To NOT Know Me is to Hate Me.

Apr 08, 2011

 

To NOT Know Me is to Hate Me.

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 goodOuch. 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.


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FABULOUS ISN'T GLAMOROUS. NECESSARILY

Apr 07, 2011

I was eating my midmorning cottage cheese with kalamata olives, pumpkin seeds and chipotle salsa, when this thought popped into my head: Do you have to be GLAMOROUS in order to be FABULOUS?

Most people would quickly say, "Yes." This is due in no small part to shows like "Life in the Fab Lane" (a *reality show* that follows fashion model Kimora Lee in her daily, glamorous life), or "The Real Housewives of ____" (where we see what it's like to be filthy rich – and (apparently) absolutely, fabulously glamorous.

In other words, what we watch on TV, read in fashion magazines, or see on billboards (mine notwithstanding) is telling us something that isn't true! We are supposed to believe that being FABULOUS is the same as being GLAMOROUS; but more importantly, we are told that you can't be one without the other!

Well…being the student of logic that I am, I did a little VENN DIAGRAM to show how this is not necessarily true.

Class is officially in session: (Ahem) To make this better, imagine that I am showing you a really cool PowerPoint presentation on an overhead projector, using a remote control that has a fabulous laser pointer on it. (Notice that I did NOT say the remote is glamorous.)

My Fabulous Venn Diagram

As you can see, some people are glamorous, some are fabulous; some are decidedly non-glamorous, some are simply not fabulous, some are neither glamorous NOR fabulous, some are fabulously glamorous, others are glamorously fabulous, and then there are those people who can't decide where they are, so they are green. None of this really determines their happiness, but that is an entirely different class that meets every other Friday night.

The point of this should be colorfully clear: You do NOT have to be GLAMOROUS to be FABULOUS. As a matter of fact, you don't even have to be FABULOUS if you don't want to be (but then you'd be yellow or green…or something like that, instead of PINK or RED, but I digress.) No one should think less of you because you decide to be something different than they are, and you should never choose to be something you aren't. At the end of the day, know who you are and be the best version of  you that you can be.

It's perfectly logical to me: You are free to be whoever you want to be, and no one can tell you otherwise. If you want to be fabulously unGlamorous, that is your right. If you want to be unFabulously glamorous, I celebrate that, too. In my case, because I love shoes, big hair, lots of bling, and fabulous clothes, it's no accident that I am HOT PINK (Fabulously Glamorous). Where do you fit on this diagram? Don't worry, you don't have to tell me, but if you're spending $20 on a can of hairspray, I'll pretty much know where to find you…

CLASS DISMISSED

PS -- Aren't you glad I didn't add "SEXY" to the diagram? Good heavens, I wouldn't even know what COLOR to use… 
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ARE YOU A BARIATRIC B.A.S.E. JUMPER?

Mar 02, 2011

People fear a lot of things. Heights. Tight spaces. Water. Elevators. Spiders. Large Crowds. Parties. Public speaking. The list of phobias is endless. But, in the world at large, not everyone shares the same fears (snakes, flying, leaving the house) — unless, of course, they are members of the weight loss community. In that case, we are pretty much all terrified of the same thing: WEIGHT REGAIN.

With all phobias, there is a basis of truth to the fear. In other words, it is reasonable to fear that you can die in a plane crash, get bitten by a poisonous snake, or get stuck in an elevator. That stuff does happen. But, does that mean you should never fly, hike a mountain trail, or ride the elevator in a tall building?

Some would say, “Yes.”

But what about the fear of weight regain? How does one insulate against that “inevitability?” It’s not like we can go through life avoiding food; we MUST eat.

Exactly how do people deal with phobias? Many believe that the only way to overcome something you fear is to face it head on. If you are afraid of heights, jump out of an airplane; if you fear spiders, touch a tarantula. If you hate public speaking, join Toastmasters. But, some people take things to the extreme. Some people actually TAUNT fate by going beyond what would be considered safe or normal. Some people believe that the only way to FEEL alive and to prove that they fear nothing, is to push everything to the extreme.

Consider B.A.S.E. jumpers (Buildings, Antennas, Spans (bridge) and Earth (cliff). When asked WHY they do it, BASE jumpers typically say they do it to feel more alive. They want to come face-to-face with death, and live to tell about it. To the average person, this sounds like craziness. Why would anyone tempt fate to feel more alive?

Well, consider weight loss surgery patients who push the limits of their pouch just to feel more “normal.” These people will try a piece of cake, or eat french fries, or munch on a hamburger, just to see how far they can go.

