I am a lucky, lucky girl. I don't always feel this way, but I am. I am unlucky in love, and I sometimes struggle at work or in my family, but I must always remember how very lucky I am. My blessings show themselves as the many wonderful, giving, generous, funny, interesting friends who are truly, truly there for me. This is always my safety net, even when I don't always love having people be, "there for me." I'm not good at asking for help, saying what I need, or accepting help, support, or even just kindness when it's offered. But I have a plethora of friends who do it anyways. And they are amazing people! I have friends here in Colorado that I work out with, sing with, and plan fun girl-outings with, or even have deep spiritual talks with. I have friends in Boston, Illinois, Florida, and New Jersey that are like extensions of my family and treat me like I'm just part of their household. I have friends who give me reality checks when I need to toughen my spine, and friends who hold me when I feel broken and miserable. I have friends who love to laugh and play, and friends who keep a serious eye on the road. I have great, amazing, funny, smart, talented, wise, selfless friends.
Although I sometimes feel that I don't have enough of the things I need, I always have more than enough love, support, fun, connection, places to stay, people who care about what is going on with me, and laughter.
I've had two very powerful reminders of this lately. They both revolved around my very-not-happy-day last Friday. I posted something about my tears on Facebook and within a couple of hours had an outpouring of support. Two friends called me to make sure I was ok, while another asked me if he should call and one more told me later he had picked up the phone several times wanting to call and check on me, but then wasn't sure if I was still at work. One of my friends, who I consider family, texted me some love, and a reminder that he would be visiting soon - a cross country trip he will make just to have some good times with me. I got messages from friends who reminded me that the person who bullied me deserved my pity, not my anger. I had messages of compassion, and messages from people reminding me they would happily take up my cause and kick some ass for me. All told, I heard from 15 people last Friday, all within 4 hours of my post. And every message, either explicitly or implicitly said the same thing, You are great. I think well of you. Don't buy into this bad experience as being true of what you mean or who you are.
It was humbling, this massive outpouring of support. It actually made me worry that I had presented my sadness and distress as being much more dire than they were. I was not in any danger nor was I without the tools or experience to deal with the situation. It was just a very bad day at the end of a couple of weeks that were very exhausting and very emotional. It was awe-ing to see how many people came "to the rescue" when I had a bad damsel moment.
The other thing that happened is that a couple of friends immediately started making plans with me. Plans to hike, workout, call, etc. And one of my friends, who I regrettably don't get to see enough of, reached and said, "I was supposed to have a weekend away with my husband and that's not going to happen, but I'm still going up there. Wanna come?" Ummm, YES!
A couple of days of hiking, mountains, lounging at the pool, and eating tourist food seems just fine to me. What will be best of all is the time to hang with her. We have found that we have conversations that start with where one of us go the shirt we're wearing and up with talking about atheism, running, zombies, psychology, child raising, and everything in between. We laugh a lot and have conversations that make us think hard (well, I can't speak for her, but I can for me).
This break comes at a good time. I've been struggling the last couple of weeks. I don't really feel I've earned another vacation after taking time off to go to Seattle just a couple of weeks ago but somehow I need it. Even for a day. The last two weeks have been difficult and uncertain ones for me at work, in my family, and in the relationship I'm not sure if I'm having or not having with my boyfriend. I have been on the road nonstop and have worked too many extra hours, while still fretting about being behind. I have worked very hard to be in a healthy place with my family, and I think I'm there but it's work. And I feel it. And things are still very open and undecided in my relationship, with some hopeful moments and some very sad ones.
All of that has affected the things I do to process and unwind. It's been hard to get my cardio in. It's been harder to sleep. I haven't gotten as much enjoyment out of singing or cooking because it takes me too long to let go of the other things that followed me around that day to get full enjoyment out of the fun of singing and cooking. And my writing has been effected. Squeaking out a few posts in the past week has been hard, hard going. I feel I am always trying for words that are just beyond my reach. The pieces of my thinking about whatever I am writing about don't quite come together in a strong fit because I'm kind of mentally FULL right now. There isn't room for a lot else, just the things that are already on my plate.
So, as I pack to head off to the mountains, I don't think I'm taking this blog with me. This is metaphorical, of course, since I will have technology with me. What I mean is, I just want to turn down the noise on everything right now, enjoy my friend, and see where that leaves my head and heart, and then see where that leaves my eating and my body. As you can imagine, during the last couple of weeks there have been victories and defeats in that category. Instead of focusing in and relentlessly tinkering with that non stop, I'm trying to take a brief respite; a moment of reminding myself that chubby or not chubby, healthy or not, single or coupled, I am lucky. Let's see what that does for my attitude, my faith, my outlook, and my motivation.
See ya'll on the other side of a mini-cation!
Friday, September 23, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
loyalty
I should call this post "to the bitter end," because that is too often the consequence of my brand of loyatly.
I have mentioned before that I am loyal to a fault, and sometimes to my own detriment. When I think about it, I'm not exactly sure where the kind of fierce loyalty I practice comes from. I don't have memories of some childhood lesson learned, or of this being presented as a value in the home I grew up in in words or deeds. If anything, I saw some pretty strong examples of reasons why sticking to someone or something can be more difficult than it's worth. Nevertheless, here I sit as one of the most determinedly steadfast people I know. I stick by people even when it makes no sense. I stick by people who have hurt me, or done things I don't condone. I have stuck by people and my caring for them even as they go to jail or make horrible mistakes they cannot take back. I have stuck by friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, and family when they have not earned it I have stuck by jobs even when I am frustrated or not making enough. I do this, and meanwhile do a killer job at whatever it is even when I think I deserve better. On a near daily basis I support policies that I disagree with out of loyalty and professionalism. I stuck it out in school even when my adviser abused me and stole from me, and when I realized that she had treated other students just as badly if not worse. Moreover, I finished my master's in her lab and thus ran her lab and advised her students for her.
Once I'm in, I'm all in.
I was talking with a good friend recently and he said, "I'm totally committed. You'd think it was a good thing but it's not." And I know just exactly how that feels.
I gain so much from this. I have gained the ability to forgive and move on (though it takes me awhile). I have kept friends I would have lost if I was faster to close the door. I have the ability to not give up on someone where other people would walk out and not look back.I assume my children will one day benefit from the deep value I have to commit.
If I had to guess, I would say this latching on and not giving up is about a few things. First, I am bad at giving up. I don't quit. I don't give in. I had a client a few years ago who made it her mission to make things very hard on the company, and since I was the representative of the company, her evil quest was directed at me. I remember saying to my bosses boss when she had made her most recent war volley that, "She picked the wrong person if she thinks this means I will give up. Because I will just dig my heels in harder." It took me forever to leave grad school, even though I had every reason to. (and I didn't exactly quit so much as I left at an appropriate juncture) It took me an extra year to get my black belt, and I just kept at it. I grew up with the message in my ear that math wasn't my thing. So, of course, after picking the one college where taking a math class wasn't required (no grades, tests, pre-set majors or required courses at Hampshire College) I "minored" in math. I don't give up.
The other issue is that I see what is good in almost everyone I meet, even people who really friggen annoy me. I see the good in the person who bags my groceries with tomatoes on the bottom of the bag. And I have a nice conversation with him. I see the good in the cop who pulls me over out of boredom (and says, "you were almost going over the speed limit."). I see the good in the family member who abandons me and my affection. I look for the better side hiding underneath the good in the friend who gave me a hard time. I see the good in the boyfriend who was pathologically not there for me and expected me to give, and give, and give. (When he left me in the town I had moved to for his benefit days after my father had died claiming somehow that that loss was more about his unresolved family feelings than mine, I stopped seeing the good . . . six months later. We don't refer to him by his given name anymore.)
It's hard for me to close the door on anything I have invested in - a job, a friendship, a degree, a person I love. For me, I call this the "used car problem." See, I've only ever owned used cars. and some of them were more used than others. When you get a great deal on a used car, you have to also plan that some of the money you saved will go into keeping the car alive. I'm also pretty on top of regular maintenance. So, at some point, I would look at each car and think, "How much more money will I put into you?" On my last car before this one, I replaced the battery, hoses, two tires, brakes and two drums, an important component of the electrical system, and water pump. That added up to more than I had paid for it in the first place. Of course, it didn't happen all at once. I invested a little bit at a time over 5 years. Somewhere in the third year I had the thought, "Do I really want to put this work into the car?" But then thought, "well, I've invested tires and brakes already, so I might as well pay the $300 for this repair."
It happens a little at a time, and it totally is the good money-after-bad issue. Only, with people, it's hard to see when the money turns bad. Well, for me anyways. If I don't give up on things, it seems just plain wrong to walk away from people.
The problem, of course, comes when people like my friend and I throw our lot in for the long haul and then get taken for everything we're worth. It's easy for someone who doesn't intend to be manipulative to take advantage of the capacity for commitment, and the large amount of loyalty. For someone who is needy, demanding, or a "taker" it's even easier. And let's just say that I have had my arm twisted professionally in the past.
When I allow this to happen, sometimes I get to keep someone or something in my life that deserves my investment, and sometimes I end up having to file a restraining order (true story). I am getting better at finding better used cars to begin with. My standards are going up. But my investments go up too.
I am working really hard these days to examine all my loyalties and see which ones best serve me. I am investigating deep, deep down to think if the people, places, jobs, and activities I put so much of myself into to see if I get enough out of it. I have found myself recently saying at work, "well, there's only one of me so I had to _____." I need to think this way more often.
There's only one of me. And I only get one today. One life. One heart. I need to . . . if not protect it, at least be very choosey. Otherwise I could give too much of myself to things that don't work for me. I feel really sad when I think about the time I gave away in my 20's to things that didn't get me where I want to be. I know where I want to be now, so I am looking very carefully.
I have mentioned before that I am loyal to a fault, and sometimes to my own detriment. When I think about it, I'm not exactly sure where the kind of fierce loyalty I practice comes from. I don't have memories of some childhood lesson learned, or of this being presented as a value in the home I grew up in in words or deeds. If anything, I saw some pretty strong examples of reasons why sticking to someone or something can be more difficult than it's worth. Nevertheless, here I sit as one of the most determinedly steadfast people I know. I stick by people even when it makes no sense. I stick by people who have hurt me, or done things I don't condone. I have stuck by people and my caring for them even as they go to jail or make horrible mistakes they cannot take back. I have stuck by friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, and family when they have not earned it I have stuck by jobs even when I am frustrated or not making enough. I do this, and meanwhile do a killer job at whatever it is even when I think I deserve better. On a near daily basis I support policies that I disagree with out of loyalty and professionalism. I stuck it out in school even when my adviser abused me and stole from me, and when I realized that she had treated other students just as badly if not worse. Moreover, I finished my master's in her lab and thus ran her lab and advised her students for her.
