Clean Up in Aisle 5

So I did something stupid last week, something pretty uncharacteristic of me, and I’ve felt silly about it ever since. As it turns out it created a kind of ripple effect that’s working in my favor, so I guess it’s just as well that I did what I did, but still, I know why I did it, and I still feel pretty silly.

I ran into some old friends at the grocery store a couple of days before Thanksgiving. I know them from grad school and even though they’re closer with other friends of mine, we’ve hung out several times and it’s an all-around friendly situation. I haven’t seen them in a while, probably a year or so, certainly not since I went back to the movie store in July, so we were doing some quick middle-of-the-aisle catching up.

It was all very hi-how-are-you, what-are-you-up-these-days and as I’m standing there in my movie store work shirt I sense what feels suspiciously like inferiority-tinged desperation creeping over me. These people knew me when I was an up & coming graduate student with all the promise of a professional future in the exciting world of earth science; now here I am, at the same crappy job I was working part time three years ago, not doing anything with my life, and for the first time in a very, very long time – like, maybe since high school, for Christ’s sake – I thought, “Oh my God, I look like such a loser.”

I don’t even think that’s true - I really don’t! (Doth I protest too much? Screw you! I really don’t!) For one thing, I’ve got plans and a vision for my future and all sorts of things I want to do, things that I’m actively working toward achieving. For another, I don’t give a crap what my job is as long as it pays the bills. I’m not ashamed of where I work or what I do; I like my job (for the most part, when it’s not driving me crazy) and I certainly don’t care about power or prestige or even what people think of me (for the most part). And yet there I stood in the Food Lion meat department, scrambling to make a mad dash out of Loserville.

All of a sudden I knew what I was going to say. I didn’t want to say it, knew I shouldn’t say it, there was no reason for me to say it, and yet out it came: “I’m planning on joining the Peace Corps.”

Now this is not a lie. I haven’t come to that, at least; I am not yet so pathetic that I need to make up fictional aspirations or accomplishments. I really do plan to join the Peace Corps, I’ve got the application almost completely filled out and everything, it’s just that a) I made the decision about 5 days prior to this encounter and b) why am I telling them this?? I haven’t even told my best friends at this point, so why am I talking about it in the grocery store with people who are slightly more than acquaintances?

I’ll tell you why: because I used to be a promising graduate student, until I chucked all that promise out the window and disappeared from the world they knew. I know what happened back then and while I may not know exactly why I did what I did, I’ve come through it and I’m moving forward. My friends in the grocery store don’t know any of that stuff, though, and I just didn’t want to look like a loser.

None of this is any kind of big deal, I’m aware of that. People do stuff like this – and way worse, I’m sure – all the time. Not me, though; not typically. I don’t feel bad so much as ridiculous – I think “silly” sums it up pretty well. On the plus side, the whole experience may help me move forward with my Peace Corps plans. My friends were excited to hear about my plans because hey, they’re good friends, they probably don’t think I’m a loser (probably), and said I should get in touch with another mutual friend of ours who was in the Peace Corps years ago. And lo and behold, guess whose boyfriend walked into the movie store today?

I laughed when I saw him and told him about last week’s conversation (minus the psychobabble of my inner monologue) and he was so excited for me, he gave me their number and wants to get together and talk. The best part was having an honest exchange about spinning my wheels in a convenient though essentially dead end job, a situation he can relate to. So I’m looking forward to hanging out with him and his girlfriend, especially since I think it’ll really motivate me to keep moving forward with this newfangled idea.

It still strikes me as funny that almost two years past the whole grad school experience, this one chance encounter put me right back on the defensive. I know I’m still dealing with the fallout of that part of my life and will probably continue to for a long while, but I generally do a good job of keeping it all in perspective. But if losing perspective in what seemed like a random moment turns out to have been fortune smiling down on me once again, then hey, I’ll roll with it.

Trust

I can relate to the alcoholic mindset "One drink is never enough." The same goes for me: one cupcake is never enough. One of the behavioral changes I've been working on is trusting myself and trusting my body, which is pretty scary because sometimes my body wants a cupcake and I'm afraid one just won't be enough.