Maybe these people could be considered Bariatric BASE jumpers. Where the acronym stands for: Bingers, Anorexics, Snackers and Eaters.

Let me explain…

The Bingers will mindlessly eat when they aren’t hungry. They’ll eat the wrong things and they’ll eat far too much of it. For most, the net result is a dumping session, followed by guilt, regret, remorse and recommitment to “never do it again.” Could it be argued that Bingers do this to prove that their pouch still works? To conquer weight regain by doing the very thing that will cause it?

The Anorexics severely restrict themselves from food, because they believe it’s better to put NOTHING in their pouch, than to eat the WRONG THING. Unlike true anorexics, they eat — but they don’t get enough protein and they don’t take their supplements. So, they come face-to-face with malnutrition, just to prove that they can survive.

The Snackers spend their day grazing. Their poison will vary, depending upon the day. On special occasions (birthdays, holidays, Tuesdays), they might eat “just one chocolate chip cookie,” or “a little piece of SEES candy.” They might consume an entire bag of potato chips — slowly, or they’ll pick at a slice of pizza. They rationalize their behavior by saying that they don’t eat too much at one time, so it’s okay. They flirt with disastrous regain, but it doesn’t happen all at once, so the dangerous behavior continues.

Finally, there are the Eaters. Now, I’m not talking about NORMAL eaters; I’m talking about those who make the wrong food choices, but do it in very small amounts, to give the illusion of being healthy. As long as they eat a small bowl of ice cream, or a junior size hamburger, it’s “okay,” — but the behavior makes the eater feel dangerously close to being normal.

I think it’s fair to say that we all find ourselves in these positions occasionally — some of us, more than we’d like to admit. So, how do we face our fears of weight regain without tempting fate by “flying without a net?”

Sadly, most will not recognize their risky behaviors and find themselves on the wrong end of the scale again. They’ll be the ones who poke a stick in the snake hole, drive too fast without a seatbelt, swim with the sharks….But others — and I hope to be counted among them — will find a way to conquer their phobia, while retaining a healthy respect for what it represents.

Weight regain is real and the likelihood of it happening is considerably greater than getting struck by lightning. But, just as you wouldn’t hold a metal rod up in a rainstorm, you must respect the rules of living a healthy lifestyle.

Flirting with disaster will only lead to disaster; it’s just a matter of when, not if. I don’t plan to live my Bariatric After Life in fear, but I do believe I must be willing to respect SOME limits, in order to live a life with FEWER ones.

Are you a Bariatric BASE Jumper? Do you push the limits just to see how far you can go? I know that I am guilty of all of these things — some, more than others — but I believe that recognizing my problem and formulating an escape plan will be my saving grace.

Through the help of my therapist, Jim, I am working on my “binge” triggers, and trying to diffuse the “need for speed.” Most of the time, I feel pretty good about my progress, and when I don’t, I just pick myself up and start over. And the next time? I’m using a ‘chute ;-)

Originally Appeared on: GastricBypassBarbie.com – Copyright 2/4/10 - All Rights Reserved

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My Whiskers Are Too Long

Mar 01, 2011

 

My Whiskers Are Too Long

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!)

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Jabberwocky (and the Frumious Binger-Snatch)

Feb 14, 2011

 


“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.


 
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I need compassion - not understanding

Feb 08, 2011

MexiKen doesn’t understand what it feels like to be addicted. At least, he doesn’t *think* he does. He’s one of the lucky ones who is able to turn a negative behavior on and off at will. Substances have no power over him, unless he chooses to allow them to. This is how he explains it, anyway.


You can imagine my frustration over the course of the last 22 years.

  • He doesn’t understand my fibromyalgia, because nothing “shows” on the outside, so what could possibly be wrong?
  • He doesn’t understand my food addiction, because he doesn’t feel the compulsion or obsession I feel around food.
  • He doesn’t understand chemical depression, because he can just talk himself out of it and do what needs to be done.
  • He used to think it was all in my head, and I almost believed him.

I remember after my precious baby girl was born (oh, so many years ago). I was a basket case. I had severe postpartum depression – almost psychosis. I felt like I was losing my mind, I beat myself up for my weakness, I criticized myself for being such a rotten mother and wife. I began to see how a woman could be pushed to the edge of insanity and do crazy things to her children. No one was really talking about it, so I figured I was crazy. I certainly wasn’t going to harm my baby, but I understood how someone could get to that point. I was out of control and scared. MexiKen will tell you that he didn’t understand my problem because his own mother had 12 children and never seemed to miss a beat with the birth of each one. We used to joke that she could give birth in the kitchen, then finish the mole and heat the tortillas before anyone would even notice the new addition.