Once I'm in, I'm all in.
I was talking with a good friend recently and he said, "I'm totally committed. You'd think it was a good thing but it's not." And I know just exactly how that feels.
I gain so much from this. I have gained the ability to forgive and move on (though it takes me awhile). I have kept friends I would have lost if I was faster to close the door. I have the ability to not give up on someone where other people would walk out and not look back.I assume my children will one day benefit from the deep value I have to commit.
If I had to guess, I would say this latching on and not giving up is about a few things. First, I am bad at giving up. I don't quit. I don't give in. I had a client a few years ago who made it her mission to make things very hard on the company, and since I was the representative of the company, her evil quest was directed at me. I remember saying to my bosses boss when she had made her most recent war volley that, "She picked the wrong person if she thinks this means I will give up. Because I will just dig my heels in harder." It took me forever to leave grad school, even though I had every reason to. (and I didn't exactly quit so much as I left at an appropriate juncture) It took me an extra year to get my black belt, and I just kept at it. I grew up with the message in my ear that math wasn't my thing. So, of course, after picking the one college where taking a math class wasn't required (no grades, tests, pre-set majors or required courses at Hampshire College) I "minored" in math. I don't give up.
The other issue is that I see what is good in almost everyone I meet, even people who really friggen annoy me. I see the good in the person who bags my groceries with tomatoes on the bottom of the bag. And I have a nice conversation with him. I see the good in the cop who pulls me over out of boredom (and says, "you were almost going over the speed limit."). I see the good in the family member who abandons me and my affection. I look for the better side hiding underneath the good in the friend who gave me a hard time. I see the good in the boyfriend who was pathologically not there for me and expected me to give, and give, and give. (When he left me in the town I had moved to for his benefit days after my father had died claiming somehow that that loss was more about his unresolved family feelings than mine, I stopped seeing the good . . . six months later. We don't refer to him by his given name anymore.)
It's hard for me to close the door on anything I have invested in - a job, a friendship, a degree, a person I love. For me, I call this the "used car problem." See, I've only ever owned used cars. and some of them were more used than others. When you get a great deal on a used car, you have to also plan that some of the money you saved will go into keeping the car alive. I'm also pretty on top of regular maintenance. So, at some point, I would look at each car and think, "How much more money will I put into you?" On my last car before this one, I replaced the battery, hoses, two tires, brakes and two drums, an important component of the electrical system, and water pump. That added up to more than I had paid for it in the first place. Of course, it didn't happen all at once. I invested a little bit at a time over 5 years. Somewhere in the third year I had the thought, "Do I really want to put this work into the car?" But then thought, "well, I've invested tires and brakes already, so I might as well pay the $300 for this repair."
It happens a little at a time, and it totally is the good money-after-bad issue. Only, with people, it's hard to see when the money turns bad. Well, for me anyways. If I don't give up on things, it seems just plain wrong to walk away from people.
The problem, of course, comes when people like my friend and I throw our lot in for the long haul and then get taken for everything we're worth. It's easy for someone who doesn't intend to be manipulative to take advantage of the capacity for commitment, and the large amount of loyalty. For someone who is needy, demanding, or a "taker" it's even easier. And let's just say that I have had my arm twisted professionally in the past.
When I allow this to happen, sometimes I get to keep someone or something in my life that deserves my investment, and sometimes I end up having to file a restraining order (true story). I am getting better at finding better used cars to begin with. My standards are going up. But my investments go up too.
I am working really hard these days to examine all my loyalties and see which ones best serve me. I am investigating deep, deep down to think if the people, places, jobs, and activities I put so much of myself into to see if I get enough out of it. I have found myself recently saying at work, "well, there's only one of me so I had to _____." I need to think this way more often.
There's only one of me. And I only get one today. One life. One heart. I need to . . . if not protect it, at least be very choosey. Otherwise I could give too much of myself to things that don't work for me. I feel really sad when I think about the time I gave away in my 20's to things that didn't get me where I want to be. I know where I want to be now, so I am looking very carefully.
Monday, September 19, 2011
9 not-so-simple tricks
I had major IT issues today. And since the IT solution to everything always starts with downloading something and then restarting my computer, I did. After this giant problem (which plagued everyone at work, but hit me harder and in different ways because I am a remote worker and "off the system" ) I had to restart everything, and when my web browser opened, because it defaulted to MSN's home page, it opened up to a scroll of daily articles. One of them was titled, "9 quick tricks that cut calories." Of course I had to look.
It was an interesting read for me, not just in terms of getting good ideas, but in realizing that I already had a lot of this down or have adjusted to fit me better.read down and click on the individual slides. I had varying reactions when I read these from "oh, that's a good idea," to "yup, that works. I should do it more consistently" to "what?!"
1. Take note - logging food. People who logged their food were found to be able to lose twice as much as those who don't. This is because people often underestimate what they are actually putting in their mouths.
I do log my food. Sometimes I forget, but when I do it I am completely honest. Even if what I have to log is that I ate a bowl of popcorn for dinner. What works a treat about it is that when I log, I not only practice accountability and consider my serving sizes (which is the point), but I also end up doing some planning. Oh, I had Greek yogurt for breakfast so I should probably limit dairy for the rest of the day. Chicken for lunch, so I need to have eggs or fish for dinner. Three servings of veggies, at least 2-3 more! What doesn't work about this is that sometimes I get busy and forget to log my food. Right now I have an adorable little journal I carry around in my purse, and I'm getting better at it, but sometimes days slip by. This slide has inspired me to be more religious about it.
2. Find Balance - sometimes dieters get overwhelmed with counting calories, so this is suggesting that instead of counting every ounce and morsel people just try to balance their plates with 1/3rd vegetables, 1/3rd protein, and 1/3rd whole grains.
This sounds so good in theory. It can get time consuming to count calories, and for someone like me, absolute value of calories matters, but what matters almost as much is the source and quality of those calories. (Not all calories are created equal! 400 calories of protein and vegetables is not equivalent to 400 calories of beer) But, even 6 years ago we knew that grains needed a smaller place in the food pyramid. And now, we have something newer and more fine tuned that represents how many vegetables we really should be eating.So, I don't know about this 1/3rd of your plate in carbs thing.
More to the point, at least in my case, if I eat a third of my food in carbs, I will eat an amount of unneeded (and often unintended) calories equal to those carbs because those carbs will bump up my cravings and alter my blood sugar stability. In my world, carbs breed the need for more carbs. That's how over-zealous insulin works. So, the better plate for me is one where it's a smaller plate, and 2/3rds of it is covered with vegetables, some of them raw. And the rest with protein and maybe a smidge of dairy. Fruit about once a day.
3. Swap Smart - basically, the message here is that you can't deny yourself everything, but at the same time you can't have everything you want and still lose weight. So, if you want a treat, have a small one, but don't still have your sweet coffee drink, pretzels, or for yo too.
This I totally agree with . . . to a point. It can't be the case that people never eat a donut, cookie, or have a pumpkin latte again. That's not the real world. On the other hand, for me, having that cookie, even twice a week or so, will derail my results so much that it will demotivate me to the point of having that cookie every day, and then twice a day, and then in come the Cheezits and hello FRED! So, I need to not only give myself the cookie and then take something else away in its place, I need to pick and choose my moments to eat off plan VERY carefully, and keep those moments VERY isolated.
4. Scale Back - try cutting back on serving sizes by putting cereal in mug or dinner on a salad plate.
Duh. Serving sizes are one of the biggest problems we have created for ourselves. The next time you go to a restaurant, notice what they serve your entree on. It's the serving platter size in a dish set, not the dinner plate size! Having said all that, I do sometimes really blow it when it comes to serving sizes. See above - logging is good. Also, looking up some simple things about serving sizes can be helpful. When you read the calories, fat content, and protein per serving . . . pay attention to what the serving size listed there is! I've noticed it is so often smaller than what we normally serve up. How much is a serving of chicken or fish? About the size of a deck of cards. What IS 2 oz of shredded cheese? Get a scale. It's hard work, but worth retraining on this stuff. At least for me.
5. Slurp your starters - when eating out, have a broth based soup. It's filling and healthy and can help you eat less.
This works! Whenever I go for sushi, I get miso. Not only is it tasty, it is hot, simple, nutritious, and filling.
Other tips - I eat something fresh, raw, and high in fiber before going out. Apples! Broccoli! I go in filled up, and it keeps me from munching mindlessly on bread or chips and salsa.
Also, as much as possible, I look up menus before I go so I can go in with a game plan. And if I'm not getting a salad, I do try to ask for a box so I can split my meal into what I'm eating now and put away the part that is more than my serving size.
6. Slow down - try sipping water and even setting your fork down between bites. If the meal takes longer you are more likely not only to be more satisfied, but to know when you are full and not keep eating past your full point.
This works so well, except it's hard. I often have to eat in my car or very quickly before I get in my car. But even for eating small snacks, I do find that if I slow down, and eat mindfully, really paying attention to what I'm tasting, chewing it, and my other sensations, I enjoy my food more. And I eat less
7. Nosh often - eat smaller amounts more often throughout the day. This keeps your metabolism fueled all day as well as keeping you from being uber-hungry and then going overboard and eating too much in one sitting
This is a mainstay of EVERY sound eating plan. And there's a simple reason: eating makes your metabolism fires burn higher. Yes, that's right - eating makes you burn more calories. I know this sounds backwards, but every time you eat, it causes your endocrine system to fire up. The problem comes when I eat more than my metabolism can burn. But if I eat small amount, 4 - 6 times a day, it usually works out. And as a bonus, I'm never hungry or blood sugar crashing and I have more energy to work out, and more endorphins.
8. Pick Protein - protein is important for building lean muscle, which helps burn more calories. and it is also more filling so it should be part of every meal.
For me this is another no-brainer, but it also can be hard. I am the pickiest person in the known western world when it comes to knowing where my dead animal came from. It takes WORK for me to find chicken and meat and fish that I'm ok with, but it's valuable to do it if it means I can eat less carbs without feeling the loss so much. Plus, muscles are hot.
9. Beat Bloat - something about drinking water with lemon, and not eating too much broccoli.
I seriously don't know what this is about. I will not relinquish my broccoli.