The concept of pigging out in moderation is completely foreign to me. Those scenes in movies and on TV where girls are depressed or upset and eating ice cream out of the carton have always baffled me. I thought it had to be one of those exaggerations that seem realistic but don't really happen, like girls showering together after gym class or having pillow fights at a sleepover. I mean, those girls are never fat, so they obviously don't eat like that all the time (and they can't ALL be bulimic), and if you're eating out of the carton you're obviously eating the whole thing, right?

Last week I had what I'm starting to realize - and trust - was a "normal" food experience, though at the time I was freaking out because it felt like old times, and not the good ones.

That day I skipped breakfast (which never bodes well for me), ate a small lunch and then a light - though very satisfying - dinner. Leaving my friend's house around 10:00, I started jonesing for something sweet. The craving escalated quickly to near-manic proportions - I wanted junk food and I wanted it NOW. This is not a new feeling, in fact it's very familiar, but I haven't experienced it in so long that I hoped it was behind me. This is the feeling that has led to countless bakery thrift shop benders and 24-hour convenience store junk food runs, countless stomachaches, countless shame spirals. So yeah, I approached Food Lion with more than a little trepidation, though not enough to make me turn back (also familiar).

I had my sights set on pumpkin pie and sure enough, they were on sale. Again in typical fashion, I tore into it in the parking lot with the vigor of a junkie who needs his fix NOW. I continued eating during the five minute drive home but before I got there, something unexpected happened: I STOPPED EATING. I parked in the driveway, brought the rest of the pie (approximately half) in the house, and pretty much forgot about it for the rest of the night. THAT is not typical of my old behavior, I can tell you that much. The old me would have finished that bad boy before I got out of the car.

What it comes down to is this: I wanted pie. I ate some pie. I didn't want pie anymore. I stopped eating pie. I imagine that to a "normal" person, this is normal behavior. To me? It totally fucking blows my mind.

Sure, I ate the rest of it the next morning, which maybe isn't the healthiest breakfast but at least it served as a meal - pie for breakfast, not pie and breakfast. And two days later I got another pie, which I again ate in two sittings, but by then I had figured out an important piece to the puzzle: I was PMSing.

Now that I don't eat junk food all the time, I've been able to recognize a specific craving for it in the week before I get my period. I tend to panic a little when it happens because I fear I'm reverting to old habits, but when I satisfy the craving, whether it's for ice cream, chocolate, or pumpkin pie, I am in fact satisfied and don't lose control. This has been happening with a fair amount of regularity over the past six months, so you'd think I'd have stopped panicking by now. Of course, I would probably be less surprised if I paid attention to the calendar.

I think the panic is related to fear of losing control. The urge for pie that night was overwhelming but I didn't fight it, didn't try to exert my will - we all know how exercises in willpower tend to go - instead I trusted myself and in the end I got what I wanted without feeling bad about myself.

That's my goal, really: to eat what I want and not feel bad about myself. I've always hated diets largely because I'm just not organized enough to follow one successfully; eating food just shouldn't be that difficult. Plus I've never been one to deny myself something I really want (and if you've ever eaten my grandmother's Christmas cookies, you understand the futility of trying). Slowly but surely, I'm learning to trust that the changes I'm making are very real, and that trusting myself is the best way to get what I want.

Slipper socks - MEDIUM!

OK, that heading (a Christine Baranski quote from The Ref) has nothing to do with my post, it's just a phrase that always springs to mind when I hear the word "medium", which is what my post is about.

I've written about the behavioral changes I've been making with regard to food over the past 11 months and while weight loss has not been my focus, it has happily become a side effect. I don't know what I weighed in January when I started treatment and when my food therapist weighed me the other day I told her not to tell me the number; if I start thinking in terms of numbers I have no doubt that they will hijack my focus and all the old expectations & anxiety will come flooding back and derail my progress. So I don't know what I weigh, but I do know that I've lost 35 pounds.

