There's always room for another fresh start. I am deeply considering a project ME opportunity. I've talked with Ivana about it and with my newly-found image consultant Deb...and I believe they will both participate. I can't tell you ALL details, but I can tell you that at least 1 new podcast will launch from my website before Labor Day this year...and that means a great deal of self focus.
I will be an ordained Interfaith minister this summer and to that end I plan to be involved with internet radio and podcasting - I will be in the public eye more so my image is even more important to me than it was when I could hide in a studio and simply be a voice.
Deb is going to help me find my image...because at the moment I stick to comfortable bum clothes while at the radio station and comfortable slightly nicer than bum clothes while working on the office side. What I want to do is wear the clothes I enjoy the look and feel of (mainly dresses, skirts) but can't find a practical reason to wear. I hate shopping for clothes. I hate being in any one store for too long. I hate checkout counters. I hate the anticipation of being able to get out of there and on with my day. I feel like a guy shopper - I like to know what i want, get what i want, and get out.
Most of the time that means without trying anything on.
But, when I get something I really really like, I try it on and check it in the mirror, and make everyone around me take a look. I have been known to sleep in boots I fell in love with. Raincoats, too. Bathing suits. Just for the first night home.
So, while I hate the feel of being in a store, I love the feel of wearing something I truly like. A dilemma Deb will help with as she merges my wants with my needs for accommodating my body size, shape. Good luck to her!
So, Ivana: Nutrition. Cara: Wellness Deb: Image. Barb: Fitness. I have had to scale back a lot of things since my mom became ill. I am paying mom's bills. I'm meeting with Barb today to see whether she and I can pick back up...to see if she is willing to join me in my new project ME which I am going to make public if all goes according to plan. First, I have to secure my "A Team." Then, I have to convince two industry acquaintances that project ME is a worthwhile endeavor and that they should climb aboard. If I am able to do what I want to (but am afraid to!) I will have something big to tell you soon.
ME, convincing someone else that I am worthwhile.
Holy smoke, what has therapy done to my brain? Where did this confidence come from?
Can I keep it?
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Never-Grow-Up, Never-Grow-Up, Never-Grow-Up? That's Me.
Or a version of this is true. I have managed to become a reasonable adult who can make rational decisions - even RASH decisions - and I'm glad at the woman I've become. Yet...through music therapy with Cara...I stumbled into an awareness that I couldn't have expected and makes perfect sense:
I never grew up.
It is OK to eye that statement with scrutiny. As proud as I am of myself for surviving up to my forties, which I did pretty well despite obesity, there is a little pin prick of truth I can't ignore.
So here's how we see it:
Prior to the age of five, I was everybody's darling. I was raised an only child, was the only grandchild and niece in my immediate family...was the newest, cutest and may I say most talented youngest cousin mom's side of the family ever laid eyes on. I was loved, massively loved, by a tight knit group of people who helped raise me and took care of me and my mom. I LOVED my grandparents, my aunts, uncles, cousins and I loved my mom - so so much. And guess who else I loved?
Me!
In my fourth summer, my life changed "for the better." Mom and I were excited to be moving in with a nice man, Jimmy, and his three kids (whom he had custody of since his divorce.) I'd barely met them before we did move in and for a while I was really, REALLY happy to be there. Jimmy's kids, it seemed, didn't want for anything - not that I knew I did while living with mom. Our poverty was modest, natural, and I was happy with my life the way it was. And then I thought in Jimmy's house we'd be even more happy together, me and mom.
But the way my world was run changed very quickly and not very easily. Suddenly, I was the youngest of four children. I understood I had to share my mom with them and found it hard to. They had to share their dad with me - and he would give me such praise for being so cute and delightful and entertaining (my natural way of being, not at all fake) and his kids began to resent me. My mom and I didn't have one-on-one anything any more. I barely had time to see my grandparents and my aunt Mabel who I really, really loved and wanted to be around. Visits were far, less often. I had to change schools and before long I had to put up with threats of being thrown out if I didn't let my brother or sister get their way - they would tell their dad to throw me and my mom out if I didn't X, Y, Z.
I went from being everybody's love to everybody's nuisance. Despite this, I still tried to matter...it just didn't take. Or it would take, but it would mean having to draw LOTS of attention to myself however I could. I wanted praise and I wanted love.
Cara says that children naturally develop from being Self-oriented to being more aware that the world doesn't revolve around them - a progression that occurs normally for the average kid. She senses that I didn't go through that process quite as smoothly or eloquently as I might have, given an ordinary circumstance of being the same fun kid living with my single mom and getting surrounded by her family.