So, the lesson here is that I'm doing quite a lot of what is recommended. As a result, my calories are fewer and my weight decreases as well. But it's probably worth paying attention to the places where I sometimes fall down on the job. I think it's also important to look at something else - whatever tips are here, there's also my explanation of making it work in my own life. Maybe there are places where I'm shorting myself results by messing around with the "formula" but there are probably just as many places where I made adjustments for the better. If I did nothing but apply a formula, I'd fail every time.
I know this because when I try to apply an equation to my eating and exercise without taking into account the variables, I fail. Every. Time. If I don't make it work within my real life, all it does is create an un-real life that I can't keep up with after a week or two.
So, simple tricks, but making them really work means factoring in how it works in my life. We'll see what the nutritionist says about this in a couple of weeks.
It was an interesting read for me, not just in terms of getting good ideas, but in realizing that I already had a lot of this down or have adjusted to fit me better.read down and click on the individual slides. I had varying reactions when I read these from "oh, that's a good idea," to "yup, that works. I should do it more consistently" to "what?!"
1. Take note - logging food. People who logged their food were found to be able to lose twice as much as those who don't. This is because people often underestimate what they are actually putting in their mouths.
I do log my food. Sometimes I forget, but when I do it I am completely honest. Even if what I have to log is that I ate a bowl of popcorn for dinner. What works a treat about it is that when I log, I not only practice accountability and consider my serving sizes (which is the point), but I also end up doing some planning. Oh, I had Greek yogurt for breakfast so I should probably limit dairy for the rest of the day. Chicken for lunch, so I need to have eggs or fish for dinner. Three servings of veggies, at least 2-3 more! What doesn't work about this is that sometimes I get busy and forget to log my food. Right now I have an adorable little journal I carry around in my purse, and I'm getting better at it, but sometimes days slip by. This slide has inspired me to be more religious about it.
2. Find Balance - sometimes dieters get overwhelmed with counting calories, so this is suggesting that instead of counting every ounce and morsel people just try to balance their plates with 1/3rd vegetables, 1/3rd protein, and 1/3rd whole grains.
This sounds so good in theory. It can get time consuming to count calories, and for someone like me, absolute value of calories matters, but what matters almost as much is the source and quality of those calories. (Not all calories are created equal! 400 calories of protein and vegetables is not equivalent to 400 calories of beer) But, even 6 years ago we knew that grains needed a smaller place in the food pyramid. And now, we have something newer and more fine tuned that represents how many vegetables we really should be eating.So, I don't know about this 1/3rd of your plate in carbs thing.
More to the point, at least in my case, if I eat a third of my food in carbs, I will eat an amount of unneeded (and often unintended) calories equal to those carbs because those carbs will bump up my cravings and alter my blood sugar stability. In my world, carbs breed the need for more carbs. That's how over-zealous insulin works. So, the better plate for me is one where it's a smaller plate, and 2/3rds of it is covered with vegetables, some of them raw. And the rest with protein and maybe a smidge of dairy. Fruit about once a day.
3. Swap Smart - basically, the message here is that you can't deny yourself everything, but at the same time you can't have everything you want and still lose weight. So, if you want a treat, have a small one, but don't still have your sweet coffee drink, pretzels, or for yo too.
This I totally agree with . . . to a point. It can't be the case that people never eat a donut, cookie, or have a pumpkin latte again. That's not the real world. On the other hand, for me, having that cookie, even twice a week or so, will derail my results so much that it will demotivate me to the point of having that cookie every day, and then twice a day, and then in come the Cheezits and hello FRED! So, I need to not only give myself the cookie and then take something else away in its place, I need to pick and choose my moments to eat off plan VERY carefully, and keep those moments VERY isolated.
4. Scale Back - try cutting back on serving sizes by putting cereal in mug or dinner on a salad plate.
Duh. Serving sizes are one of the biggest problems we have created for ourselves. The next time you go to a restaurant, notice what they serve your entree on. It's the serving platter size in a dish set, not the dinner plate size! Having said all that, I do sometimes really blow it when it comes to serving sizes. See above - logging is good. Also, looking up some simple things about serving sizes can be helpful. When you read the calories, fat content, and protein per serving . . . pay attention to what the serving size listed there is! I've noticed it is so often smaller than what we normally serve up. How much is a serving of chicken or fish? About the size of a deck of cards. What IS 2 oz of shredded cheese? Get a scale. It's hard work, but worth retraining on this stuff. At least for me.
5. Slurp your starters - when eating out, have a broth based soup. It's filling and healthy and can help you eat less.
This works! Whenever I go for sushi, I get miso. Not only is it tasty, it is hot, simple, nutritious, and filling.
Other tips - I eat something fresh, raw, and high in fiber before going out. Apples! Broccoli! I go in filled up, and it keeps me from munching mindlessly on bread or chips and salsa.
Also, as much as possible, I look up menus before I go so I can go in with a game plan. And if I'm not getting a salad, I do try to ask for a box so I can split my meal into what I'm eating now and put away the part that is more than my serving size.
6. Slow down - try sipping water and even setting your fork down between bites. If the meal takes longer you are more likely not only to be more satisfied, but to know when you are full and not keep eating past your full point.
This works so well, except it's hard. I often have to eat in my car or very quickly before I get in my car. But even for eating small snacks, I do find that if I slow down, and eat mindfully, really paying attention to what I'm tasting, chewing it, and my other sensations, I enjoy my food more. And I eat less
7. Nosh often - eat smaller amounts more often throughout the day. This keeps your metabolism fueled all day as well as keeping you from being uber-hungry and then going overboard and eating too much in one sitting
This is a mainstay of EVERY sound eating plan. And there's a simple reason: eating makes your metabolism fires burn higher. Yes, that's right - eating makes you burn more calories. I know this sounds backwards, but every time you eat, it causes your endocrine system to fire up. The problem comes when I eat more than my metabolism can burn. But if I eat small amount, 4 - 6 times a day, it usually works out. And as a bonus, I'm never hungry or blood sugar crashing and I have more energy to work out, and more endorphins.
8. Pick Protein - protein is important for building lean muscle, which helps burn more calories. and it is also more filling so it should be part of every meal.
For me this is another no-brainer, but it also can be hard. I am the pickiest person in the known western world when it comes to knowing where my dead animal came from. It takes WORK for me to find chicken and meat and fish that I'm ok with, but it's valuable to do it if it means I can eat less carbs without feeling the loss so much. Plus, muscles are hot.
9. Beat Bloat - something about drinking water with lemon, and not eating too much broccoli.
I seriously don't know what this is about. I will not relinquish my broccoli.
So, the lesson here is that I'm doing quite a lot of what is recommended. As a result, my calories are fewer and my weight decreases as well. But it's probably worth paying attention to the places where I sometimes fall down on the job. I think it's also important to look at something else - whatever tips are here, there's also my explanation of making it work in my own life. Maybe there are places where I'm shorting myself results by messing around with the "formula" but there are probably just as many places where I made adjustments for the better. If I did nothing but apply a formula, I'd fail every time.
I know this because when I try to apply an equation to my eating and exercise without taking into account the variables, I fail. Every. Time. If I don't make it work within my real life, all it does is create an un-real life that I can't keep up with after a week or two.
So, simple tricks, but making them really work means factoring in how it works in my life. We'll see what the nutritionist says about this in a couple of weeks.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
babies
Babies.
I wants them.
They don't necessarily need to come from me in order for me to raise them happily, but I want them. I have often said that how I feel about kids is that the HAVING of them isn't what most interests me as much as the RAISING of them. That part, well, that part I am bout 3 years overdue for getting a chance to do.
It's easy to look at me, and my life, and my age, gender and biology and say this is about some clock that ticks and tocks and tells me what to do. I truly don't think it is. I think instead that a long time ago I decided that having kids may not be possible, likely, safe, or even all that interesting to me, but that raising them was something I really looked forward to. Since my teens I have talked about adopting and so when it became clearer that biology was not in my favor of having I thought that it was probably not a coincidence that I had identified earlier that where the child came from was less important to me than to many others. That being said, I think I understand those who fight hard, and spend time, money and heartbreak after heartbreak to have them. (I have more friends than I can easily reckon who have gone through some pretty serious medical stuff to get pregnant, and because I have friends who are in same-sex couples that means I also have friends who have no choice but to go this route or adopt. ) Raising a child is a massive job, and while the rewards are great, the emotional, financial, and logistical costs are huge too. For some, this is not a job they can feel truly motivated for unless they are plugged into a biological connection. I respect that. We were built to reproduce, after all, so it shouldn't be surprising that biology and reproducing of ones' self is part of the equation for many. It just isn't for me.
I'm not so sure that my genetics are so important to pass on. (Actually, my brothers and I have often remarked I literally and figuratively got the short end of the stick in our family. I try not to blame my parents too much since I was their first and they didn't know what they were doing. ) And my biology seems to agree to a certain degree, by limiting my ability to accomplish that anyways. It's ok by me because I think that what is most interesting about me is my outlook on the world, my capacity to love and guide and teach, and my commitment to keep learning, not what's in my genes. And I think I can pass that on to a child who isn't biologically attached to me. Since I do form deep, loving connections with children who aren't "mine" (and since I've had the ability to notice this by being a nanny, having a foster brother who was very young when I was in my 20's, and meeting other children who are still close to my heart along the way) I think I'm an excellent candidate to adopt.
Except, you know, I'm not because while my head and heart are ready, my life isn't. A lot of my campaign to become healthier, and examine the direction my life and career are about taking hold of what I feel is the right time to have children. I need to keep the things that are working for me while throwing out the things that are empty, more difficult than they should be, or just huge time-wasters or energy-drainers for me. In the end, it is about wanting to get more ready for kids and having more to offer them, if I'm being very truthful.
I've been patient, I've picked out people I thought would be good parents. And yet, mysteriously, although I thought I might have kids by now, I don't. This is hard for me to swallow. I always had a plan (and you know how I feel about plans) that if I ended up alone I would just go for it and be a single parent. And so it seems like now is the time . . . so, why no babies?
There are logistical issues, like the fact that I work too much, and yet don't make enough. Also, my schedule changes from day to day and week to week, and that doesn't allow me much stability. And I believe kids really need stability and structure. And maybe just as importantly, the kind of mom I want to be requires having more time than I have now. I want to be the mom who can cook dinners at home, play, and read every night. I want to be a mom that can stay home when my kid is sick and needs to stay home. I want my kids to have parents who actively seek opportunities for them to be exposed to new things, learn, and be stimulated. I want to take my kids to the library each week for story times and picking out new books, and I want to know where the local Children's museum is so we can go often. And right now, my job doesn't nurture me to be that kind of person for myself, much less anyone else in my charge.