I didn't need to get weighed to know I was losing weight. All my clothes fit differently - thank God I never throw anything away, I don't have to buy new clothes because I'm starting to fit into my old ones! - and I can feel the difference in my hips and belly. I'm happy that it's happening but it's not what my life is about; my life is about making healthful choices and positive changes (and movies & television, of course).

That being said, I had a pivotal clothing experience today: I FIT INTO A MEDIUM SIZED T-SHIRT! I whole-heartedly believe that size is just number; I don't aspire to a specific weight or size, that's not what this is about - this is about not owning a medium sized garment since I was about 12 years old.

Granted, it's a large medium. My friend Linda gave me a couple of shirts a while back because they didn't fit her right. I literally laughed in her face and told her it didn't matter how big they ran, they would never fit me. I tried one on just to be sure and it was airway-restricting tight. The only reason I didn't throw them away was because I figured I could use them as car cleaning rags (and also because, as stated above, I never throw anything away). And there they've sat all these many months - geez, maybe even over a year - crumpled up in the backseat of my car - until tonight.

One of the perks of having a ridiculously cluttered car such as I do is that there's often a solution to any last-minute wardrobe emergencies. I wasn't planning to go out after work tonight so I didn't bring a change of clothes. When my plans changed and I was too lazy to drive all the way (i.e. 3 miles) home, I started excavating.

Since I recently (i.e. in May) cleaned out my backseat (i.e. reduced a 3 foot pile of clutter to 1 foot), my options were limited to a yellowed white T-shirt and the aforementioned medium. There was also a zippered sweatshirt back there, so I figured even if the medium was too tight I could cover most of it up with the hoody. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the shirt not only did NOT restrict my airway anymore, it actually FIT! Like in an I-don't-necessarily-HAVE-to-cover-this-up-with-a-hoody kind of way. Mind you, I still wore the hoody, but it looked better that way and besides, it was chilly out.

There is no real point to this story, only that I fit into a medium sized T-shirt today, and it was extremely gratifying. I'm also reassured by the fact that I had a stronger emotional response to how I felt in my clothes than to learning exactly how much weight I've lost. I don't need or want my existance to be validated by weight loss but the fact that something so mundane affected me so profoundly is significant, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Fat Girls Laugh Last

There were two major reasons I was skeptical about watching the Steve Carell movie Get Smart. For one thing, film adaptations of TV shows are often mediocre at best. For another, the previews highlighted an over-the-top dance sequence featuring Carell with a Very Large Woman. All I could think was, “And now for the 'Let's Laugh at the Fat Girl' portion of tonight's entertainment.” Ugh. I got the same feeling in my gut that I used to have in high school approaching a group of kids I thought would make fun of me.

Luckily the cast and my love for the show won me over; otherwise I would have missed out on a very funny movie and one of the greatest Fat Girls in Film moments I've ever witnessed.

First of all, it's more of a “laughing with” than “laughing at” type of scene. Trying to one-up his partner, Agent 99 (Anne Hathaway), on the dance floor, Maxwell Smart (Carell) approaches a group of blond girls.

“May I have this dance?” he asks.
“No,” the alpha blond sneers at him.
“I wasn't asking you,” he says.

The crowd parts and we see that the object of his pursuit is the Very Large Woman mentioned earlier (Lindsay Hollister, who has fabulous hair and wears a stunning gown).

It is revealed earlier that Smart was formerly 150 pounds overweight (those were the “Let's Laugh at the Fat Guy” scenes), so it's fair to say he knows how this girl feels. The implication of choosing her in his effort to impress 99 is that her weight is not a liability, it doesn't diminish his confidence in achieving his goal. Sure, the big lift at the end is meant to be funny because of its absurdity but it's the situation that's absurd, not the girl.

The best part comes after the dance: Walking past those same snotty girls, our heroine pauses to smirk and flip them the bird. Take THAT, bitches!