I, on the other hand, was broken. I was not normal. I wanted to die. I hid in the closet while my daughter cried her lungs out in her car seat on the bed. It is a horrible memory, but I no longer feel the shame of it.

Of course, it wasn’t that easy for MexiKen. It was a bone of contention for many, many years in our marriage because he viewed me as weak. He thought I just wasn’t trying hard enough, or that I was seriously deranged to feel that way about my own flesh and blood. He wondered why I wasn’t more like his mother?

It was only after many, many years that he was finally able to “forgive” me for my behavior. That’s really what it came down to; Forgiveness. Though, I know that I wasn’t in control of my behavior, I did apologize to him for the pain my untreated condition caused for the entire family.

After all that, you’d think I’d blame him for his inability to understand the complexities of my damaged psyche, but I don’t. Mostly because *I* struggle to understand the complexities of my damaged psyche…

I don’t blame him for NOT knowing how to show me compassion. Neither one of us knew how to do that.

Which is why education is so important for everyone in the family. As with weight loss surgery, people don’t automatically *get* why we choose to have it. They think you should just eat “as if” you have had the surgery, but not have the surgery. They think you are a cheater, or that you will be cured, or whatever “excuse” you want to plug into the criticism. They think you are weak and lazy and are seriously flawed.

The point is, for someone who does not have a food addiction or weight problem, it is virtually impossible to comprehend the torture of someone who DOES.

I guess it’s like trying to explain menstrual cramps to a guy.

Girl: “Well, it hurts *here* and I only feel better if I lay on my side…with a heating pad. And my back hurts, but you can’t really massage the pain away. And I just feel irritable and sad.”

Guy: “Is it like getting kicked ‘down there’?”

Girl: “Well, since I don’t know what that feels like, because I don’t have *those* parts, it might be like how it feels when you fall on the crossbar on your bike.”

Guy: “Yeah, it’s probably close to that; It’ll pass in a few minutes. What’s your problem again?”

Which is pretty much the same dialogue me and MexiKen had all the time about my “issues.”

AGAIN, I don’t blame HIM for not understanding, because you can only truly empathize with someone if you’ve actually EXPERIENCED what they are going through. Fortunately, I learned that I really just needed support – not understanding. So, a few years ago, I started helping him help me. I’d say, “Hey, you don’t need to understand *why* this is the case, but I have a problem with “X”, and if I see them, I go crazy and eat uncontrollably. I am NOT telling you that YOU can’t have them, but would you mind hiding them from me? Could you put them somewhere you can get to them, but I won’t find them?”

He agreed, but it didn’t keep him from getting that puzzled, “I don’t get it”look on his face. The good news is, he did learn that hiding stuff was a good way to support me (as I’d asked). But that little technique only lasted so long before an addict like me went “looking…”

Ultimately, I had to deal with my addiction, not find ways to make it more acceptable! I had to stop looking for the “WHY” of it all, and just work on the “HOW” — as in, “How will I put an end to this destruction I’m allowing?”

Easy (or not so easy, depending upon how you look at it.) I just had to STOP bingeing. Of course, that’s where those 12-Steps come into the picture, and they are NOT easy, but they ARE possible.

Here’s what I have learned: In the final analysis, even if no one else has ever suffered with my addiction, it is still valid. Even if no one else understands my condition…my frailties, they can still show me compassion.

I could be addicted to mint dental floss but, as long as someone takes a moment to be human and say, “Hmm, I don’t understand this fixation with dental floss, and I don’t have a problem with it, but I see that you do, and I see that you are working to overcome the addiction, so I will support you however I can.”

Perhaps that is the message of this posting. Even if no one else suffers from my particular brand of binge-eating disorder, I do, and I know the tremendous toll it has taken on my soul. That is why, I have asked MexiKen to support me in my endeavor to choose recovery. (This does not include hiding food, by the way.) He will tell you that he doesn’t get it – but he will also say that he understands that I am suffering and doesn’t want me to hurt anymore. That’s big progress for both of us.

Gone are the days of suffering alone. Gone are the moments where I feel crazy and scared. I have my rock — even if he doesn’t know why he is supposed to stand completely still so I can grab onto him when the current gets too rough (LOL) – He does it, with a warm and generous heart (and a good sense of humor). He still has to stop himself from making critical, offhanded remarks, but I understand…because I know how hard he is trying. Hey, sometimes I’d have a hard time being married to me.

Here’s the bottom line: Find your peace and run to it. Never let anyone tell you you don’t deserve it, because you do. It is possible to find compassion — even in strangers.