The bigger problem is that . . . I'm scared. I think all parents are scared, but single parents seem to live in a perpetual state of survival mode.
Before I seem to be a complete wuss, let me say this. I've done my homework on this. By which I mean I have spent a lot of time with my friends who have kids. The few friends I have who have arrived at single parent-hood did it through circumstance, not choice. And they get a lot of help from extended family. I don't really have that option.
And all of the rest of my mommy and daddy friends? Well, they are amazingly happy to be at this point in their life, but not shy about sharing the hardships. There is, of course, a lot of talk about the loss of sleep. But also talk about expense. And the struggle it is for the couple to enjoy each other and their relationship. The new worries, thoughts, and plans. The time. The time. The time.
I have friends who have one parent home with their child, and those who go back to work within 6-8 weeks. I have friends whose children are adopted, and friends who struggled for years to get pregnant. I have friends who are married and raising children, and those who are together but not married. I have friends whose marriages are not recognized in my country (for which I am deeply ashamed and angered). Regardless of how they make their family, everyone tells me they are constantly thoughtful about whether or not they are giving their children enough - enough time, enough attention, enough resources, enough good role models and experiences.
My friends who are at home with their children feel simultaneously blessed and privileged to be able to do it, and guilty that they aren't working. They are worried that this time "off" will be counted against them when they do go back to work and anxious what their children are learning about gender roles and who stays home vs. who goes to work. Meanwhile, my friends who go back to work are tired, run down, and always carrying the guilt of feeling they neither giving enough time to their jobs or their children. I hear it from the two mommy families, from the moms and dads alike, from all of them. It seems it feels to them like no matter what they do, there are mis-steps and very often the concern of not enough of themselves to go around.
So, how will it be for my children? Likely adopted, and thus in even greater need of time and attention to bond. I can't be in such a rush to bring the children home that will someday be the children I raise that I overlook that. I have to think about the fact that I struggle to find time to unload the dishwasher or the stability in my schedule to eat regular meals and that my children will need clean dishes and food every day. (I know, kids are sooo demanding!)
It's hard for me to wait. I'm actually a pretty patient person (despite what my family thinks of me, I am willing to wait, put work in, and be determined for a long time when it's worth it to me). But I've been waiting since my 20's. And in my 20's I felt like, "ohhh, it's ok. I'm only 26, 27, 28." Now it feels like alarm bells going off every time I pass an adorable baby in the store, or see cute little clothes, or when the next person I know is expecting. Which, honestly, is just about everyone at this point. I love shopping for gifts for them. I really do. Because I love them, and I want their babies to know love and support and resources. (It is my deep belief that children can never have too many people loving them. and that their parents need a community of love and support too. It takes a village, yes, but that same village needs to be there for the parents too, and so, we all need to be there for each other to support in the difficult times and to love and celebrate in the good ones) I've made a fine art of it baby-shopping, actually. It isn't a case of, "I'm happy for _______ BUT . . . ." It's very much, "I'm happy for ___________ AND I wish I could do this too. Now please." With each baby shower, with every birth announcement, I am glad and rejoice for my friends and co-workers. AND I feel also a deep stinging reminder of the thing I most want and haven't achieved.
So, I really don't feel like I can rush right out and bring home a kid. But I wish it were otherwise. In the meantime, I need to take care of myself, and keep this hope in my heart: that when the time is right, I will have children and be a better parent than I could be now.
I wants them.
They don't necessarily need to come from me in order for me to raise them happily, but I want them. I have often said that how I feel about kids is that the HAVING of them isn't what most interests me as much as the RAISING of them. That part, well, that part I am bout 3 years overdue for getting a chance to do.
It's easy to look at me, and my life, and my age, gender and biology and say this is about some clock that ticks and tocks and tells me what to do. I truly don't think it is. I think instead that a long time ago I decided that having kids may not be possible, likely, safe, or even all that interesting to me, but that raising them was something I really looked forward to. Since my teens I have talked about adopting and so when it became clearer that biology was not in my favor of having I thought that it was probably not a coincidence that I had identified earlier that where the child came from was less important to me than to many others. That being said, I think I understand those who fight hard, and spend time, money and heartbreak after heartbreak to have them. (I have more friends than I can easily reckon who have gone through some pretty serious medical stuff to get pregnant, and because I have friends who are in same-sex couples that means I also have friends who have no choice but to go this route or adopt. ) Raising a child is a massive job, and while the rewards are great, the emotional, financial, and logistical costs are huge too. For some, this is not a job they can feel truly motivated for unless they are plugged into a biological connection. I respect that. We were built to reproduce, after all, so it shouldn't be surprising that biology and reproducing of ones' self is part of the equation for many. It just isn't for me.
I'm not so sure that my genetics are so important to pass on. (Actually, my brothers and I have often remarked I literally and figuratively got the short end of the stick in our family. I try not to blame my parents too much since I was their first and they didn't know what they were doing. ) And my biology seems to agree to a certain degree, by limiting my ability to accomplish that anyways. It's ok by me because I think that what is most interesting about me is my outlook on the world, my capacity to love and guide and teach, and my commitment to keep learning, not what's in my genes. And I think I can pass that on to a child who isn't biologically attached to me. Since I do form deep, loving connections with children who aren't "mine" (and since I've had the ability to notice this by being a nanny, having a foster brother who was very young when I was in my 20's, and meeting other children who are still close to my heart along the way) I think I'm an excellent candidate to adopt.
Except, you know, I'm not because while my head and heart are ready, my life isn't. A lot of my campaign to become healthier, and examine the direction my life and career are about taking hold of what I feel is the right time to have children. I need to keep the things that are working for me while throwing out the things that are empty, more difficult than they should be, or just huge time-wasters or energy-drainers for me. In the end, it is about wanting to get more ready for kids and having more to offer them, if I'm being very truthful.
I've been patient, I've picked out people I thought would be good parents. And yet, mysteriously, although I thought I might have kids by now, I don't. This is hard for me to swallow. I always had a plan (and you know how I feel about plans) that if I ended up alone I would just go for it and be a single parent. And so it seems like now is the time . . . so, why no babies?
There are logistical issues, like the fact that I work too much, and yet don't make enough. Also, my schedule changes from day to day and week to week, and that doesn't allow me much stability. And I believe kids really need stability and structure. And maybe just as importantly, the kind of mom I want to be requires having more time than I have now. I want to be the mom who can cook dinners at home, play, and read every night. I want to be a mom that can stay home when my kid is sick and needs to stay home. I want my kids to have parents who actively seek opportunities for them to be exposed to new things, learn, and be stimulated. I want to take my kids to the library each week for story times and picking out new books, and I want to know where the local Children's museum is so we can go often. And right now, my job doesn't nurture me to be that kind of person for myself, much less anyone else in my charge.
The bigger problem is that . . . I'm scared. I think all parents are scared, but single parents seem to live in a perpetual state of survival mode.
Before I seem to be a complete wuss, let me say this. I've done my homework on this. By which I mean I have spent a lot of time with my friends who have kids. The few friends I have who have arrived at single parent-hood did it through circumstance, not choice. And they get a lot of help from extended family. I don't really have that option.
And all of the rest of my mommy and daddy friends? Well, they are amazingly happy to be at this point in their life, but not shy about sharing the hardships. There is, of course, a lot of talk about the loss of sleep. But also talk about expense. And the struggle it is for the couple to enjoy each other and their relationship. The new worries, thoughts, and plans. The time. The time. The time.
I have friends who have one parent home with their child, and those who go back to work within 6-8 weeks. I have friends whose children are adopted, and friends who struggled for years to get pregnant. I have friends who are married and raising children, and those who are together but not married. I have friends whose marriages are not recognized in my country (for which I am deeply ashamed and angered). Regardless of how they make their family, everyone tells me they are constantly thoughtful about whether or not they are giving their children enough - enough time, enough attention, enough resources, enough good role models and experiences.
My friends who are at home with their children feel simultaneously blessed and privileged to be able to do it, and guilty that they aren't working. They are worried that this time "off" will be counted against them when they do go back to work and anxious what their children are learning about gender roles and who stays home vs. who goes to work. Meanwhile, my friends who go back to work are tired, run down, and always carrying the guilt of feeling they neither giving enough time to their jobs or their children. I hear it from the two mommy families, from the moms and dads alike, from all of them. It seems it feels to them like no matter what they do, there are mis-steps and very often the concern of not enough of themselves to go around.
So, how will it be for my children? Likely adopted, and thus in even greater need of time and attention to bond. I can't be in such a rush to bring the children home that will someday be the children I raise that I overlook that. I have to think about the fact that I struggle to find time to unload the dishwasher or the stability in my schedule to eat regular meals and that my children will need clean dishes and food every day. (I know, kids are sooo demanding!)
It's hard for me to wait. I'm actually a pretty patient person (despite what my family thinks of me, I am willing to wait, put work in, and be determined for a long time when it's worth it to me). But I've been waiting since my 20's. And in my 20's I felt like, "ohhh, it's ok. I'm only 26, 27, 28." Now it feels like alarm bells going off every time I pass an adorable baby in the store, or see cute little clothes, or when the next person I know is expecting. Which, honestly, is just about everyone at this point. I love shopping for gifts for them. I really do. Because I love them, and I want their babies to know love and support and resources. (It is my deep belief that children can never have too many people loving them. and that their parents need a community of love and support too. It takes a village, yes, but that same village needs to be there for the parents too, and so, we all need to be there for each other to support in the difficult times and to love and celebrate in the good ones) I've made a fine art of it baby-shopping, actually. It isn't a case of, "I'm happy for _______ BUT . . . ." It's very much, "I'm happy for ___________ AND I wish I could do this too. Now please." With each baby shower, with every birth announcement, I am glad and rejoice for my friends and co-workers. AND I feel also a deep stinging reminder of the thing I most want and haven't achieved.
So, I really don't feel like I can rush right out and bring home a kid. But I wish it were otherwise. In the meantime, I need to take care of myself, and keep this hope in my heart: that when the time is right, I will have children and be a better parent than I could be now.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
crying and feminism
I am not the first person to talk about this. In fact, I am quite certain that Sex and the City covered this more adequately than I could or will. But this is an important topic: crying.
At some point, little boys become too old to not be considered male, and we subtly teach them that "crying is for girls." They receive this message in a number of ways . . . peer pressure, dad's showing their sons how to act, older brothers, messages in the media, and even out and out saying that it's not manly for boys to cry. The tacit message that gets delivered along with it is that it is ok for girls to cry.
Except it isn't.
At least not for me.