It seems like in most outcast fat girl scenarios in books, movies, and on TV, the “happy ending” is either the fat girl getting skinny (a la Smart) or winning over the cool kids by proving herself. What does being fat have to do with a person's merit? What is there to prove? This girl doesn't try to win anyone over. She doesn't want to be friends with those blond bitches; why would she? She knows what they think of her. She has her great little “Eff you” moment and goes on her merry way.

In Get Smart, the fat lady doesn't sing, she gets the last laugh.

Convenience Store Epiphany

So back in April I had a major epiphany that has completely & irrevocably changed my life and, for reasons I don't fully understand, "fixed" my relationship with food. There were two major results of this experience: I am no longer a compulsive eater, and for the first time in my life, I can say without any hesitation, "I know what I want to do with my life." Actually it's more like "I know what I was meant to do with my life," but that sounds a little woo-woo and I'm trying to maintain a grounded, rational discussion here.

Prior to April 15, 2008, my thinking was, "I want to be a writer." After that day my thinking was, "I AM a writer." I was not published on that day, I did not "sell" a screenplay, I was not accepted into the fellowship program I applied to in February; in fact, I received no validation from any outside source that this was the path I should take. It was like a bolt of lightning out of the sky - a sudden and unwavering awareness of who I am.

Sitting in my room that night, I knew a fundamental shift had taken place, I could FEEL it, but I didn't know what it meant or how it was going to manifest itself. Would I stop being a slob now and be able to keep my room clean? Start being responsible with money? Stop procrastinating? For days I tried to pinpoint the effects of my experience; it finally came to me suddenly a week and a half later, in the unlikeliest of places.

For the first time since that fateful night, I found myself in a convenience store. I was going to Burgaw with my friend Bridgette, who runs karaoke out of a bar up there on Wednesday nights. I had to wait over an hour to have dinner but I was hungry right then and if I waited an hour, my hunger would be out of control and so would my eating. So I was going to get a snack at the convenience store where Bridgette was getting gas. I stood about fifty feet from the entrance, psyching myself up for the experience, repeating my healthful eating mantra to myself: I can eat anything I want, I just have to want it. I was about to be surrounded by all the delicious junkfood that I love so much, that I can never trust myself around, that I have so often gorged myself on -- it requires a lot of trust in myself to be able to make healthful choices and historically, trusting myself is not one of my strong suits.

I stepped forward, the automatic doors slid open, I entered, and was immediately overcome by an overwhelming feeling of...NOTHING. Mrs. Freshley's Honeybuns to my left, candy bars to my right, Hostess snack cakes dead ahead, and I felt...NOTHING. A chill radiated through my body as I stood there, stock still, in the middle of the store, looking around in wonderment, a semi-hysterical chuckle bubbling up and out of me. I swear to god, I looked like a CRAZY PERSON.

Prior to that moment if you asked me how convenience stores made me feel, I would've looked at you like you were crazy. Don't get me wrong, I've always had a deep and abiding love for convenience stores, particularly the 24 hour variety and even more so the ones that sell Slurpies, but feelings? Not so much.

Well, standing in that store that day, I became aware of those feelings in their absence: I felt no ecstatic elation at the prospect of so much wonderful goodness to choose from, no anxiety that I wouldn't choose exactly the right items to make me feel the way I wanted to feel, no sinking feeling that I was about to once again lose control and once again disappoint myself and once again prove that I have no willpower.

I roamed the aisles in a daze, afraid to trust this odd new detachment. I forced myself to stand in front of the snack cakes, saying to myself, "OK, you can have ANYTHING YOU WANT -- what's it going to be?" Shock and awe followed when the answer came back: "Not this." WHAT?! I am giving myself permission to eat ANY yummy snack cake I want with no judgment or criticism, and I DON'T WANT ANY?!?! Who AM I???

I wandered around that store for 5 minutes, uninspired by any of the myriad choices, finally settling on a diet Mountain Dew, a pretzel/chocolate granola bar, and peanut M&Ms (my go-to junkfood because it pairs protein with the sugar). I ate the granola bar and half the M&Ms in the car, then put the candy away when I wasn't hungry anymore. I put them in my purse, and then FORGOT ABOUT THEM FOR 3 DAYS. I promise you, that's the first time in Jennie history that THAT'S ever happened.