So, instead of growing up the smooth way, I grew up the abrupt way, and it shunted my ability to feel important and heard. It caused me to believe I wasn't worthy of attention even though I knew better in my head. Even though I knew in my heart I was pretty cool.
My external validation had vanished and I never got around to navigating through doubts by myself. Every once in a while, I'd break that "glass ceiling" of expectation and I'd get the attention I liked, but as I said it would take such feats to accomplish.
I wanted to be Noticed. Liked. Enjoyed. Of course I still want to be.
Could the quick cord cutting have stemmed my development? Could this really be a reason I sabotage my own weight loss? Can I please get noticed some other way?
I never grew up.
It is OK to eye that statement with scrutiny. As proud as I am of myself for surviving up to my forties, which I did pretty well despite obesity, there is a little pin prick of truth I can't ignore.
So here's how we see it:
Prior to the age of five, I was everybody's darling. I was raised an only child, was the only grandchild and niece in my immediate family...was the newest, cutest and may I say most talented youngest cousin mom's side of the family ever laid eyes on. I was loved, massively loved, by a tight knit group of people who helped raise me and took care of me and my mom. I LOVED my grandparents, my aunts, uncles, cousins and I loved my mom - so so much. And guess who else I loved?
Me!
In my fourth summer, my life changed "for the better." Mom and I were excited to be moving in with a nice man, Jimmy, and his three kids (whom he had custody of since his divorce.) I'd barely met them before we did move in and for a while I was really, REALLY happy to be there. Jimmy's kids, it seemed, didn't want for anything - not that I knew I did while living with mom. Our poverty was modest, natural, and I was happy with my life the way it was. And then I thought in Jimmy's house we'd be even more happy together, me and mom.
But the way my world was run changed very quickly and not very easily. Suddenly, I was the youngest of four children. I understood I had to share my mom with them and found it hard to. They had to share their dad with me - and he would give me such praise for being so cute and delightful and entertaining (my natural way of being, not at all fake) and his kids began to resent me. My mom and I didn't have one-on-one anything any more. I barely had time to see my grandparents and my aunt Mabel who I really, really loved and wanted to be around. Visits were far, less often. I had to change schools and before long I had to put up with threats of being thrown out if I didn't let my brother or sister get their way - they would tell their dad to throw me and my mom out if I didn't X, Y, Z.
I went from being everybody's love to everybody's nuisance. Despite this, I still tried to matter...it just didn't take. Or it would take, but it would mean having to draw LOTS of attention to myself however I could. I wanted praise and I wanted love.
Cara says that children naturally develop from being Self-oriented to being more aware that the world doesn't revolve around them - a progression that occurs normally for the average kid. She senses that I didn't go through that process quite as smoothly or eloquently as I might have, given an ordinary circumstance of being the same fun kid living with my single mom and getting surrounded by her family.
So, instead of growing up the smooth way, I grew up the abrupt way, and it shunted my ability to feel important and heard. It caused me to believe I wasn't worthy of attention even though I knew better in my head. Even though I knew in my heart I was pretty cool.
My external validation had vanished and I never got around to navigating through doubts by myself. Every once in a while, I'd break that "glass ceiling" of expectation and I'd get the attention I liked, but as I said it would take such feats to accomplish.
I wanted to be Noticed. Liked. Enjoyed. Of course I still want to be.
Could the quick cord cutting have stemmed my development? Could this really be a reason I sabotage my own weight loss? Can I please get noticed some other way?
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
The Sum of all These Parts
Cara (she's the therapist I recently hired to help figure out my fat-friendly brain wiring) has been able to help me comprehend how a number of circumstances relative to my childhood contributed to the body which burdens me today.
I don't have the energy to write explanations at length tonight. I just wanted you to know that wonderful things are happening. I am starting to believe I can figure out why the hell I sabotage myself when it comes to success like weight loss....but not JUST figure it out...I just might be able to quit doing that and get on with feeling awesome. And able. And strong. RAR.
I don't have the energy to write explanations at length tonight. I just wanted you to know that wonderful things are happening. I am starting to believe I can figure out why the hell I sabotage myself when it comes to success like weight loss....but not JUST figure it out...I just might be able to quit doing that and get on with feeling awesome. And able. And strong. RAR.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Memory Serves
PALM SPRINGS, CA - "Waitress Insults Fast Eater, Stuns Family"
We were sitting in a Denny's, eating breakfast, coming to the end of the happiest family vacation I can remember. Breakfast was my step-dad's favorite meal and, in true lover-of-food fashion, he graciously allowed us to order from anywhere on the menu.
We ordered big.
