Things aren't always as they seem ...

I’m in bed one night. Can’t sleep.

I decide instead of laying in bed telling myself I should be sleeping … I’d get up and hope to grow tired.

I skimmed a post on the "buddyslim" site a while ago. Someone had written about diet pills. I was in a hurry to read more than one post so I didn’t read it line by line but what I read made so much sense.

This battle is so very personal. However, when a person feels they are “winning” the battle they are quick to offer advice ~ albeit unsolicited. They are quick to tell others what they have found to be “the answer” ~ and quick to rant on those things that, in their personal opinion, do not work.

We all feel like we’ve “mastered this weight loss battle once and for all” at one time in our lives or another. Few of us can claim this is our first go-round in the diet ring ~ at least few of us in our 40’s can make this claim. (Okay, at least “I” cannot make this claim.) But I also know that I have given advice to other’s when I feel like I have it all figured out. It’s usually with the best of intentions but that doesn’t make it right and certainly doesn’t guarantee to help their situation.

Experience and time … those are the best teacher’s and we all have to learn what works for us through our own experience and with the passage of time. Weight loss is more of a “Montesorri” kind of learning process ~ you have to figure it out at your own pace … it’s definitely not a “one size fits all” (which is kind of funny since the “once size fits all” clothing is usually FOR fat people).

Hmph - just sitting here adding things up I came to the realization that I have been dieting off and on now for over 30 years. Seriously? Thirty two years?? Unbelievable … but true.

I noticed my weight going up for the first time in the fall of 1977 - prior to this I don’t remember giving it too much thought. I do remember my brother telling me once that my name meant "cow” in Greek once when he was irritated with me about something. He liked to tease and did have a way of making me feel rather hefferish … but I didn’t see myself as being fat (and I wasn’t fat then) so I pretty much let his comment roll off my back. Fast forward though - to the Spring of 1977.

I had a crazy crush on a good looking 16 yr. old who had not only an incredible voice - but the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen. We met at a Christian Camp and I was smitten. Completely smitten. That was in April 1977 and after that "Easter Camp" we came back home, “dated” until the day before my 14th birthday in July.

When he broke up with me over the phone the night before I was to turn fourteen, I was simply heartbroken. He was a popular guy and I was the girl who had recently had braces put on (complete with head and neck gears - ha), the girl whose parents wouldn’t allow her to see the movies he wanted to see. He was the 16 yr. old casenova with a driver’s license and lots of friends. The movie “Rocky” was the big hit that spring ~ he wanted to take me to go see it - I was too "little" .... Looking back I can see I was cramping his style. But at fourteen years of age I didn’t see it this way.

On the morning of my fourteenth birthday I certainly felt like my world falling apart. I felt a pain and loss that I had never felt before. I was probably "grieving" … but I was just a “kid” and puppy love wasn’t taken too seriously by adults.

Looking back now I see that time during the summer and on into the many months ahead was the first time I remember eating.

I continued eating. And eating. I didn’t realize it then but I guess it numbed the hurt I felt in my heart. I was embarrassed and didn’t have the type of relationship with my parents that allowed for open communication about these types of things. I had a great friend who tried to help but I was too proud to share how much I was really hurting. So — I turned to food at the age of fourteen - July 15, 1977.

Here I am, exactly thirty two years later, still using food inappropriately. Wow! Really? I have seriously been struggling with my weight for thirty two years??

Yep - it’s true. That’s wayyy too long, isn’t it? It’s time I figure this out and move forward.

Back in 1977, in just a few months time, I had gained 30 pounds. (I only know this because of a doctor's visit for something totally unrelated.) My “normal” clothing didn’t fit anymore. I felt shy and unattractive (the head/neck gear certainly didn't help! ha).

The following year I would start at a new school, feeling awkward, frumpy and self-conscious. Every day during lunch "recess" at the new school I would go to the snack bar, buy a bag of M&M’s and a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, go and sit by myself alone and read a book. Every day!

The "Grace Livingston Hill" series. Wow - I'm not sure I ever actually read one of those books (ha). But I do remember going to the school library often and checking out a book so I could at least look like I was busying myself and didn’t mind eating alone.

But I did mind.

In my previous school I had been voted Class President and was the head cheerleader. (I'm embarrassed to admit that I was pretty cocky and had an inflated sense of self so I could've stood being taken down a couple notches.)