SEEK FIRST TO UNDERSTAND, THEN TO BE UNDERSTOOD
(7 Habits of Highly Effective People)

By the way…Today is Day 11 of My Recovery :-) (In case you were wondering!)

Originally published on bariatricafterlife.com
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OVERNIGHT RECOVERY (18 Years in the Making)

Feb 05, 2011

My journey of recovery did not begin when I had weight loss surgery, anymore than it ended when I chose sobriety over my binge eating addiction. Actually, I began my journey of discovery and healing when I my daughter was 2-years old, which means that I have been working on myself for a long time (more than 18 years). Of course, when I set out on this mission, I was doing it because I had hit rock-bottom and couldn’t imagine living life anymore. I wasn’t going to “do” anything to end it, but I certainly didn’t want to wake up to another day of hell.

 

And so, at the ripe-old age of 26, having been married for 3 years and being a lousy mother for 2, I decided to get help. I was prepared to be beaten up. I was ready to be told that my fat and sickness was my own fault. I was prepared for the worst.

 

But, something strange happened; a compassionate doctor recognized something of value in me. She saw a spark of hope and perseverance. She saw someone who was ready to get better.

 

And so began my journey. I was diagnosed with late luteal phase disorder with major depressive disorder. That was a fancy way of saying I suffered from really bad PMS and got depressed for longer periods than would be considered “normal” or “average.”

 

I was prescribed Wellbutrin and a whole new world opened before me. For the first time, I heard SILENCE in my brain. I stopped hearing voices (my own), telling me all of the things I HAD to do, WASN’T doing, SHOULD be doing, needed to STOP doing; could be doing BETTER. It was a constant chorus of ME, but it was no Hallelujah chorus.

 

So, the drugs helped, and I lost weight (70 pounds), and I stopped feeling crazy.

 

But then…like everything else, the “drugs” stopped working. Or, I decided I didn’t need them anymore, or I decided that the side-effects weren’t worth the benefits. I don’t know. Whatever it was, at about age 28, I stopped the anti-depressants, and determined that I was “cured” and could “do it on my own.”

 

BIG. MISTAKE.

 

But, who wants to ADMIT that they have screwed up their own recovery? Who wants to admit that they need drugs to function? And that, if they DON’T take them, they spin out of control?

 

Not me – that’s who.

 

And so, I went about my business. Frantically distracting myself with a more-than-full-time job, full-time college, and extremely part-time wife and motherhood. Not surprisingly, I got fatter and fatter.

 

Doctors would tell me to move more and eat less. But I hurt. Inside and out. I couldn’t do what they wanted.

I learned that I had Fibromyalgia. Now, you’d think a diagnosis like that would be a relief, but 15 years ago, no one knew what fibromyalgia even WAS. Most people — including my husband — believed it was “all in my head.” That I was lazy, didn’t want to feel better, or worse, that I was making it all up for attention. The treatment at the time was sleeping pills, pain pills and depression pills. A ’round the clock cocktail of attitude enhancers. Did I mention the side effects of the meds? Yeah, one of them was actually shown to increase cravings for CHOCOLATE! What!? I did NOT need that.

 

So, I stopped the drugs. Again.

 

And I didn’t sleep. So I hurt when I awoke. But I dragged myself to work and school, leaving NOTHING for home and even LESS for myself.

 

And then I turned 30, and I thought, “I like this. I’m not 20-something anymore. I believe I am supposed to have the answers now.” (Nothing like positive-thinking to motivate change.) But, nothing DID change. I earned my degree, but the angels didn’t sing, and the gates of heaven didn’t fly open for me, I was still fat, my marriage was in trouble, I was an even WORSE mother, and I still HURT.

 

Enter: My very best friend on the planet (Jan). God sent her to me when I needed her the most. She reached out to me and offered me hope – something I hadn’t dared to expect. After all, I’d determined that I wasn’t worth it. I was a smart woman with a wicked sense of humor. I was creative, talented, attractive. I had a lot going for me, but I had NOTHING — because I didn’t believe in my own value.

 

Over the course of the next few years, my best friend patiently tutored me in the fine art of living, loving and thriving. To be clear, her style is pretty unconventional. That is because she is a choleric and I am a sanguine. She is like my father, and I am like…well…pretty much no one ELSE in my family. She is like my husband. I am…again, like pretty much no one ELSE in my family. Our daughter is an interesting combination of both Sanguine AND Choleric, but choleric usually always wins.