As far as girls go, I don't often turn to chik fliks, and I don't often cry. I'm just as happy at a live football or baseball game as I am getting a pedicure (one is exciting, one is relaxing. Why not have both?!). And I don't get my finger nails done, ever, because between the working out I do, and the breakage caused by my medical conditions, what's the point? Sure, I love to cook and I adore babies, but I'm not into pink, and I am waaaaaaay into zombies. The last time I had a girls night out, it was a girls night in (with killer amazing food) and we watched Dane Cook swear it up! Like I said in my post about sisters, I don't even really know how to use a curling iron! Sometimes it's hard to tell I am a girl.
When I was little, I went through a short few years, from maybe age 5 until age 8 where I desperately wanted to be girly. So much so that I lied to various parties about having to wear a dress, but I went through a time period twice as long as those three years where I refused to wear dresses, skirts, anything with flowers on it, anything pink or purple, and I wore instead boys jeans and t-shirts, and sweaters swiped from my brothers and dad. Somewhere in this time, I learned, and learned too well that crying was, "for babies and little girls," (just gotta LOVE how girls are compared to infants there, don't you?!) and I was bound and determined not to be one.
In my house growing up, feminism was not living well you see. It wasn't an intentional knock on women, but my dad had very definite ideas about gender roles. I don't think it was his plan to demean women or make his daughter feel that the world held fewer options for me, but he had grown up in a different family structure and a different time. (In point of fact, by acting as a shield from the rest of the world, and holding different expectations when it came to certain things, by holding doors and pulling out chairs, he truly believed he was showing respect for women, in the way he was raised.) He wanted either strong, smart, athletic sons or a nice little girl. I was neither. What came out of this dilemma was that I went back and forth between trying to be both, finally settling miraculously on just being myself. I'm not a pretty, nice, girl. It's not who I am. I'm not a mean person, in fact I consider myself pretty compassionate and giving, but I'm not the type of woman who tells white lies to smooth things over, who is quiet and careful, or who holds back strong opinions.
Growing up, there were two sets of rules for almost everything; some of these rules were spoken and some were not. For instance, there were spoken rules about what dressing modestly meant for me. The unspoken rule was that shorts were fine for my brothers because they were boys, but not for me. My brothers could play football, I should be a cheerleader. Spoken: girls can't play football. Unspoken: Isn't cool to be a cheerleader? Your cousin is! Look at how much fun that looks like! When it came time for dating and liking people, I wasn't (supposed to be) allowed to go out with someone on my own until I was 16. (As an incredibly verbal and responsible child I argued my way into a date with someone nice and harmless at 14 by reminding my parents how trustworthy I had been and wearing them down verbally). By the time my brothers were 16 my dad treated them like buddies who could talk about beer, football, and women and get a high five. Spoken: You can't date until you prove you can be responsible. Unspoken: Young women need to be protected while young men are basically grown ups.
Now, don't get me wrong, sometimes this incredibly well meaning sexism was in my favor. I was never asked to mow the lawn. If we were traveling, my brothers had to share a bed in the hotel, while I got my own. Come to think of it, while living at home, my brothers always had a shared room, and I always had my own.
Where the deep gap between us didn't benefit me was in my emotional development. In our household crying was for, "little girls and babies," and even when I was a little girl, I was told that crying was disruptive, manipulative and just made everything more complicated. I learned that lesson and learned it well. I learned it so well that there have been long periods of my life where I have gone without crying ever. There was a three year period from the end of eighth grade into 11th where I cried . . . never. Not when I dislocated my knee, not when somebody died, not when my beloved drama coach yelled at me. Crying was for babies and little girls, and my tears were on lock-down. Of course, my feelings had to come out somewhere, and they did, and honestly, it was probably worse.
I don't do that anymore. I cry at the Google Chrome commercial (like, seriously, I've seen it more than 12 times and it still lays me out), I cried numerous times while reading and seeing The Help, I cry when great art and music move me, especially when things are harmonized gorgeously or when something catches me by surprise (don't laugh, but when the big animals enter during The Lion King, on Broadway, it slays me. The amount of art it takes to make something look that good, to build the elephants and make them move, or make a giraffe, combined with my knowing just enough about theater to know some of the effort it took, and the swelling music - - fuhgeddabowdit. Kleenex time!). These seem to be socially accepted venues for tears. I still do not cry when undergoing painful procedures (I am allergic to pain killers so I've had three surgeries in the past 5 years and sucked it up), I did not cry during any of the four knee dislocations I had in 2010, and I work really really hard not to cry when my feelings are wounded. If there's a backlog of crying that needs to take place, well I can always go watch Sophie on the Google chrome commercial or if I need more release than that I usually go looking for it in Steel Magnolias, Love Actually, or Life as a house.
Because if crying is manipulative, disruptive and makes everything more complicated it should be done alone, right? Wrong, but that is the lesson I learned too well.
I consider it bad manners to cry, or get upset. And, I hate to say this so baldly, but when it is still very much a man's world, at least in the line of business I work in, figuring out what the manners, expectations, and social norms are is tres important. On the one hand, I was flat out told at one point (by someone who was not my supervisor and had no right to evaluate me) that I should be a, "nicer girl. Like _____ who is more quiet and doesn't have such a strong personality." On the other hand, there were men in my office at the time who literally screamed and swore at clients or who called people into the conference room (despite not having any authority to do so) and threw tantrums, yelling in their faces. (Meanwhile, it was me and two women who carried all of the workload because neither of those two men did anything approaching their share, or even showed up sometimes!) Spoken: We expect you to be nicer because you have ovaries. Unspoken: It's ok for men to have strong personalities, and even to be verbally abusive, disrespectful, and inappropriate, but women should be "nice."
I hate all that "sugar and spice" crap but apparently I buy into it on some level because I ended up feeling so bad about myself in that office that it made it hard to get out of bed in the morning. When I finally couldn't take it anymore after weeks and months of working 70-80 hours to keep the office afloat and being treated like crap by these two men daily, and cried because things were so awful I was told, albeit very compassionately, that I needed to leave the office and "compose myself." It was completely baffling to me - somehow I was supposed to be a nicer (read: softer, more emotional, thoughtful) woman, but when letting my guard down meant that I had to feel how awful things were, I was asked not to rejoin my supervisor or the conversation until I was "composed" (harder, guard up, more staunch). This was after I had only two tears fall and reached for one tissue. (I hadn't like gone to pieces or something, with snot dripping down my face.)
So, when I found myself in tears twice yesterday, I felt like a failure. In the first instance, it was completely justified personal stuff. I hate being lied to and then manipulated to believe it is ok, and the level of frustration I was at made it ok. It was hard that it was at 7am, but that is life. What sucked was that I felt that somehow I had to keep my feelings and my crying from the other person . . . even though their dishonesty was the direct cause. I took a shower and tried to move on. Fast forward to later in the day at work. I met with a client to discuss some future options she is looking into. Our meeting had come to a close when she told me her husband was on the way. Her husband has no professional connection to the company, but since having a strong personal relationship often paves the way for better professional outcomes in my job, as a courtesy, I waited for him. He immediately began questioning me, rudely I might add, and although I remained calm, he seemed to get more and more agitated. What started as a simple conversation about one very finite and definable thing became his need to vent about every frustration he has had on his wife's behalf for five years. I sympathized, but when it got personal, and when it got to the point that I couldn't say anything without him cutting me off and yelling some more, I was done. So I tried to keep things as professional as possible while also ending the conversation. I tried to end the conversation a second time, while staying calm. Finally, I had to just say, "I'm sorry, but this is getting very personal. Thanks for your time, goodbye." And walk away.
What was heartbreaking is that this is a client who I have bent over backwards for. I have worked more weekends in order to help this person than anyone else. I have made special trips by to drop off and pick up things from her. I have run her business in her absence and I have collaborated closely with her on a weekly basis for two straight years, even if it meant talking to her on the phone during my lunch hour, discussing things on a weekend or holiday, or fitting it in on a day where I was also giving time to multiple other people at their disparate locations. I add hours to my workweek for her. Her husband yells at me. As a result of our work together, her business has grown significantly in all measures that we use. It felt so disrespectful to me. And so unappreciative of both my hard work and his wife's. So, I walked away, kept my head high, knowing he had seen the tears building (aghhhhhhhh!), shed three tears in my car, and then drove to another parking lot a block or so away so I could cry openly.
I hate that he got those tears out of me, and as one of my friends remarked, I hate that that husband "won" by getting that much of a rise out of me. (Another friend wisely commented that he must be feeling very powerless in order to need to bully me in this way, especially since he knows I had no hand in creating the issue frustrating him. More than anything, I should pity him and show him mercy.) But what I hate most is that I was vulnerable enough to be seen crying twice in one day. Never mind the circumstances.
Yet, what was I supposed to do? Keep it inside and be bitter? Stuff it down and not feel it? Wait for it to come out in other and more unhealthy ways? I feel, honestly, that in a feminist world, women are stuck between a rock and a hard place when it comes to crying. We can't be respected if we do cry, but if we don't and we become too "mannish" my experience is that the adjectives used to describe us are very unflattering, although those same characteristics are accolades for men. And aside from all that, I obviously have personal damage when it comes to crying and being open and hurting.
What does this have to do with Empty Calories? Maybe nothing. I didn't eat addictively to cope with this, though I had a long stare down with some popcorn. I went running. It didn't make me feel better but I did it. I guess if anything, being honest about my emotions is the only way out of the tangle of things I do when I'm not feeling my emotions. On some level I should be patting myself on the back for crying, instead of burying my head in a box of Cheezits. But instead, I am blogging and still trying to make sense of how to be ok with it all. I started writing this last night. All I wanted to do was come home and pull a blanket around me and watch TV, but my cable is out so instead I pulled a blanket around me and went to sleep . . . at like 9pm! So, here we are this morning . . . hopefully I will be able to find more peace in myself today
At some point, little boys become too old to not be considered male, and we subtly teach them that "crying is for girls." They receive this message in a number of ways . . . peer pressure, dad's showing their sons how to act, older brothers, messages in the media, and even out and out saying that it's not manly for boys to cry. The tacit message that gets delivered along with it is that it is ok for girls to cry.
Except it isn't.
At least not for me.
As far as girls go, I don't often turn to chik fliks, and I don't often cry. I'm just as happy at a live football or baseball game as I am getting a pedicure (one is exciting, one is relaxing. Why not have both?!). And I don't get my finger nails done, ever, because between the working out I do, and the breakage caused by my medical conditions, what's the point? Sure, I love to cook and I adore babies, but I'm not into pink, and I am waaaaaaay into zombies. The last time I had a girls night out, it was a girls night in (with killer amazing food) and we watched Dane Cook swear it up! Like I said in my post about sisters, I don't even really know how to use a curling iron! Sometimes it's hard to tell I am a girl.