When we got to the bar I went next door to the Chinese place to order dinner. After choosing my main dish (chicken chow mei fun) I looked at the appetizers, of which I usually get one or two or three, but found myself uninclined to order anything (since WHEN???). Thinking healthfully, I checked out their veggie selection but remained uninspired, so ended up with just the noodles. Another first in Jennie history: ordering a single item off a Chinese menu. And another: when we left, I THREW THE LEFTOVERS AWAY. I didn't do it to "be good" or for any other bullshit will-power related reason, but because there wasn't much left and it would be a hassle to carry it in the car. Normally the anticipation of having more yummy Chinese food for later outweighs any and all practicality but on that night, it didn't matter; at that moment I was no longer hungry, therefore I did not care about food.

And that's how it's been for me ever since. I was really, really scared that it was just a phase, that it would eventually pass, but Chaundra assured me that it was for real, and she was right. For the first time in my entire life, food has lost its power over me. As far as I can tell, repressing my desire to write has been fueling my compulsive eating behaviors and in the instant that I embraced my passion, my compulsion was lifted.

I've got a long way to go on the road to getting my shit together so I hesitate to use definitive terms, but honestly, my food issues -- the main aspect of my life I was seeking to address when entering therapy -- are resolved. Not only that, I've noticed other compulsive tendencies have diminished as well, and for the first time in two years, the burden of my failure to complete grad school weighs less heavily upon me.

Honestly, I thought it would take a lot longer to get here than it did. I mean, I was thinking a year, minimum, and there I was after four months. Now, I can walk into a store, a restaurant, an ice cream shop, and if I'm not hungry, none of that food means anything to me. And it's all because I stopped fighting, stopped hiding, I stopped lying to myself and faced the truth, and now I know who I really am. I feel like I've been let out of jail.

RIP George Carlin, You Old Fuck

It's funny the way things happen without us even being aware of them. When I was a senior in high school my friend Ed introduced me to George, who quickly became one of the most powerful influences in my life, though I didn't know it at the time. I listened to Ed's "Parental Advisory: Explicit Lyrics" tape until it broke. For months I played it on a loop, flipping it over again and again, to the point where I knew most of the act by heart.

It's not just that Carlin is funny or even that he's clever; it's his brutal honesty about the world around us that makes his voice so powerful. I had never heard such a cynical point of view before and I really, really liked it. He articulated thoughts and ideas I was barely aware I had but when he spoke, I knew he was right about EVERYTHING.

My world view was formed in large part by my father, beginning very early in childhood. While I wouldn't describe him as a cynic, his views on government and the church certainly lean that way. I very clearly remember him saying to me, "Do you know how many homeless people they could feed with the money they'd save on heating bills if they put a drop ceiling in one of these fucking churches?" How could I NOT be a Carlin fan with a dad like that?

A few days ago I saw that his show "Doin' It Again" was on HBO, so I sat down to watch and lo and behold, it was the same show I listened to on tape 15 years ago under a different title. His material is just as funny and relevant now as it was then and I could still recite most of the lines, but what was totally and completely shocking was the direct correlation between his world view and my own, particularly in terms of language and the way we use (and abuse) it.

After reciting a string of racial slurs, he makes the point that there's nothing wrong with any of those words:

"It's the context that makes them good or bad. For instance, you take the word 'nigger'. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the word 'nigger' in and of itself. It's the racist asshole who's using it that you ought to be concerned about."

To my mind, that is a completely logical argument. I might not have been able to articulate it at 18 but I recognized its truth when I heard him say it. Hearing it again all this time later, it's amazing to realize that he really taught me something, he pointed my brain in a new direction, he contributed to the foundation of my blossoming adult perspective.

I had no idea his influence on my life was so profound until I heard those same ideas and arguments again across the distance of time and experience. That was also the moment I realized that this blog owes its title to George Carlin, because his demystification of language is directly related to my embracement of the word "fat". It would be a couple of years before I could actually say the word out loud, but he planted the seed.

