes.

Of course, because I am still learning how to relax without guilt, this time on the couch was fitful, and not at all stress-free. Perhaps it is because the “time off” wasn’t PLANNED, but was, instead, FORCED. As in, “my brain couldn’t formulate a single original thought” so I had to collapse in a heap. This happens sometimes (darnit), but fortunately, far less than it did in my “Before” life. In those days, EVERY weekend was spent in a blob on the sofa. So, I need to recognize progress when I see it 

Anyway, as I wandered up and down the hall, tickling the laundry and doing as little as possible, I found myself reaching back to familiar (comfortable?) thoughts of, “Look at yourself; you are a fat, lazy blob.”Hmmm…*that’s* productive. The difference was, I KNEW it wasn’t true. I am not FAT OR LAZY. But, the recording played on…over and over….

Here’s how it sounded:

Sick Self: You’re fat and your butt sags.
Healthy Self: That’s ridiculous. You are not fat. You have shrinkles not fat. Deal with it.
SS: Yeah, but they LOOK like fat.
HS: Shrinkles are the polar-opposite of fat. They are the ABSENCE of fat. That is why they exist.
SS: Think what you want, but your body does NOT look like other people your size, so you must be fat.
HS: Wrong. Unlike cellulite, by definition, shrinkles happen because you have LOOSE SKIN WITH NO FAT TO FLUFF IT UP.
SS: Still. People who wear your size are smaller than you.
HS: What? That doesn’t even make sense. How can I be bigger than my size? I have a closet FULL of size SMALL clothing.
SS: Ha. Those run big. C’mon. You *know* you are not a size small. You are 5’8″ tall. By definition, that makes you AT LEAST a Large.
HS: Whose rule is THAT? I have clothes from lots of different stores — not just one. I even have an X-Small top that I wear. Thee things are NOT TIGHT on me. i am not fat.
SS: I dunno, You *used* to be a size 2-4…Now you’re a 6-8. You know what that means: You’re tottering on a size Medium (at least.)
HS: Who cares what the number or letter on the clothing says? I look and feel great.
SS: Yup. That’s why you’re wandering around the house feeling *fat*..but, if you’re fine with the shrinkles, dangly skin and lying clothes, then I am, too…

See what I mean? Destructive and unfounded.

Eventually, I thought I was going explode, and decided to bring my self-conversation to MexiKen.

“Honey, I know you’re going to think this sounds crazy, but I just need to bounce this off you. I KNOW that I am not fat — that’s silly — but I just keep telling myself I am. I don’t know why, but I can’t wrap my head around my size. Like…how *big* am I? I’m little, right…?”

You should have seen the confounded look on his face. I could see the thoughts frantically ping-ponging around in his brain. I know he was thinking, “Why is she saying that? She’s not fat..nuts, maybe, but fat? What does she want me to say here?”

He opted for the third sentiment: “I think you’re nuts. Don’t you know your own size?”

Okay, that wasn’t exactly what I needed to hear. Let me approach this differently.

“Babe, you know how you are constantly running into doorjambs and furniture because you always miscalculate your size? You know how you always think your shoulders are not as broad as they are and how you always marvel at your actual size, because you don’t think you’re as big as you are?”

He thought on that for a minute. At 6’2″, he is a big boy, and his shoulders are super-broad (one of the many things I love about him…*swoon*).

Without missing a beat, he laughed and said, “Oh. That’s because my whiskers are too short.”

I knew what he meant. Cats know their size by the length of their whiskers. This is what tells them if they can safely clear a passage. If their whiskers touch, it’s gonna be a tight squeeze. Here’s an interesting little thing I found on the subject:

Cats use their whiskers for a wide variety of reasons. They provide some of the most important feedback for cats to gather data about their environment. They also use them to communicate their emotions. As an essential addition to their “navigational” equipment, it is crucial to never trim them or cut them off. Without their whiskers cat become confused and often lost. Similar to radar, Cats use whiskers to “feel” their boundaries and to gauge distances to ascertain the size and shape of objects, and to discover if their bodies will fit into tight spaces. Whiskers help guide them in the dark to avoid running into objects.

Source

I got the message loud and clear. My whiskers are too LONG. Despite my ability to clear seemingly tiny openings, I STILL view myself as the fat girl who can’t fit in an arm chair, a small car, or airline seat.

Apparently, my whiskers think I weigh 316 pounds. Or…do they?

I think it’s time to trust the facts. I am walking around in a very comfortable and healthy body. Granted, there is ample room for improved fitness and tone, and those are goals — attainable, achievable, reasonable goals. They are NOT an indictment or testament of FAILURE.

Thank God for my beloved MexiKen. His logic is undeniably simple: Trust your whiskers.

My cat does it all the time (and he’s a fatty!)

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

I don’t know why, but Jabberwocky (that verse, at least) came to mind when I got on the scale and saw that I had gained about 3 pounds since choosing recovery for binge eating addiction. It’s funny, I’ve watched it happen a dozen times (to others); they quit smoking and pack on 20 or 30 pounds. But, never dreamt it could happen to ME. How could I GAIN weight by NOT BINGEING?

I guess you could say that I was snatched by the claws of the FRUMIOUS BINGER-SNATCH. I listened to my head and not my stomach and now my pants are paying the price. I didn’t fool myself, or anything. I was completely aware of my behavior. I was, basically grazing on healthy foods — pseudo-healthy carbs. – that were really just simplex carbs, wrapped up in a package of healthy protein. In my defense, I was freaking HUNGRY! I did manage to drink more fluids than perhaps ever since my surgery, and I DID limit my caffeine intake to two cups per day – and have not deviated from that – not even once – but in lieu of those things, I added a bag of Revival Soy Chips (usually the decadent Oh My! Apple Pie flavor for “dessert”), and I had BOTH quiche AND beans in the same SITTING. Oh, and I had my Body Tech Pro pudding in the evening, even though I didn’t need it.

The Bariatric After Life™ can be a minefield sometimes, and we all misstep. Fortunately, I didn’t do any permanent damage (to myself or my psyche), but I did learn (or rather, relearn) a valuable lesson: Too much of a good thing is not good.

So, what am I going to do about it? I could say really negative things and call myself a failure (or worse) but 3 pounds and a snug waistband aren’t worthy of that sort of talk. Actually, NOTHING is worthy of that kinda talk. I know what needs fixing, and I’m fixing it. For me, that looks like three days on a liquid/puree program. This is not punishment; I have found that doing this resets the carbo-clock and helps me to feel more balanced.

On an upbeat note: I am still sober after 19 days. I don’t remember ever going this long without giving in to a cookie (or five) –  and believe me, I WANTED a cookie…or cake…or something gooey.  I battled that demon and won, so I sure as heck can beat the simple carb monster. It’s all about homeostasis; finding balance and harmony; listening for the answers and making the changes.

Hey, this sounds a lot like what’s happened to my eyes since turning 40: Just like I have to hold everything farther away so I can see it more clearly, I had to take a step back to get a better focus on the future.

•  •  •

By the way, Jabberwocky is found in Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There.