When I was little, I went through a short few years, from maybe age 5 until age 8 where I desperately wanted to be girly. So much so that I lied to various parties about having to wear a dress, but I went through a time period twice as long as those three years where I refused to wear dresses, skirts, anything with flowers on it, anything pink or purple, and I wore instead boys jeans and t-shirts, and sweaters swiped from my brothers and dad. Somewhere in this time, I learned, and learned too well that crying was, "for babies and little girls," (just gotta LOVE how girls are compared to infants there, don't you?!) and I was bound and determined not to be one.
In my house growing up, feminism was not living well you see. It wasn't an intentional knock on women, but my dad had very definite ideas about gender roles. I don't think it was his plan to demean women or make his daughter feel that the world held fewer options for me, but he had grown up in a different family structure and a different time. (In point of fact, by acting as a shield from the rest of the world, and holding different expectations when it came to certain things, by holding doors and pulling out chairs, he truly believed he was showing respect for women, in the way he was raised.) He wanted either strong, smart, athletic sons or a nice little girl. I was neither. What came out of this dilemma was that I went back and forth between trying to be both, finally settling miraculously on just being myself. I'm not a pretty, nice, girl. It's not who I am. I'm not a mean person, in fact I consider myself pretty compassionate and giving, but I'm not the type of woman who tells white lies to smooth things over, who is quiet and careful, or who holds back strong opinions.
Growing up, there were two sets of rules for almost everything; some of these rules were spoken and some were not. For instance, there were spoken rules about what dressing modestly meant for me. The unspoken rule was that shorts were fine for my brothers because they were boys, but not for me. My brothers could play football, I should be a cheerleader. Spoken: girls can't play football. Unspoken: Isn't cool to be a cheerleader? Your cousin is! Look at how much fun that looks like! When it came time for dating and liking people, I wasn't (supposed to be) allowed to go out with someone on my own until I was 16. (As an incredibly verbal and responsible child I argued my way into a date with someone nice and harmless at 14 by reminding my parents how trustworthy I had been and wearing them down verbally). By the time my brothers were 16 my dad treated them like buddies who could talk about beer, football, and women and get a high five. Spoken: You can't date until you prove you can be responsible. Unspoken: Young women need to be protected while young men are basically grown ups.
Now, don't get me wrong, sometimes this incredibly well meaning sexism was in my favor. I was never asked to mow the lawn. If we were traveling, my brothers had to share a bed in the hotel, while I got my own. Come to think of it, while living at home, my brothers always had a shared room, and I always had my own.
Where the deep gap between us didn't benefit me was in my emotional development. In our household crying was for, "little girls and babies," and even when I was a little girl, I was told that crying was disruptive, manipulative and just made everything more complicated. I learned that lesson and learned it well. I learned it so well that there have been long periods of my life where I have gone without crying ever. There was a three year period from the end of eighth grade into 11th where I cried . . . never. Not when I dislocated my knee, not when somebody died, not when my beloved drama coach yelled at me. Crying was for babies and little girls, and my tears were on lock-down. Of course, my feelings had to come out somewhere, and they did, and honestly, it was probably worse.
I don't do that anymore. I cry at the Google Chrome commercial (like, seriously, I've seen it more than 12 times and it still lays me out), I cried numerous times while reading and seeing The Help, I cry when great art and music move me, especially when things are harmonized gorgeously or when something catches me by surprise (don't laugh, but when the big animals enter during The Lion King, on Broadway, it slays me. The amount of art it takes to make something look that good, to build the elephants and make them move, or make a giraffe, combined with my knowing just enough about theater to know some of the effort it took, and the swelling music - - fuhgeddabowdit. Kleenex time!). These seem to be socially accepted venues for tears. I still do not cry when undergoing painful procedures (I am allergic to pain killers so I've had three surgeries in the past 5 years and sucked it up), I did not cry during any of the four knee dislocations I had in 2010, and I work really really hard not to cry when my feelings are wounded. If there's a backlog of crying that needs to take place, well I can always go watch Sophie on the Google chrome commercial or if I need more release than that I usually go looking for it in Steel Magnolias, Love Actually, or Life as a house.
Because if crying is manipulative, disruptive and makes everything more complicated it should be done alone, right? Wrong, but that is the lesson I learned too well.
I consider it bad manners to cry, or get upset. And, I hate to say this so baldly, but when it is still very much a man's world, at least in the line of business I work in, figuring out what the manners, expectations, and social norms are is tres important. On the one hand, I was flat out told at one point (by someone who was not my supervisor and had no right to evaluate me) that I should be a, "nicer girl. Like _____ who is more quiet and doesn't have such a strong personality." On the other hand, there were men in my office at the time who literally screamed and swore at clients or who called people into the conference room (despite not having any authority to do so) and threw tantrums, yelling in their faces. (Meanwhile, it was me and two women who carried all of the workload because neither of those two men did anything approaching their share, or even showed up sometimes!) Spoken: We expect you to be nicer because you have ovaries. Unspoken: It's ok for men to have strong personalities, and even to be verbally abusive, disrespectful, and inappropriate, but women should be "nice."
I hate all that "sugar and spice" crap but apparently I buy into it on some level because I ended up feeling so bad about myself in that office that it made it hard to get out of bed in the morning. When I finally couldn't take it anymore after weeks and months of working 70-80 hours to keep the office afloat and being treated like crap by these two men daily, and cried because things were so awful I was told, albeit very compassionately, that I needed to leave the office and "compose myself." It was completely baffling to me - somehow I was supposed to be a nicer (read: softer, more emotional, thoughtful) woman, but when letting my guard down meant that I had to feel how awful things were, I was asked not to rejoin my supervisor or the conversation until I was "composed" (harder, guard up, more staunch). This was after I had only two tears fall and reached for one tissue. (I hadn't like gone to pieces or something, with snot dripping down my face.)
So, when I found myself in tears twice yesterday, I felt like a failure. In the first instance, it was completely justified personal stuff. I hate being lied to and then manipulated to believe it is ok, and the level of frustration I was at made it ok. It was hard that it was at 7am, but that is life. What sucked was that I felt that somehow I had to keep my feelings and my crying from the other person . . . even though their dishonesty was the direct cause. I took a shower and tried to move on. Fast forward to later in the day at work. I met with a client to discuss some future options she is looking into. Our meeting had come to a close when she told me her husband was on the way. Her husband has no professional connection to the company, but since having a strong personal relationship often paves the way for better professional outcomes in my job, as a courtesy, I waited for him. He immediately began questioning me, rudely I might add, and although I remained calm, he seemed to get more and more agitated. What started as a simple conversation about one very finite and definable thing became his need to vent about every frustration he has had on his wife's behalf for five years. I sympathized, but when it got personal, and when it got to the point that I couldn't say anything without him cutting me off and yelling some more, I was done. So I tried to keep things as professional as possible while also ending the conversation. I tried to end the conversation a second time, while staying calm. Finally, I had to just say, "I'm sorry, but this is getting very personal. Thanks for your time, goodbye." And walk away.
What was heartbreaking is that this is a client who I have bent over backwards for. I have worked more weekends in order to help this person than anyone else. I have made special trips by to drop off and pick up things from her. I have run her business in her absence and I have collaborated closely with her on a weekly basis for two straight years, even if it meant talking to her on the phone during my lunch hour, discussing things on a weekend or holiday, or fitting it in on a day where I was also giving time to multiple other people at their disparate locations. I add hours to my workweek for her. Her husband yells at me. As a result of our work together, her business has grown significantly in all measures that we use. It felt so disrespectful to me. And so unappreciative of both my hard work and his wife's. So, I walked away, kept my head high, knowing he had seen the tears building (aghhhhhhhh!), shed three tears in my car, and then drove to another parking lot a block or so away so I could cry openly.
I hate that he got those tears out of me, and as one of my friends remarked, I hate that that husband "won" by getting that much of a rise out of me. (Another friend wisely commented that he must be feeling very powerless in order to need to bully me in this way, especially since he knows I had no hand in creating the issue frustrating him. More than anything, I should pity him and show him mercy.) But what I hate most is that I was vulnerable enough to be seen crying twice in one day. Never mind the circumstances.
Yet, what was I supposed to do? Keep it inside and be bitter? Stuff it down and not feel it? Wait for it to come out in other and more unhealthy ways? I feel, honestly, that in a feminist world, women are stuck between a rock and a hard place when it comes to crying. We can't be respected if we do cry, but if we don't and we become too "mannish" my experience is that the adjectives used to describe us are very unflattering, although those same characteristics are accolades for men. And aside from all that, I obviously have personal damage when it comes to crying and being open and hurting.
What does this have to do with Empty Calories? Maybe nothing. I didn't eat addictively to cope with this, though I had a long stare down with some popcorn. I went running. It didn't make me feel better but I did it. I guess if anything, being honest about my emotions is the only way out of the tangle of things I do when I'm not feeling my emotions. On some level I should be patting myself on the back for crying, instead of burying my head in a box of Cheezits. But instead, I am blogging and still trying to make sense of how to be ok with it all. I started writing this last night. All I wanted to do was come home and pull a blanket around me and watch TV, but my cable is out so instead I pulled a blanket around me and went to sleep . . . at like 9pm! So, here we are this morning . . . hopefully I will be able to find more peace in myself today
Thursday, September 15, 2011
on the road again
I am on the road a lot. Normally I spend about 10 hours a week in my car. In September that usually goes up to about 12-14 hours a week. This year, because I am doing extra jobs and part of opening a new center I'm looking at being in my car 14-16 hours a week.
I've talked about this before - there are good and bad things about my car time. Today on my drive to the new center I caught up on two work phone calls and listened to some truly stress releasing music. On my drive back, I talked to a wonderful friend who I haven't seen for a long time. I have plans to see her in two months and we're so excited. Since the last time we were together, she created a whole new person in her family!! (As a fun sidenote: the was the surrogate sister of my ex-fiance. I feel truly lucky that when that relationship went south, she worked to maintain a friendship with both parties. And when he didn't reciprocate . . . she and her family just kept me!!)
The downsides to my car time are truly bummers. For one thing, almost every drive I make for work is 60-90 minutes. I drink about 90 - 100 oz of water a day so I have to pee every 90 - 120 minutes. You can do the math on how that works with my drives. I get killer farmer's tan. I lose all kinds of time and plans to traffic. But, hands down, worst of all is what it does to me and eating.