When I first started using the word "fat" it did not trip lightly off the tongue. I was embarrassed to say it but also pissed because there's nothing wrong with the fucking word - it's just a word! How is "fat" worse than "overweight", "heavy", "chubby", or "big"? The truth is, my problem was not with the language, my problem was with ME. I didn't accept myself as a fat person so I used any other word but the actual definition of my body type to describe myself because I DIDN'T WANT TO BE FAT. By using euphemisms I was lying to myself, distancing myself from the truth. As the man said:

"I don't like words that hide the truth. I don't like words that conceal reality. I don't like euphemisms, or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms. 'Cause Americans have a lot of trouble dealing with reality. Americans have trouble facing the truth, so they invent the kind of a soft language to protect themselves from it."

It's not like I was hiding anything from anyone, least of all myself; changing the language didn't fool anybody into thinking I was something different than what I was. Not that my weight defines me, though I've let it do just that for most of my life. I started using the word "fat" when I was ready to stop deluding myself.

As a culture, we're pretty good at deluding ourselves, particularly when it comes to body image. Think really hard: when's the last time you heard someone use the word "fat" as a descriptor when there was a fat person within hearing distance? I love the pause you sometimes hear as they desperately grasp for a euphemism midway through their sentence: "You know who I'm talking about, the...big girl from two doors down." "So Phil, have you always been...overweight?" "It's too bad you're so...heavy, you've got such a pretty face!" What other subtext is there to a statement like that other than, "Too bad you're such a hideous, fat-assed monstrosity."?

Life's too short for that kind of bullshit. Carlin knew that, it's what his life's work was all about, revealing the truth buried under the bullshit. The greatest lesson I learned from George Carlin was this: "You can't be afraid of words that speak the truth, even if it's an unpleasant truth." Who's gonna tell it to us now, George?

On Writing

I've always loved to write but it wasn't a serious pursuit until this year. I've been talking about writing a romance novel for years but that was a vague, one-day-in-the-distant-future kind of plan. Having crashed and burned on the grad school front, I've been plodding along these past two years, trying to figure out what to do next. When I started getting my shit together in January I realized that of all my interests, writing was the big one, and if it was something I wanted to be serious about, I needed to get serious and start, you know, WRITING.

Wonder Woman gave me the kick in the ass I needed. Pissed off that women keep getting the shaft when it comes to superhero movies (Aeon Flux? Really? That's the best they could do?) and distraught that Buffy & Firefly creator Joss Whedon was off the proposed Wonder Woman film project, I decided to take matters into my own hands. While the likelihood of my screenplay seeing the light of day is miniscule, if a Filipino kid with a YouTube account can become the lead singer of Journey, anything's possible. Besides, the point of writing isn't to get produced or published or rich & famous, it's to do what I love. So I started doing research, most of which consisted of buying comic books, and my first major writing project was begun.

It wasn't the first; I can't tell you how many screenplays and stories I've gotten five or ten or twenty pages into, only to abandon the next day when the adrenalin rush was over, or when it became difficult to get my thoughts and feelings across the way I wanted to. That's pretty much par for the course for me: get amped up about something, jump right in with all the passion in my heart, and work my ass off - until things get too hard or too boring, and the downward spiral begins. This leads to failure, then depression. It's happened with jobs, with creative projects, and most spectacularly with graduate school, and every time, there was that voice in my head whispering, "You knew this would happen, you never finish anything you start, what made you think this was going to be any different?"

Well this time it WAS going to be different. I was in therapy now, I was taking charge of my life, I was going to follow through and finish the things I start, and I was going to be a writer. Except I felt like I was play-acting. I walked into the office of a neighborhood magazine and asked the owner about their hiring practices. She asked if I was a writer and took me completely by surprise. I almost laughed out loud and stuttered incoherently for a moment before replying, "...yes?..." - not the best way to instill confidence in a potential employer.