 

I could go into great detail about what these personality types mean, but this is not the time or place. What you need to understand about these two, very different personalities is this:

 

The Choleric KNOWS he is right, doesn’t consider any other opinions on the matter and needs no vote of consensus. He is completely FLOORED when someone says they are HURT by a his actions or statements. The idea of someone being hurt by words is simply is NOT on the radar because FEELINGS are not part of DECISIONS. This is NOT to say that a choleric has no feelings. They do…but they aren’t gonna let YOU know what they are, and they certainly won’t be ruled by them.

 

The Sanguine, on the other hand, HOPES he is right, considers everyone else’s opinions (to the point of exhaustion), and is completely FLOORED when someone says they are HURT by his actions – especially when he tried so hard NOT to hurt them. Feelings rule the day and a choleric can very quickly SQUASH a sanguine with a withering look or offhanded (read: insensitive, thoughtless, mean) comment. Okay, that’s the sanguine determining that the comment is anything other than what the choleric intends it to be, but that is beside the point.

 

Needless to say, CHOLERICS and SANGUINES approach circumstances very differently.

So, my dear friend (you know, the *PATIENT* choleric?) would beat into me what needed to be done and I would sweetly tell her that I couldn’t do *it* (whatever *it* was, because what she was advocating was MEAN, and I was NICE.)

 

Which brings me to a critical part of my story of RECOVERY.

 

There are a LOT of reasons it has taken me 18 years to get to this point. If sheer will or desire had been enough, I’d have chosen recovery a LOT sooner. But, just because I KNEW something had to be done, didn’t mean I was ready or capable of doing it.

 

Recovery is a decision tree that looks a bit like this:

  1. I have a problem.
  2. Here is the solution.
  3. Am I ABLE to do that?
  4. Do I WANT to do that?
  5. WILL I do that?
  6. What WILL I do?
  7. What CAN I do?
  8. Will I choose to fix the problem?
  9. If not, place on back burner until later date.
  10. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

Quite often, I KNEW what I had to do, but couldn’t do it yet, or couldn’t keep doing it. That was because i needed to grow in strength of character, confidence, experience — whatever — to have the SKILL to accomplish it. I guess you could say that simply KNOWING what to do does not assure that it WILL or CAN happen. Recovery is like a muscle. You have to work at it; build it, break it down, rebuild it and maintain it or it will atrophy.

 

For example, I learned that I could treat my Fibromyalgia with regular chiropractic care, massage therapy, vitamins and adrenal supplements and…A DIET FREE OF YEAST AND SUGAR. My symptoms were greatly diminished for 2-years, while I following this strict program. I even lost weight. But, I wasn’t ready to do this for the rest of my life. I didn’t have the strength or willpower…mostly, I didn’t have the BELIEF that I could do it. I wanted the reward, but I wasn’t willing to do the work.

 

Now, think about recovery as being an athlete. Perhaps he or she dreams of becoming an Olympian and winning a Gold medal. Well, at age 10, that athlete doesn’t possess the strength, skill or experience to win the medal. He or she may have the DESIRE, but isn’t ready to accomplish the task at hand. The athlete can choose to give up (because it’s too hard, he or she wants it NOW and isn’t willing to wait), OR, he or she can choose to continue working hard to one day win the medal. Some activities will have to wait until enough strength is built, while others can be accomplished in anticipation of reaching the next level

 

In my case, I had to learn when to attempt different things in my growth. When would I be experienced enough to clear this obstacle? When would I be wise enough to avoid it? When would I be strong enough to muscle through it? Simple desire wasn’t enough. I had to understand my ability and accept the fact that some obstacles would not be cleared until I was ready to clear them. Quite often, the block was MENTAL, because I truly DID possess the skill…I just didn’t believe it.

 

So, my dear friend (remember her?) would tell me what i needed to do in any given situation, and I would tell her if I thought I could do it, and if so,how I could accomplish it (in my OWN, Sanguine way, of course)

 

There were many, many times when I told her that I KNEW she was right, and I KNEW what had to be done, but I KNEW I wasn’t ready to do it. She respected that, but persevered, as she knew one day, I WOULD be ready.

 

Just like you have to be “this tall” to ride the “big people” rides at the amusement park, I had to wait until I was “this tall” (emotionally and spiritually) to clear some major hurdles in my life. And, I guess I needed the little sign to prove it.

 

I’d like to think that I never stopped running or trying. But that’s not true. Sometimes, I sat down, put my head in my hands, and cried. Sometimes, I threw tantrums and screamed that I couldn’t do it; that I’d NEVER do it. Sometimes, I wondered why I even tried.

 

And then, it happened. I began to see progress. I experienced success. I was stronger, I had experience, and

 

I BELIEVED I could achieve it. I realized that, if I waited for it to come to me, or if I waited for it to be EASY, it would never happen.

