Cleopatra_Nik

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“Your belief in me is both inspiring and petrifying at the same time.”

 

I thought this thought to myself today. There is, of course, a story behind it.

 

Most of you know I am a writer by trade. I recently took on an assignment to write an article on my organization’s behalf for a magazine that is well respected in our little corner of the world. But the audience for this magazine was one for which I’d never written before. If I was successful, it would be a great thing for my organization. If I failed, it would be a terrible thing for me.

 

(No pressure, right?)

 

I went at the task with fervor. I interviewed experts on my subject matter. I held little focus group discussions. I asked questions, drafted drafts, drafted more drafts, got feedback and…completely melted down.

The problem was that I didn’t give myself time to process all the feedback I was getting. I was on deadline and I didn’t have time to just sit with it. I had to write it! For some people this works (my cousin, she writes for a daily newspaper and for her this works). For me, this is a sure route to failure.

 

And that is what I did. I failed. Big. Last Friday, after staring at the cursor on my computer for four straight hours I cobbled together a sub-par draft and sent it to my supervisor and left for the weekend, feeling dejected and wondering if I’d still have a job come Tuesday.

 

And my whole weekend was ruined by it. One thing you have to understand about me is that I was raised in an abusive home. As an adult, I know, academically, that making mistakes will not result in violence, but still knowingly making mistakes makes me feel very unsafe. I tend to be very much like Dobby, from Harry Potter. I beat myself up before anyone else has a chance to do it.

 

Now before you say it, no I am not exaggerating. The story DID suck that bad. Even my supervisor said so (but, thankfully, not in those exact words). But what she sent me back was obviously not violent, but it also wasn’t an admonition or any statement of me being a bad writer, employee or person. Walking to work Tuesday I didn’t know what we should do about the story. My inclination was to beg her to drop the whole thing. I mean, we did REALLY have to turn a story in, did we?

 

But she was extremely encouraging. She took the time to read over my draft (and a few others I’d send over the course of the week preliminarily) and give suggestions on how I could complete the story. Never once did she suggest that I give up. And not in a “you better do this or else” sort of way but a “I believe you can do this and you know you can too” sort of way.

 

So I’ve spent the better part of the day re-crafting the story. A funny thing happens when you allow yourself time and space to process things. You see what you could not see before. You get ideas that seem to have come out of nowhere, but really are the result of our brain running all the possibilities and coming up with the most logical solution.

 

It was in the drafting of the story that I thought the first line of this blog post. Her belief in me did inspire me to rewrite a better story. But it also scared the holy crap out of me. Expectations are meant to be met or exceeded. Falling short of expectations is absolutely awful. It doesn’t make anybody feel good, especially when you know what you are capable of.

 

I tell you this to say, we put a lot of pressure on ourselves in this WLS process. The whole world is watching us, waiting for us to fail, or so we think. But imagine, in the situation I described, if I had not made it such a big deal to sit with the information over the weekend and resolved to come back to it today. The story is still getting turned in on time and it’s the RIGHT story.

 

What might happen if you stopped putting so much pressure on yourself to drop so many pounds or to be able or not be able to eat certain amounts of certain foods or have figured out certain head issues or whatever your challenge is. What would happen if you just chilled out for a moment? Gave yourself this one moment of peace to process all the changes that have happened and to figure out where you want to go from here.

Because there is a way to get from where you are to what you want. Your brain just needs to figure out the most logical solution. And to do that, sometimes you just need a little bit of space and time.

I really don't have much more to say about that than that. That's the worst thing about depression (and I'm talking about depression in terms of biochemistry, not related to any one bad event) is that it robs my words. Steals my joy. Every day is ten times longer. Night cannot come soon enough. And sleep is my only comfort.

It passes. It always passes. But until it does...

My mind is rebellious. If there is something on my mind, it refuses to release thought power until I’ve addressed that thing that’s on my mind.

 

Four years after bariatric surgery, I wonder if I will ever find peace, a happy medium, a calm and quiet space in even a small corner of my mind.

 

I manage. I do ok. But I am not “normal.” There is no “natural balance” and there is no “moderation” for me.

 

Because moderation suggests the ability to moderate. To give validity to both sides while showing favor over neither. To this day, I still cannot do that with regards to food. Either I eat a lot or I eat nothing. I really and truly still do not understand eating just enough.

 

And at this point, of course, I have to ask myself why. A lot of it has to do with my personal past but today I’d like to speak about environmental challenges, because they are very, very real.

 

My least favorite saying of post-ops and dieters is, “Food is for fuel only.” That’s a damn lie. Food is for more than fuel. If it were only for fuel why would we bother trying to make it taste good? No, we eat for enjoyment also. It’s built into us as humans and it’s one reason we are still on this planet and not extinct.

 

And like it or not, food plays a big part in life around us. People use food to connect with one another (family dinner), to mark milestones (the birthday cake), to celebrate tradition (the Thanksgiving Turkey). We use food to express emotions (chicken noodle soup when you are sick) and to pass on culture (Southern food, collard greens, etc.). We even use it to express our faith (Shabbat, Seider, etc.).

 

So what your surgeon, your support group leader, your psychologist didn’t tell you was this: by attempting to reject food as a central part of your existence, in many ways you are rejecting your own humanity.

 

That sounds deep doesn’t it? It isn’t that complicated a concept to understand.

 

It’s the awkwardness you feel when you go to a family dinner and refuse to eat anything. It’s the hurt in your mom or your aunt’s eyes because of that. It’s the confusion people feel on your birthday (after all, if they don’t get you a cake, what should they get you?). It’s the pressure you feel to live healthfully in a way that doesn’t alienate everyone else in your life.

 

The whole world isn’t necessarily food obsessed. But I am. And because I don’t have the ability to moderate, I have to place myself outside the parameters of community and society to manage my health. That stings a little bit.

 

This past year I’ve allowed some food tradition back into my life. I’ve always held strong to my weekly church supper, for instance. It’s the carbiest meal ever each week, but it’s a meal shared in fellowship, with people who care for me. And it isn’t about the food. I really don’t care what they serve. It’s about breaking bread together.

 

I don’t have any conclusions on this post. I’m just getting the thoughts out there. I’m not sure I’ll ever learn to balance naturally. I do want to note, however, that I DO balance, but it is an effort. It’s foreign. I see it as an imposition on precious mental space and I often resent it. I don’t want to wake up in the morning and think about what I’ll eat. I’d like to trust that as I go through my day I will eat the right things.

 

So anyway…just my rambly thoughts. I think I will post to this blog more often.