So far, though, things ARE different because six months later, I'm still writing! It really is the only profession I'm suited for because I can go in twelve directions at once, writing about different subjects, in different styles, for different purposes, at any hour of the day, and I'm still technically doing the same job. Plus, because I actually AM getting my shit together, I'm finishing the projects I start! I'm not doing anything that draws an income yet, but that's OK; I've spent twenty years procrastinating, I need practice developing discipline. Once my footing is a little more steady, watch out - Wonder Woman, I'm coming for you baby!!!

Bathing Suit Season

From April 1:

Years ago, around age 19 or 20, I made a decision not to let my fear of other peoples' opinion prevent me from doing the things I wanted to do. In other words, if embarrassment about my weight was the only thing holding me back, then fuck that, I was going to do it - and that included going to the beach.

Up to that point, I was strictly one of those T-shirt-over-the-bathing-suit types. An oversize T-shirt is like a fat girl's binky; we act like it's a cloak of invisibility but come on, who do we think we're fooling? Trust me, the answer is nobody - except ourselves, of course.

I am not a sunbather; if I'm going to the beach, then I'm going in the water, and a clingy wet T-shirt isn't much more revealing than a bathing suit. So I took what was a huge step in personal growth and gave up the binky, which I still consider one of my proudest achievements because as silly as it seems - as silly as it IS - it was very hard to do.

Fast forward ten years and you would barely recognize me. Oh, I'm still fat - fatter, in fact - but I've got loads more self-confidence, I'm much less self-conscious around other people, and I'm no longer shy. So it was extremely disturbing to suddenly find myself begging off when my friends - my very close, loving, accepting friends - would go to the beach, knowing that the real reason was my discomfort at the thought of hanging out in my bathing suit. What the hell!! I already dealt with this shit, right?!

Apparently not. My theory is that my "big achievement" was not actually acceptance of my body so much as it was a "fuck you" to the people I perceived to be judging me, who were basically strangers at the beach. These weren't strangers anymore, these were people I cared about, whose opinion I cared about, and for some reason it's a lot more difficult for me to feel vulnerable in front of them.

So I never went. For two years I lived in a gorgeous house blocks from the beach; for three summers that house was "beach central" for my best friends; for three summers, I denied myself the pleasure of the ocean and their company, all because I was too chicken-shit to let them see me in a bathing suit.

That ends now. I still live blocks from the beach and by god, I'm going to take advantage of that. I'm done living in fear, and I'm done denying myself things that bring me joy, even if they make me feel uncomfortable. It's been easy so far because most of my beach-minded friends have moved away, so I've been going solo, but the first day I went this summer it was with the intention of meeting up with friends, and as far as I'm concerned, that counts as personal growth.

Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, thou art my downfall

From March 21:

So I'm on a road trip with Amy, one of my best friends in the world, and we go to Wendy's because we're on the road and not even half way there, and I'm being MINDFUL, which is a major pillar in my work with Chaundra. Standing in front of the menu, I go with the jr. bacon cheeseburger because I'm not convinced the chicken they use is any less disgusting than the beef, and I'm starving, so give me a break. Besides, another pillar of my food therapy is knowing that I CAN EAT ANYTHING I WANT - I just have to want it. Well, I wanted a jr. bacon cheeseburger.

A third pillar is making HEALTHFUL choices, so I decided to get a baked potato and Caesar salad, too. (The kid asked me, "What kind of dressing?" He was impervious to my blank stare, brief hesitation, and deadpan response: "Caesar.") Oh, I also chose water over diet Coke because I'd just read something linking normal doses of Nutrasweet to cancer in rats.

So I made two healthful choices and one not-so-healthful choice. Kind of a lot of food, but that was OK because part of being mindful is eating when I'm hungry and stopping when I'm full, so I just wouldn't finish everything. The problem was that I was soooo hungry, TOO hungry, and just like grocery shopping, it's not a great idea to order off a fast food menu when you're starving.

Maybe it's because I usually get 2 cheeseburgers at McDonald's, maybe it's because one didn't sound like enough, especially before I thought of the potato & salad. Anyway, Mistake #1: I ordered 2 jr. bacon cheeseburgers.