 

No, I was going to have to stretch far beyond my comfort zone. I was going to have to be willing to fail. I had to be willing to get back up again — every time I fell. Oh, and I had to wiling to do this ALL in front of EVERYBODY. That’s because, once I had weight loss surgery, I threw the doors and windows of my life open for all the world to see. When you do that –  when you put yourself out there – you’re saying that you understand you will be criticized, ridiculed, vilified and attacked, BUT, you are HOPING that, in avoiding, clearing or muscling THROUGH the obstacles, you will be able to encourage, motivate and inspire others along the way.

 

Life is a risk – Not something to avoid. I finally figured this out.

 

So, you see, recovery is a combination of things: It’s deciding if you even NEED to do it. Then, being mature enough to recognize when you’re ready, learning what’s involved, determining that you WILL do it, proclaiming that you CAN do it…and accepting that you may NOT succeed on your first….second…or even fifth time.

 

Recovery is a process.

 

When people say that I’m brave or wise…or stupid — I take it all in stride. In reality, I’m stubborn and I’m blessed. I have worked hard to accomplish my recovery so far, but this is not a journey with an end. On the contrary, recovery will never stop for me, though, the sanguine in me HOPES it will become a little easier.

 

FOOTNOTE: And..about my marriage? C’mon, you’ve read about MexiKen…he stuck by me through the whole mess, and even worked on his own stuff. he’s better and I’m better and we’re better together. You need a good partner to help you over the hurdles. And my daughter? Well, that’s a work in progress. After all, the things that happen to us when we are young are a lot more influential (and lasting) than the things that happen to us as adults. It takes a lot of work to recognize the problems to even begin fixing them. But, that’s what therapy and love are for. We’re working on it, and she is an amazing young woman.

 

Originally published on: Bariatric After Life  2/6/11

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There’s No Google Map for THIS Roadtrip

Feb 03, 2011

 Uncharted Territory


There’s no Google Map for where I’m going, so I’m blazing my own trail. I am, of course, talking about my Recovery from Binge Eating.

When you’re addicted to things like alcohol, drugs, or gambling, it’s fairly easy to figure out the “rules” of your sobriety. What I mean by that is, if you are shooting for complete abstinence, then any alcoholic drink, illegal drug, or betting (including lottery scratch-offs) would probably be on the list of “don’ts.”

But, when you get into addictions like shopping, sex, or food, the terms of agreement can get a little squirrelly. In other words, if you are addicted to sex, does that mean you can never HAVE sex for the rest of your life? Probably not (unless you have taken a vow of celibacy, but that’s different). How about shopping? What constitutes “acceptable” shopping, and what constitutes “addictive” shopping?

Which brings the discussion around to FOOD. I have specifically made a decision to be SOBER FROM BINGEING. That means that if a food will trigger a binge, I will not touch it. I already know what a lot of them are – Fritos, Oreos, Fruit Loops, Chocolate Chip cookies, etc. — but I don’t have a exhaustive list of EVERY food item that is likely to cause a problem, so, how do I handle that? How do I know when I’m making a choice that would end my recovery?

Well, last night, as I was strolling through CVS (I had to buy hairspray, duh) — my mind was darting around like a pinball machine:

Me: Oh, Valentine’s Day. Look at all the candy.
Me2: I clearly don’t need candy. That would be on the list.

Me: But it would only be one little box of sugar free stuff.
Me2: Yeah, but I wouldn’t just eat one piece a day; I’d want the whole thing, so, no. That is not the thing to look for.

Me: But, what will MexiKen buy me for Valentine’s Day?
Me2: He never buys you candy anyway, so let him get you a card. And maybe flowers. You aren’t addicted to flowers.

Me: Oh….look at the Russell Stover Sugar Free Gummy Bears. That’s a small bag.
Me2: Nope. You eat those in the car, on the way home. And home is only 3 minutes down the road (with traffic). That is definitely a no-no. Me: What about…?

And the conversation continued.

Now, I realize that this conversation might sound trivial or even frustrating, but to me, the exchange was very, very comforting. That is because I was giving myself the chance to consider and reject each item, based upon its likelihood to cause a binge. Last night, instead of feeling CHEATED, I felt EMPOWERED. That is because, even though I don’t have an official “list” of things I will NOT choose to consume, I am confident that I have the skills to make the decision “on-the-fly.” My hope is that I will continue to have the determination to do this, but I cannot project that far down the road. Today is a new day. Yesterday completed Day 8 of my Sobriety from Bingeing – and I ended on a very high note.