Now? At the new school? I was a nobody. I was the "chunky" new kid - with the headgear! (Okay, maybe the headgear was never mentioned but ... ha). I was the "unpopular" girl. This was new to me. I had always been a part of the “in” crowd. At this new school I was definitely an unpopular outsider. I was really depressed. "They" had no idea who I was (told ya I was cocky!). It stung.

Fast forward to the end of 11th grade. During the summer between my Junior and Senior years I got some type of flu bug and lost my appetite for a week or so. At the end of that week I decided to check the scale that my mom used in the bathroom. It was down from that doctor's visit. I figured, “Hey - this is pretty great - maybe I’ll just keep “not” eating. So I didn’t eat. My parents both worked so nobody paid much attention to what I didn’t eat. Long story short - I quit eating and started exercising. I don’t know how I came to figure out that this was a powerful method of weight loss … but when I exercised I lost MORE weight so … I exercised MORE. When I exercised MORE and ate LESS - I lost weight faster. A lot faster.

By the end of the summer I was down over 35 pounds. I was weak but I didn’t care. I looked great by the summer's end when I had my Senior Portrait taken. One of my classmates that I hadn't seen for 3 mos. made a big deal of how "good" I looked - how ... what? Did she just say skinny? To describe ME? Wow - this really WAS working!

I continued this non-eating lifestyle for an entire year - during which time I stopped having periods. One doctor mentioned the word “anorexia” to my parents - even back then - but it didn’t mean much of anything and I convinced my parents I was fine — never felt better. And in many ways I hadn’t felt better. Boys in school were paying a little more attention to me (well, I still had to ask somebody to take me to the prom ...) but I was definitely gaining some confidence back. Who cared if I felt hungry - the pay off seemed worth it.

Two days after my high school graduation I visited my brother’s church. I was looking for a college age group that was a little less conservative than the church my parents attended. That Sunday - again TWO DAYS after high school graduation, I met a guy. He was cute. He had a great voice. I kind of had my first “crush” since Jr. High. I asked my sister-in-law to introduce us and she did. Smitten. Hmmm - that was odd. I hadn’t felt that way for many years. A few weeks later another guy from church asked me out.

Huh? What? Seriously?

The next day the guy at the copy place asked me out. This was nuts? I didn't realize that life began AFTER high school graduation! ha I lost weight and now I was getting more attention. I liked that.

I chose the church guy -- the cute blonde with the cute mustache and the great voice. The cute guy with the sense of humor ~ albeit a little quirky. The cute guy whose brother was the pastor of the church. Yep - that guy.

So a few weeks later this same cute blond guy comes over to my house on “visitation” (that’s the church-y term used when you solicit people to come to your church! ha). I could tell he thought I was cute, too.

Another “long story short” - we started dating. That summer we went with his youth group (he was their 20 yr. old youth director and I had just turned 18 yrs.) to Great America. This is where I remember eating “normally” again for the first time in more than a year. I ate that day and got sooo sick. But - I had food back in my life. I didn’t gain too much because I still exercised excessively and we went and did so many things activity wise that I postponed some of the gain. But - during our dating period there were things that happened that caused me disappointment and I started to eat ... again.

I realize now that I had a lot of difficulty expressing my feelings in a healthy manner. I either kept them to myself or I let things simmer and then I'd let it all out. What I did consistently was ... I ate.

I ate to deal with my feelings. At one point about 3 yrs. into our relationship - prior to our marriage - I had gone from the 105 pounds I weighed when we first met to a "whopping" 125 pounds (probably a perfect weight for my 5′3″ frame now that I look back on it). I was attending college in a town close by the cute blonde guy. He was youth director at a new church about 45 minutes away from my college dorm. I visited the cute blonde guy often. He lived in a house that he rented with a couple of old family friends.

One night I was over at his place and I came out of the bathroom and he wasn't in the living room any more. Nobody else was home so I called out his name. He answered me from the kitchen.

I went to the kitchen and found him sitting at the little round table. He had his bible opened and was reading it. I asked him if everything was alright and he shook his head slowly back and forth - indicating that no, it was not. He told me that he was not happy with my legs and admitted that he was searching the scriptures to find some "validation" from God that it was okay that he didn't like the way I looked.

[NOTE:  Amazingly enough - he didn't find a scripture. Hmmm - imagine that?!]