I can't remember liking anything but ham and eggs at that early age, but I'm sure I ordered what would come with toast, with pancakes, and a big, big glass of milk. (In a family full of fat people, this amount of food is common for a nine-year-old to order at a restaurant.)
Plates of pancakes were still steaming yet my step-brother, the skinniest of our bunch, announced he had finished everything on his plate - I mean he gloated that he was done before all the rest of us. Our waitress happened to be there just to see if we had everything we'd need. She saw the pride in my brother's smile, heard the tiny arrogance in his voice, and noticed he was looking to her for praise.
But, instead she made a face and said, "Pig!"
My brother's jaw hit the table. The rest of us laughed.
For years since we have preserved the memory of my brother being told. Well deserved, you smug, little show-off. The grown up me now stares at this scenario with a new appreciation for what my step-brother did.
In a family full of fat people, it's kind of great when you finish all of your food - especially if you happen to conquer something big. I remember being so proud of myself, and so full, and so satisfied with life, and so full, and so happy, and so full, when my step-dad looked at me and said, "God love ya, kid." because I'd finished a 12" pizza. I did that. I finished it. I never could before. And now that I did it, I had my step-father's attention and acceptance AND I had a recommendation for God to love me. I was proud of myself. I think I've finished every pub pizza thereafter, and we ordered pizza on Fridays religiously for years.
So, yeah, my brother expected the waitress to be pleased and find him super cute and exceedingly interesting and accomplished and and and and and. Why wouldn't he?
Food was LOVE.
We were sitting in a Denny's, eating breakfast, coming to the end of the happiest family vacation I can remember. Breakfast was my step-dad's favorite meal and, in true lover-of-food fashion, he graciously allowed us to order from anywhere on the menu.
We ordered big.
I can't remember liking anything but ham and eggs at that early age, but I'm sure I ordered what would come with toast, with pancakes, and a big, big glass of milk. (In a family full of fat people, this amount of food is common for a nine-year-old to order at a restaurant.)
Plates of pancakes were still steaming yet my step-brother, the skinniest of our bunch, announced he had finished everything on his plate - I mean he gloated that he was done before all the rest of us. Our waitress happened to be there just to see if we had everything we'd need. She saw the pride in my brother's smile, heard the tiny arrogance in his voice, and noticed he was looking to her for praise.
But, instead she made a face and said, "Pig!"
My brother's jaw hit the table. The rest of us laughed.
For years since we have preserved the memory of my brother being told. Well deserved, you smug, little show-off. The grown up me now stares at this scenario with a new appreciation for what my step-brother did.
In a family full of fat people, it's kind of great when you finish all of your food - especially if you happen to conquer something big. I remember being so proud of myself, and so full, and so satisfied with life, and so full, and so happy, and so full, when my step-dad looked at me and said, "God love ya, kid." because I'd finished a 12" pizza. I did that. I finished it. I never could before. And now that I did it, I had my step-father's attention and acceptance AND I had a recommendation for God to love me. I was proud of myself. I think I've finished every pub pizza thereafter, and we ordered pizza on Fridays religiously for years.
So, yeah, my brother expected the waitress to be pleased and find him super cute and exceedingly interesting and accomplished and and and and and. Why wouldn't he?
Food was LOVE.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Where've I Been?
If you remember, I thought it might be a good thing to see about some kind of therapy to help me succeed in my weight loss. I'm not on Biggest Loser where I can look Bob in the face and WAH my woes. Sometimes I feel so good about life and how things are going that I don't feel like I have any woes. But something keeps me fat, and it isn't my want for health that does it. So, I've taken a detour from my low carbs diet (which I repeatedly-yet-unhappily sabotaged) and I started talking to Cara (pron. CARuh). She's introduced me to some pretty whacky shit - like mandalas and drawing and is integrating music and meditation into our sessions.
While doing weird things feels strange, the experience seems to be helpful. I can better put words to it a little bit later. Right now I'm full of feelings and thoughts that I can't comfortably articulate, but I've missed blogging and I've missed your presence and comments and I've missed feeling INCREDIBLE and awesome - that's how I felt living low carb.
I have some mental and emotional work to do if I want the things Ivana is/has been teaching me to "stick" and become my lifestyle...and because I do want to live comfortably in my skin, I'm going to keep seeing Cara. And I'm going to be in touch with Ivana, my nuritionist, because I've not been very much. And I may even get back to seeing Barb when I'm ready.
I could just keep going and stopping, going and stopping, going and stopping and take both Barb and Ivana on the ride with me, but I fear I'd wear them out as much as I wear myself out. They've both proven willing to hang with me through success and failure alike - just like you have. I don't want to take any of us for a ride, though. I want to stop screwing up what's good and enjoy that. Easy right?
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