In the ideal world of losing weight, people schedule three meals two or three small snacks a day trying to spread them out across their waking hours trying to put more calories into the first half of the day and then taper off in the second half. So, like for me, I'm usually awake for 16-18 hours. I need to eat within 15 minutes of getting up because of my hypoglycemia. So, a good schedule for me would be:
Hour one - breakfast of yogurt, oatmeal, V8 and/or hard boiled egg, lots of water
Hour two - herbal tea
Hour three - small snack (piece of fruit, almonds), lots of water
Hour four - water and/or diet soda
Hour six - Lunch (tuna, sashimi, leftover kale salad or brussel sprouts, maybe a lowfat string cheese; lots of protein and veggies with . . . you guessed it, lots of water)
Hour seven - mint water (it's my way of making myself feel like I got something really good, while also staying hydrated)
Hour eight or nine - small snack and/or protein shake, lots of water
Hour ten - lots of water and/or diet soda
Hour eleven or twelve - small dinner = all veggies and protein, lots of water
Hour fourteenish - very small snack, lots of water
This seems like it's so reasonable and easy, yes?
No.
How my life really goes is so much weirder than this. I get up, eat the first half of my breakfast. These days because I've been getting so used to getting up eeeeeaaaa-heeaaaaarly I either then go walking, or go into the office to get some emails done. Then in hour twoish I eat the second half of my breakfast. I still drink a metric shit-ton of water. Then I have to shower fast and get some more work done. Then I have to shove a bunch of stuff in my messenger bag, throw all my stuff in my gym bag, and pack between 50-70 oz of water. Often, if I have a meeting somewhere around 1 to 2pm I have to drive during lunch. Then I work for the next 4 hours or so, and then get to drive some more, go to the gym, eat dinner too late, catch up on more emails, and then fall asleep while watching or reading something. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Plus, the road has other hazards. There are Starbucks (and when they introduced cupcakes, that became a place of doom. Plus, now it is Pumpkin Latte season. Danger Will Robinson!), bagel places, places that sell really good fried food, gas stations with candy bars . . . it's all out there. Over and over and over I drive down the road.
It's far too easy to fall into that trap. And there are almost no good choices on the road, or if there are, you have to work really hard to get at them. There are salads, but they often don't have protein. There is protein, but it is often of a dubious source, or fried. And everywhere, everywhere lurks cheaper, more convenient sources of corn syrup and carbs.
So, I'm trying really hard to master the fine art of eating lunch in my car. But, this chic hasn't eaten at a McDonald's or Burger King in more than 12 years (which made driving across the country 3+ years ago REALLY interesting, I'll tell you). And I'm not going to start now when I'm trying really hard to eat healthier and lose weight. My new quest is to find the perfect healthy lunch en route.
So far, the best I've done is to cut a grilled chicken breast into strips (like chicken fingers, but not fried), put some cherry tomatoes into a bag, cut up some raw broccoli or cauliflower and put all of it in a rectangle tuperware with a small cup of low cal dressing. I drive, and dip. I think it's legal. At least, it's less dangerous than driving and texting.
It's also far less dangerous for me than what is out there. So, yes, it's another bag to carry, in addition to the gym bag, the work bag, the purse, and the 50-70 oz of water, I've now added lunch and a baggy full of snacks (snap peas, almonds, and protein shakes anyone? I'm always strapping).
This is hard. It's really hard. I want to eat normal things like a normal person. I want to decide to get a bagel sandwich. I want to not have to second guess myself. But, I want to be thinner faster more than I want those things. I want new habits and the ability to trust myself more even than clothes in smaller sizes. So, I'll live with the greasy fingers, the need to keep paper towels in my car, and flossing in a parking lot to get rid of the little broccoli pieces that like to take up residence.
I also know that it's not completely possible to keep the world out by structuring everything. Sometimes, in the moment, I want that pumpkin latte more than I want anything else. And I also know that real people who wear clothes four sizes smaller than me also give into the Pumpkin Latte (or popcorn, or Cheezits, or donut) occasionally. With that in mind, I too have to be able to eat those things, but then be a normal person and not keep eating, well . . . everything.
This isn't about controlling everything. It is about keeping things in check where I can. I learned a tough lesson going from my Seattle trip straight into being on the road and a business trip last week. I did GREAT on vacation with exercise and eating and then came back and was thrown into a see of business lunches and dinners out with my boss. ACK! It wasn't good, and even though I still fought for time to exercise, my weight crept up. Like, in a matter of hours. I mean days, of course, but not very many days. 3 days. 72 hours. It went by so fast. I was so tired, and so not in the driver's seat in either the rental car in Salt Lake City, or metaphorically. So, if we ended up at a steak house, that's where we ended up.
I have to be a normal person who does those things and then still goes running. I have to be able to eat a piece of bread and not fall all to pieces. I have to be able to be social and allow the dinner to be about business, not about my incredibly difficult eating. So, I went to the steak house. I ate the bread. And then I went running.
So, I have to be a normal person, yes, but I have to get to normal. Right now that means taking advantage of the times that I can control things, and setting that structure so I can learn a new normal. That means that I have to make choices ahead of time whenever I can. And here, in Colorado, even if my schedule is insane, I can. So I do. And I did. Chicken and broccoli tomorrow! Yaaaaaaaaaaayyy!
I've talked about this before - there are good and bad things about my car time. Today on my drive to the new center I caught up on two work phone calls and listened to some truly stress releasing music. On my drive back, I talked to a wonderful friend who I haven't seen for a long time. I have plans to see her in two months and we're so excited. Since the last time we were together, she created a whole new person in her family!! (As a fun sidenote: the was the surrogate sister of my ex-fiance. I feel truly lucky that when that relationship went south, she worked to maintain a friendship with both parties. And when he didn't reciprocate . . . she and her family just kept me!!)
The downsides to my car time are truly bummers. For one thing, almost every drive I make for work is 60-90 minutes. I drink about 90 - 100 oz of water a day so I have to pee every 90 - 120 minutes. You can do the math on how that works with my drives. I get killer farmer's tan. I lose all kinds of time and plans to traffic. But, hands down, worst of all is what it does to me and eating.
In the ideal world of losing weight, people schedule three meals two or three small snacks a day trying to spread them out across their waking hours trying to put more calories into the first half of the day and then taper off in the second half. So, like for me, I'm usually awake for 16-18 hours. I need to eat within 15 minutes of getting up because of my hypoglycemia. So, a good schedule for me would be:
Hour one - breakfast of yogurt, oatmeal, V8 and/or hard boiled egg, lots of water
Hour two - herbal tea
Hour three - small snack (piece of fruit, almonds), lots of water
Hour four - water and/or diet soda
Hour six - Lunch (tuna, sashimi, leftover kale salad or brussel sprouts, maybe a lowfat string cheese; lots of protein and veggies with . . . you guessed it, lots of water)
Hour seven - mint water (it's my way of making myself feel like I got something really good, while also staying hydrated)
Hour eight or nine - small snack and/or protein shake, lots of water
Hour ten - lots of water and/or diet soda
Hour eleven or twelve - small dinner = all veggies and protein, lots of water
Hour fourteenish - very small snack, lots of water
This seems like it's so reasonable and easy, yes?
No.
How my life really goes is so much weirder than this. I get up, eat the first half of my breakfast. These days because I've been getting so used to getting up eeeeeaaaa-heeaaaaarly I either then go walking, or go into the office to get some emails done. Then in hour twoish I eat the second half of my breakfast. I still drink a metric shit-ton of water. Then I have to shower fast and get some more work done. Then I have to shove a bunch of stuff in my messenger bag, throw all my stuff in my gym bag, and pack between 50-70 oz of water. Often, if I have a meeting somewhere around 1 to 2pm I have to drive during lunch. Then I work for the next 4 hours or so, and then get to drive some more, go to the gym, eat dinner too late, catch up on more emails, and then fall asleep while watching or reading something. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Plus, the road has other hazards. There are Starbucks (and when they introduced cupcakes, that became a place of doom. Plus, now it is Pumpkin Latte season. Danger Will Robinson!), bagel places, places that sell really good fried food, gas stations with candy bars . . . it's all out there. Over and over and over I drive down the road.
It's far too easy to fall into that trap. And there are almost no good choices on the road, or if there are, you have to work really hard to get at them. There are salads, but they often don't have protein. There is protein, but it is often of a dubious source, or fried. And everywhere, everywhere lurks cheaper, more convenient sources of corn syrup and carbs.
So, I'm trying really hard to master the fine art of eating lunch in my car. But, this chic hasn't eaten at a McDonald's or Burger King in more than 12 years (which made driving across the country 3+ years ago REALLY interesting, I'll tell you). And I'm not going to start now when I'm trying really hard to eat healthier and lose weight. My new quest is to find the perfect healthy lunch en route.
So far, the best I've done is to cut a grilled chicken breast into strips (like chicken fingers, but not fried), put some cherry tomatoes into a bag, cut up some raw broccoli or cauliflower and put all of it in a rectangle tuperware with a small cup of low cal dressing. I drive, and dip. I think it's legal. At least, it's less dangerous than driving and texting.
It's also far less dangerous for me than what is out there. So, yes, it's another bag to carry, in addition to the gym bag, the work bag, the purse, and the 50-70 oz of water, I've now added lunch and a baggy full of snacks (snap peas, almonds, and protein shakes anyone? I'm always strapping).
This is hard. It's really hard. I want to eat normal things like a normal person. I want to decide to get a bagel sandwich. I want to not have to second guess myself. But, I want to be thinner faster more than I want those things. I want new habits and the ability to trust myself more even than clothes in smaller sizes. So, I'll live with the greasy fingers, the need to keep paper towels in my car, and flossing in a parking lot to get rid of the little broccoli pieces that like to take up residence.
I also know that it's not completely possible to keep the world out by structuring everything. Sometimes, in the moment, I want that pumpkin latte more than I want anything else. And I also know that real people who wear clothes four sizes smaller than me also give into the Pumpkin Latte (or popcorn, or Cheezits, or donut) occasionally. With that in mind, I too have to be able to eat those things, but then be a normal person and not keep eating, well . . . everything.
This isn't about controlling everything. It is about keeping things in check where I can. I learned a tough lesson going from my Seattle trip straight into being on the road and a business trip last week. I did GREAT on vacation with exercise and eating and then came back and was thrown into a see of business lunches and dinners out with my boss. ACK! It wasn't good, and even though I still fought for time to exercise, my weight crept up. Like, in a matter of hours. I mean days, of course, but not very many days. 3 days. 72 hours. It went by so fast. I was so tired, and so not in the driver's seat in either the rental car in Salt Lake City, or metaphorically. So, if we ended up at a steak house, that's where we ended up.