But he told me that "in all honesty" he thought my legs were too fat and he wasn’t attracted to them but ~ he was "working" on this. I believe his exact words were, 'I'm praying about it.'

?

Okay.

Apparently, he had searched in vain for the affirmation from God that it was okay to want me to have better looking legs ... for him. For whatever reason - I hugged him and said I was sorry. I told him I appreciated his honesty.

Yep. I apologized to him. For my appearance, for my fat legs, for the fact that he wasn't attracted to me. I told him I would change and then I repeated that I was sorry about the way I looked.

I left his place shortly thereafter and drove back to my dorm. I was angry at him but I was more angry with myself.

Why was I "so fat" ...?

We married about a year later. Why? Well, I had always dreamed of becoming a wife and mom and I thought if I passed up this chance maybe another wouldn’t come along. (Ugh - sooo naive ~ I should've moved back near my hometown and looked up that copy place guy. He was a blonde and ... he was kinda' cute too!! ha)

But there are no do-overs, are there?

So there we were - married. I constantly believed he had a wandering eye … always looking for that replacement with the "good" legs that he desired -- and obviously they weren't on my body.  I never had a sense of security while with him -- this started during our dating years and continued on into our marriage.  He pastored little churches and we played church well. But I hated my life with him. I loved my children but grew to despise my husband. I had the mother-in-law from hell and wanted out sooo bad.

I stopped eating again about two years after our last child was born. I lost weight quickly and started receiving a lot of attention from men. It felt good to feel attractive again. I signed on to the internet and started talking to people in chat rooms. Innocently enough at first but couple this with a weight loss medication I was taking (Meredia - STAY AWAY FROM IT - it messes with your head and my counselor confirmed this ... she said she had other clients who reported behaving in ways uncharacteristic of themselves while on this pill -- BAD STUFF!) ... but I ended up looking for attention from a few guys online ... and cheated with two.  My ex chose porn, I chose chat.

And surprise ... we ended up divorced. Such a waste.  Probably with GOOD counseling and REAL commitment on both parts that cute little couple that pastored the cute little church, with that cute little family - coulda made it.  But we didn't.   My fault?  His fault?  Both our faults but - I hold myself to blame and always will.

Everything was screwed up. I started eating again.

That's the condensed version.

I haven’t stopped eating. I went from a low of 105 pounds at one point in my life to my current 218 pounds. I have gained even more just in the last week.

Food is my comfort. Being fat is my “safety”. When you’re fat - guys don’t pay attention to you. There’s not the threat of physical harm because ... you aren’t attractive. You aren’t tempted to cheat because nobody knows you exist - you can just hide in the pack.

These are things I am learning as I am journaling. I really AM a faithful person … but I have kicked myself so many times for my mistakes in my first marriage (not only for the infidelity but for marrying the cute blond with the mustache who didn't like my legs, who didn't protect our children, who chose his mother over me 10 times out of 10) … but there were so many kicks to my own self that are self-inflicted that the bruises run deep and they linger.

At some point I need to forgive myself and let it go. The past is the past. The future is what I make it. I just don’t stop long enough to decide what I want to make it.

"Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."

I have a good marriage now (the one I wish I would’ve had the first time around), I have three great kids, I have a decent job, I have a beautiful home. I should be healthy and happy and making the most of every day. Instead, I am battling my weight on a daily basis and I think I have really damaged my metabolism with the myriads of diets I have tried. You name it - I’ve been on it through the years: Jenny Craig, Nutri-System, Medi-Fast, Slim Fast, Weight Watcher’s. But starvation always worked the fastest and that was always my fall back.

Well, I don’t want to fall back any longer. I want to get this right. I want to make this permanent. I am seeing a counselor to work through some of these feelings but I don’t think I really have expressed them until just tonight (morning?). I do a good job appearing strong to the therapist because it is shameful to admit my mistakes of the past. But, in the words of dear ol’ Dr. Phil, “You cannot change what you don’t acknowledge.”

So there you have it. Me at 46 years of age. Acknowledging and getting closer all the time to ... change.

That is a good thing. I’m still not sleepy but I definitely feel better.

And, as always ... I’ll keep you posted …

... of walking and Winnebago's (Part II)

She told me to try to relax, close my eyes, and picture myself in a 'safe' place ... a place where I could let the cares of the world fall by the way. A place where I could think clearly. My eyes were closed. I tried to find "that" place.