Now here's what I did that WAS smart: I only ate one of the burgers. When I finished everything else, I gaged my level of fullness and knew I wasn't hungry anymore. Which is great, but it led to Mistake #2: Not throwing the goddamn 2nd burger away. No, God forbid i waste some crappy fast food that cost a DOLLAR; instead, I put it in my pocket. You know, for later (yeah, right).

That 2nd jr. bacon cheeseburger proceeded to stalk me over the next several hours. I missed entire pieces of conversation with Amy because my attention was so focused on that crappy burger. I held out for almost three hours until it broke me down. Even though I was full and didn't particularly want the damn thing, I ate it anyway, just so it would stop nagging me. Let the inner monologue of doubt and contempt for my total lack of willpower or self-control or whatever it is that I seem to be incapable of begin...

Emptiness

In hindsight, this was a bit of foreshadowing back on February 7:

Right this second, I feel empty inside, like there's a large hole in my mid-section, right underneath my skin - LITERALLY, a hole. I'm sitting here, confused, unsure if I want to fill that hole with food, sex, or love. Or movies, my emotional stuffing of choice. When I want to feel love, I turn to movies because I can feel the characters' feelings, which I guess explains why love stories have always been my favorite. This hole is why I can't bear to be bored for a single second - sit still long enough, and I can feel the emptiness.

Healthy choices vs. weight loss

A crucial shift in my thinking happened on February 3:

This is going to be really hard. For the first time, I'm beginning to see these changes as health concerns, not weight concerns. I need to NOT FOCUS on the weight loss aspect. It's like, if I do, that makes it too much to deal with, puts too much pressure on me not to screw up, so I should just put it out of my head and focus on making lifestyle changes so that I can maintain my health. The weight loss will happen, naturally & gradually, as a result of my healthful choices, and I'll just handle it when I need to.

Insight #1

In my very first session with Chaundra back in early January, my mind was totally blown when I had the following insight:

My compulsive eating habits began at a very young age, though my weight wasn't an issue for several years. My hippie mom tried to restrict my sugar intake from birth (legend has it I wasn't fed any refined sugar during the first year of my life), which raised several eyebrows among less progressive-thinking members of the family. I don't remember my grandmother sneaking me junk food, but I've been told it happened. I picked up the habit and continued to hone my sneaking skills on my own, and around age 11 I started gaining weight.

Discussing this with Chaundra in what was the first completely frank and honest conversation about food I'd ever had in my LIFE, I had the following realization: Puberty started setting in when I was 11, so it logically follows that my changing metabolism caught up with my eating habits and I began to gain weight. That's how it started, not because my parents split up (which happened 4 years prior and didn't make sense as an explanation anyway), not because I was abused or traumatized in some way (I wasn't), not for any other reason than my body finally catching up to my eating.

Holy crap! Mystery freaking solved. Day one and as far as I'm concerned, we hit one out of the park.

Welcome to my psyche, you poor bastard

I made a decision around Christmas time that this was going to be the year for me to get my shit together, focusing specifically on all the bullshit surrounding my food and weight issues. Thanks to the financial & emotional support of my dear mother, I'm now firmly ensconced in therapy, and I'm making real honest-to-blog progress, which I intend to document here.

Right now I'm seeing two therapists, Ashley and Chaundra. With Ashley, the focus is my habits & behaviors, setting small weekly goals as well as larger, long-term goals, and improving my level of self-care. Chaundra is a food counselor; we focus very specifically on my relationship with food, working to change not just my behaviors, but my entire thought process surrounding food and weight loss.

I'm seeking real change in my life. I've been struggling with food my entire life and with my weight for a little over 20 years, and I finally feel like I'm ready to stop struggling. At 33 I'm in almost the same place I was at 23, and it's time to move on.

A quick note about the format: the first several posts are backdated, because while I've been writing about my experiences, I've also been dragging my feet getting this blog up & running. I'm on track now, though, and am ready to enter the blogosphere.