I have to be a normal person who does those things and then still goes running. I have to be able to eat a piece of bread and not fall all to pieces. I have to be able to be social and allow the dinner to be about business, not about my incredibly difficult eating. So, I went to the steak house. I ate the bread. And then I went running.
So, I have to be a normal person, yes, but I have to get to normal. Right now that means taking advantage of the times that I can control things, and setting that structure so I can learn a new normal. That means that I have to make choices ahead of time whenever I can. And here, in Colorado, even if my schedule is insane, I can. So I do. And I did. Chicken and broccoli tomorrow! Yaaaaaaaaaaayyy!
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
1 down, 3 to go
This has been coming for a few weeks, but I've put it off. I was hoping to procrastinate it further. But, today my time had come. Yes, today I could no longer elude this difficult chore.
Shopping.
I typically go in to a shopping trip with a lot of hope and expectation and come out sweaty, defeated, and feeling as bad as if I had just been beaten with a truckload of underwire bras. Shopping is WORK. Literally, shopping takes walking, contorting, and carrying a significant amount of stuff. Shopping is that much work for everyone, sure. But shopping for someone like me is also emotional work. When you don't look like the pictures a funny thing happens . . . no matter how many cool clothes you put on, you still don't look like the pictures! More to the point, in my case, I am short. My legs are short even for a short person (which means, yes, my torso is long), my feet are flat, my arms and thighs are muscular, my hips are so wide that it's kind of unbelievable that I haven't had kids, my chest is large and I'm flat out just not built for clothes. Yet, of course, I cannot go around without clothes. So, shopping usually makes me feel like I must be a deformed person. I try on pants and think, it's great that they're 25% off because I'll have to pay to get them hemmed. I try on dresses and feel like I'd be better off wearing a sheet. I try on shorts and want to laugh and point at the girl in the mirror even though I know that she is I.
In ascending order from awful to horrifying torture, the things I least like to shop for are:
The last time I shopped for real it was to buy as many skirts as I could find that would meet my corporate dress code and also cover up my knee braces. And let me tell you, THAT fashion statement was worth forgetting.
But today, my time had come. Two weeks ago I pulled the belt in tighter. Last weekend, I discovered that my "good" pair of jeans could come up and down my bod without unbuttoning. This morning, I had to try on 4 pairs of pants before settling on a pair I used to wear two years ago. And so today, as I drove past the outlet mall, it had to be done.
I walked in with dread. I walked out with an awesome sweatshirt-jacket, a tank top, two shirt-type things, and . . . drumroll . . . a pair of jeans. Not just a pair of jeans. A pair of jeans one size down.
Excuse me for a minute:
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!
I kept on trying on jeans in the last size. all different styles, cuts, and colors and thinking, "God, these look awful!." And then the light bulb went off. Christie, if your old jeans that are too big are from this store then maybe new jeans need to be in a new size.
I won't lie, my first instinct was to jump up and down and yell out in glee. But since I didn't want to scare the nice people in Eddie Bauer, I held off. My second instinct was to buy three new pairs of jeans in various styles in color, in order to celebrate the new size. I didn't follow this impulse either.
I had to realize that this is what I hope is the first of many changes. I'm thrilled to have achieved this milestone, but this is the beginning, not the end. I'm psyched to be one size down and get some positive feedback. I'd feel accomplished to be down two sizes, and happy to be down three. But my target is really to be down four sizes. One down, three more to go. So I held off on splurging and bought one pair. But that one pair feels like . . . it feels better than the fanciest dress I've ever worn. It made me really excited to go running tonight and get up and go walking tomorrow.
It makes me aim for heading back to the outlet store in a couple of months for the next size down. These jeans are the emblem of having a moment today where I said, "this might actually be doable." It's the first time in almost two years that I have felt this is something I have the power to do something about. Two years ago, I was feeling thinner and active, but progressing so slowly that it was hard to stick with it. Then, I busted both my knees in quick succession and the wheels really came off the cart. I will never take for granted the ability to work out and use my whole body again. I did a full year of PT, brace wearing, procedures, more PT, and being so, so limited in what I could do, that I should really be grateful every time I can now run, swim, walk, or do way too many squats to get a good sweat going, instead of complaining. I need to remember that there are too many people out there who would happily sweat and go through significant pain just to take a few steps. I need to remember how hard it was to join their club for even one year. And I need to savor each time I put on these jeans as a reminder that I do have the ability to choose how this struggle will go. The time will pass either way, so it can go by and I can gain weight, or it can go by and I can lose it. That's up to me.
In the meantime, these are awesome dark-wash boot cut jeans that are clearly intended to be worn with my boots or red shoes. So, I obviously need some awesome black or red shirts to wear with them but red is not the "in" color this year. So, if anyone knows where I should look for that, I'm open to suggestions.
Shopping.
I typically go in to a shopping trip with a lot of hope and expectation and come out sweaty, defeated, and feeling as bad as if I had just been beaten with a truckload of underwire bras. Shopping is WORK. Literally, shopping takes walking, contorting, and carrying a significant amount of stuff. Shopping is that much work for everyone, sure. But shopping for someone like me is also emotional work. When you don't look like the pictures a funny thing happens . . . no matter how many cool clothes you put on, you still don't look like the pictures! More to the point, in my case, I am short. My legs are short even for a short person (which means, yes, my torso is long), my feet are flat, my arms and thighs are muscular, my hips are so wide that it's kind of unbelievable that I haven't had kids, my chest is large and I'm flat out just not built for clothes. Yet, of course, I cannot go around without clothes. So, shopping usually makes me feel like I must be a deformed person. I try on pants and think, it's great that they're 25% off because I'll have to pay to get them hemmed. I try on dresses and feel like I'd be better off wearing a sheet. I try on shorts and want to laugh and point at the girl in the mirror even though I know that she is I.
In ascending order from awful to horrifying torture, the things I least like to shop for are:
- Shorts - I despise the pairs of underwear that girls are wearing these days and calling "shorts" and anything longer comes down way past my knees because I have disproportionately short legs
- Gloves - I have midget fingers too
- Exercise pants - I need something that will not ride up, but will also not drop off my hips when I'm doing squats and I need those pants to magically also not be too long on my legs.
- Tank tops. These are a crucial layer to have in the wardrobe of a Coloradan. A nice way to add some warmth without making something bulky, and also, help make something that shows "too much" more professional. I crave to have tanks and camisoles in every hue in the rainbow. But ones with shelf-bras - no. And the ones that are build to lie long and flat on girls with Barbie's measurements, also no.
- Jeans and business pants - will they fit my hips and thighs? Will they drag on the ground? Will I spend the same amount I paid to buy them to have them altered? Will they make my midsection look massive? Nobody knows. It's like spinning the wheel of chance every time. And sizes are not consistent so that so doesn't help.
- Anything with buttons - I've been trying to figure out if there is a nice way to say this; if there is I don't know it. I have some special gifts and endowments. The kind that sometimes mean random strangers ask me out before they know my name. Anything with buttons is a major ordeal
- Dresses. Ugh. Who came up with this plan of one piece of fabric that is somehow supposed to flatter all different parts of my body? And if they have buttons, see above. I actually love dresses, but hate trying to find them
- Bras. I would buy stock in the company that realizes that for someone with "gifts" having a bra that is a color other than white, beige, or black and is also a good fit, support and comfortable is worth its weight in gold.
- Bathing suits. This is not even a pure body image issue in terms of seeing more of myself. Bathing suits are sized for a whole body. This does not always take into account my "gifts" or the fact that my torso is longer than average. It's the worst.
The last time I shopped for real it was to buy as many skirts as I could find that would meet my corporate dress code and also cover up my knee braces. And let me tell you, THAT fashion statement was worth forgetting.
But today, my time had come. Two weeks ago I pulled the belt in tighter. Last weekend, I discovered that my "good" pair of jeans could come up and down my bod without unbuttoning. This morning, I had to try on 4 pairs of pants before settling on a pair I used to wear two years ago. And so today, as I drove past the outlet mall, it had to be done.
I walked in with dread. I walked out with an awesome sweatshirt-jacket, a tank top, two shirt-type things, and . . . drumroll . . . a pair of jeans. Not just a pair of jeans. A pair of jeans one size down.
Excuse me for a minute:
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!
I kept on trying on jeans in the last size. all different styles, cuts, and colors and thinking, "God, these look awful!." And then the light bulb went off. Christie, if your old jeans that are too big are from this store then maybe new jeans need to be in a new size.
I won't lie, my first instinct was to jump up and down and yell out in glee. But since I didn't want to scare the nice people in Eddie Bauer, I held off. My second instinct was to buy three new pairs of jeans in various styles in color, in order to celebrate the new size. I didn't follow this impulse either.
I had to realize that this is what I hope is the first of many changes. I'm thrilled to have achieved this milestone, but this is the beginning, not the end. I'm psyched to be one size down and get some positive feedback. I'd feel accomplished to be down two sizes, and happy to be down three. But my target is really to be down four sizes. One down, three more to go. So I held off on splurging and bought one pair. But that one pair feels like . . . it feels better than the fanciest dress I've ever worn. It made me really excited to go running tonight and get up and go walking tomorrow.
It makes me aim for heading back to the outlet store in a couple of months for the next size down. These jeans are the emblem of having a moment today where I said, "this might actually be doable." It's the first time in almost two years that I have felt this is something I have the power to do something about. Two years ago, I was feeling thinner and active, but progressing so slowly that it was hard to stick with it. Then, I busted both my knees in quick succession and the wheels really came off the cart. I will never take for granted the ability to work out and use my whole body again. I did a full year of PT, brace wearing, procedures, more PT, and being so, so limited in what I could do, that I should really be grateful every time I can now run, swim, walk, or do way too many squats to get a good sweat going, instead of complaining. I need to remember that there are too many people out there who would happily sweat and go through significant pain just to take a few steps. I need to remember how hard it was to join their club for even one year. And I need to savor each time I put on these jeans as a reminder that I do have the ability to choose how this struggle will go. The time will pass either way, so it can go by and I can gain weight, or it can go by and I can lose it. That's up to me.
In the meantime, these are awesome dark-wash boot cut jeans that are clearly intended to be worn with my boots or red shoes. So, I obviously need some awesome black or red shirts to wear with them but red is not the "in" color this year. So, if anyone knows where I should look for that, I'm open to suggestions.
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