The silence was broken when she asked, "Did you find a safe place?"

I said nothing. I was thinking.


Exactly WHAT I was thinking at that moment was, "I hope she realizes I'm not planning on being - nor will I allow myself to be - hypnotized."


But this wasn't about hynosis. It was simply about trying to set aside the cares and concerns of the day and concentrate. Focus. Relax.


Okay, I can do that. And honestly - who wouldn't want an opportunity to relax, to focus, to set aside any/all concerns of the day?

I closed my eyes a little tighter. My very next thought - to be specific - was, "I honestly don't think I can find a place where I feel safe. Where I can relax."

Hmm - I'm starting to wonder ... does this exercise come easier for other people?


I felt a little bad - the sick feeling that I was going to let her down, that maybe this was going to be a waste of her time. [Then again - she was being paid for this ... it wasn't a total waste.] But shoot. I was sincerely trying to find that "safe" place and it was eluding me.


She breaks the silence once again, "Have you found that place?" I want to crack a joke and say, 'Damn - I was almost there ... now I have to start over!" ha But I don't say anything. I know she's waiting on me but I don't respond. Although I have my eyes closed (hey, I do as I'm told) I can still tell in that deafening silence ... she's waiting. For my answer.

I don't have an answer yet. Hurry up! Hurry up! Come on!


It's a simple question: "Have you found a place that you can go where you feel 100% safe?"


Honestly? No. What can I say? No.

*****************************

When I was little I felt safe. In my neighborhood, in my backyard, in my home. Up until that bike ride down to the end of my street to hand out a 'revival invitation' I had felt "safe".

But on that day I jumped on my bike and rode down to the end of our block where my two friends, 'Bambi' and 'Trixie' (no, seriously!) lived. I was going to invite them to my church because we had a contest going on. Whoever invited the most people would win tickets to a concert I was dying to go to. I wanted to win.



Up until that day? Yes, I had felt safe in my neighborhood. I walked to and from school, I played outside, I went to the homes of my friends ... it was the old, "Go out in the morning - come back after the sun goes down." My friends and I used to play "red light/green light" - "statues" - "tag" - "hide and go seek." I hadn't a care in the world. And back then - yes, I felt "safe".


Then - I took that bike ride. It was the middle of the afternoon. I had grabbed a flyer and set out on my cool purple bike ... the one with the banana seat and white wicker basket that had three oversized plastic flowers on it.

It didn't take long to get to reach my destination. A house toward the very end of the block. I had made this ride many times prior to that day and, as always, I parked my bike at the base of their driveway and walked up to the porch.

I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked one more time. Still - no answer.

About this time I look back toward my bike and notice a white van. It had slowed down and was still moving forward but - a guy was looking out the window at me. I can't describe his face to you - but I remember at the time feeling weird. He looked ... evil. That is the only way I can say it. How I can give that description when I can't for the life of me describe anything else about his looks - I don't know. But his was the face of evil.


He wasn't the one driving the van - he was a passenger in the front seat. All of the sudden the van stopped. This white van began backing up. I began to knock on my friend's front door a little faster. A little harder. I thought to myself, "Please open the door. I'm scared."


I was 7 years old.


I can still hear the sinister laugh of this passenger as he exited the van. This guy was staring at me and smirking. Everything is now being played back in slow motion. The door opens. He steps out. The smirking continues. I'm thinking, "That man is gonna' take my bike!" I didn't say shit then - but I think if I had known the word ... that's what I would have verbalized.


But I was too innocent to even know that word. Or really - to know about "bad guys". But I remember feeling bad because he was going to take my bike.


And then? He walked right past my bike!


Uh oh.

I don't know when I realized ... he didn't care about my purple bike with the pretty white basket and the banana seat with matching flowers. He was walking straight at me.


I began knocking with a stronger sense of urgency - harder, faster. "Oh God! Please open! Please open the door!" There was no answer.

About this time I notice the bushes by the porch and I was thinking I could jump in the bushes before he reaches the porch. I can hide.

I don't think I ever jumped in the bushes.

Honestly, I don't know what I did. I don't know what happened after that.

I'm so sorry I can't finish my story better. I can only tell you - it wasn't a dream and it really happened but ... I am unable to remember anything else.

Except that ... that ride down to my friends' house was the last time I ever felt ... "safe".