Well, today, I began on an equally high note. That is because, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have coffee-on-the-brain when I awoke. I didhave a “headache-on-the-brain,” and had to take my usual Tylenol. Which led me to tell myself that “Maybe I needed a cup of coffee, because withdrawals from caffeine” were “causing the headache.” Now, remember that I have allowed myself a maximum of TWO cups of coffee a day. I have continued to honor that.

So, I ambled down the hall (man, that wood floor is cold), and made a cup of coffee. I didn’t get that usual “ahhhhhh” feeling from it, but, I shrugged it off. It was only about 10 minutes ago that I realized I “might not need”coffee anymore. I decided that I “might not have” that second cup today. Then, I did the unthinkable and pondered that I “might not have coffee anymore.” I haven’t absolutely decided yet, and this indecision does NOT nullify the terms and conditions of my Recovery. But, I will reflect a little more today and see if I get a clear message that this is the correct next step on my journey.

Ultimately, there is no roadmap for Bingeing. That’s because everyone has different “drugs” of choice. I have to make it up as I go along, BUT, the thing to remember is, I can’t make the decision AFTER I’ve chosen incorrectly. (In other words, I cannot plan U-Turns into the road trip). I need to be vigilant and patient, and, when in doubt, say NO. That really is the safest route to take, because impatience and absent-minded eating are the hallmarks of my addiction. If I’m in a hurry, don’t want to think about it, or worse, hear myself sayING the words, “I can have just a little bit of that. A little won’t hurt. That’s not bad. Besides, I really want it.” — it’s a pretty safe bet that WHATEVER it is, is gonna go on the “NO” list.

The rule of the day is to BE STILL and listen to myself.

To read more like this, Join Me in the Bariatric After Life

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The Disease of Addiction

Jan 31, 2011

 

The Disease of Addiction

For a long time, I thought my obesity was my own fault. I thought that it was a horrible character flaw that led me to make bad choice after bad choice and become “grotesquely” overweight. I wondered why I had no will-power, why I didn’t like broccoli, and why I hated working out. I looked around and saw ambitious, healthy people doing all of the things I knew I was *supposed* to want to do, but didn’t. And so, the condemnation continued.

It was my own damned fault that I was fat.

And then I had gastric bypass surgery, and I learned that my obesity was not entirely my *fault* at all. I learned that it was a biological, physiological, emotional and spiritual disorder, which meant that I was contributing to it, but not necessarily causing it; that many of the things I thought or did exacerbated the problem, but didn’t create it.

And so, I went about the business of changing my behaviors; doing things that a healthy person did; thinking the way a healthy person thinks. Or, at least, I THOUGHT I did. As it turns out, I was doing a lot of self-sabotage by refusing to acknowledge 2 simple facts:

  1. I am a FOOD ADDICT
  2. Addiction is a Disease

Now, I know a LOT of people who steadfastly disagree with that second statement. They disagree to the point of anger, resentment and even hatred. They say that anyone who can CHOOSE “not” to have something, can’t possibly have a disease, because, well…you can’t *decide* not to have cancer.

Here’s what I’ve got to say about that: I didn’t choose to be a food addict, anymore than a cancer victim chooses to have cancer. BUT, I did do things that contributed to the severity of the problem; I made choices that inflamed my condition. I did things to make my condition worse.

If I were to draw a parallel between cancer and food addiction, I would say that, by my thoughts and actions, I made my condition worse. I refused to admit I even HAD it, and then I refused “TREATMENT” (almost like a cancer sufferer refusing chemo or radiation.) I believed that I had caused my problem (much like a lung cancer victim could believe they deserved their disease because they smoked, or a liver cancer victim could believe they deserved it because they drank.) I’m not going to say that smoking and drinking are good ideas, or that they don’t CONTRIBUTE to the disease, but I believe we are either predisposed to cancer, or we aren’t; we are predisposed to obesity and food addiction, or we aren’t.

It is immaterial whether you agree with me or not that obesity and addiction are diseases, for I have chosen to treat both conditions for what they are, instead of believing the misinformed and beating myself up for being a bad person.

Perhaps that is why choosing to abstain from addictive behavior is called RECOVERY. Like a cancer survivor who is in REMISSION, I will never be cured of my disease. It could come back at any time, so I must be ever-vigilant. I don’t know when a trigger will pop-up, or someone will inadvertently do something to encourage a relapse, but I cannot live my life fearing that the addiction will return.

Today, I choose RECOVERY. I choose NOT to allow my disease to rule my life. I choose to live my Bariatric After Life™ to the fullest and embrace all that life has to offer. But, just as a cancer survivor might have to take medication or participate in therapy, so must I.

At the end of the day, I could lament the fact that I am an addict; that I will have to fight obesity for the rest of my life. I could complain and ask “WHY ME?” — OR, I can be thankful that there is a treatment for my condition. I can have gratitude for the gift of recovery, and I can rely upon God for His healing touch. After all, RECOVERY is not something you do alone. You need the support and guidance of others who have gone before, and the power of someone who is much greater than yourself.

Thank GOD I have both :-)

Originally published 1/31/11 on BariatricAfterLife.com  Read more like this there :-)
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DId you get a Puppy or Perfume?

Dec 27, 2010

The GIFT of Bariatric Surgery

With the holidays safely behind me, I naturally started thinking about GIFTS. Perhaps I should have thought of this BEFORE the holidays, but this year, I was about as prepared as I ever am in that department (which means that I never really made a list, and only barely shopped, thank you, Amazon.com). Even though I had an excuse, many might say that this sort of “I’ll-figure-it-out-later” attitude was a major contributor in my becoming morbidly obese in the first place. I, on the other hand, prefer to think of it as an endearing quality that makes people love me more.

We’ll argue about that later…

Back to the topic at hand: GIFTS.

In the 3-years since my gastric bypass, I’ve met many post-ops who, like me, describe their bariatric surgery as a miraculous gift they wish they’d received sooner. Now, don’t get me wrong, we didn’t always feel that way – especially not in the beginning. I remember wishing that I could return my “gift” for a full-refund because I was quite clear it DIDN’T FIT (and never would!)

Perhaps it’s the fact that Thanksgiving and Christmas have whizzed by, or maybe it’s because the New Year (full of promise and possibility) is just around the corner, but I’m feeling a little nostalgic for that December day in 2007, when I unwrapped the greatest gift I ever gave myself: Gastric Bypass Surgery.

I remember it vividly. I was over-the-moon-happy – utterly ecstatic at my progress.

For about 24 hours.

BUT, I could walk all the way up the hall and back, I had zero interest in food, and I still had the benefit of pain medication any time I needed it.

Yes, life was good.

Until the gas pain set-in and I thought I was going to die. Okay, that wasn’t fun. Then I got home and couldn’t sleep in my favorite position. I didn’t like that either. I couldn’t get in my requisite “40 grams of protein” (no matter how hard I tried), and to cap it off, the scale actually registered heavier after surgery! What had I gotten myself into? I felt lousy, I looked lousy, and everyone in my house was lousy. One day, a week after surgery, I looked in the mirror and said to myself, “What the HECK were you thinking??? You didn’t NEED this surgery! You only had to lose 100 pounds. Why did you slice yourself up like this? The surgery was elective!”

Can you imagine uttering those words and actually believing them?

In my defense, at that point, I had hit that phase that so many people talk about: Buyer’s Remorse. I wanted to wrap this package up and return it (without a receipt!) I felt like someone had given me a puppy, instead of a lovely bottle of perfume.

What do I mean by that? Well, when you get a bottle of perfume, you either like it or you don’t. If you like it, you use it; if you don’t, you regift it. Easy and no strings attached.

Now, when you get a puppy? That is a whole different animal. The puppy is the easy part because EVERYBODY loves a puppy…for the first day. Then the puppy poops (on the carpet) and piddles (on the kitchen floor). The puppy cries all night, and wants to play when you want to sleep. The puppy chews on everything, and now you have to buy it food, pay for its shots and get it licensed. The puppy quickly becomes much more than you bargained for. But you have become attached to the puppy, so you can’t send it back.

Bariatric surgery is a LOT like a puppy. You have to feed it healthy food, your sleep will be affected for awhile, you’ll have to do a LOT more walking, and you’ll never be able to leave home without planning, packing and preparing.

You know what? I got a bariatric bulldog for Christmas 2007, and I couldn’t send it back if I wanted to.

The good news is, over time, I decided that maybe this wasn’t such a bad gift after all. I learned to focus on appreciating and taming my “puppy pouch” so that we could live in peace. After a lot of training and regular exercise, I’ve learned to love the gift I gave myself. Of course, just like any “puppy,” I have to pay close attention to my bariatric gift. I visit the doctor at least once a year for a check-up, I feed it right, praise it, and give it the respect it requires. Oh, and I keep it on a short leash so I can rein it in when it gets a little wild.

Like puppies, bariatric surgery is NOT for everyone. But in my case, though the price tag was a little higher than I expected, if I had it to do over, I’d ask Santa to bring me the very same thing.

Happy New You!

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