Reduce, Reuse, ReTreadmill

So, I've significantly reduced the amount of work I do in a day. I want to make sure my decision gets the respect it deserves by making the time I've earned count for something. So, I had to ask myself what I want...and the answer was discipline.

My father-in-law is a retired U.S. Major. He's happy and motivated by taking care of himself. His routine is so established that it is predictable down to the orange juice he has to have with breakfast and the cup of soup he enjoys with every lunch. He exercises daily. He sets out to do things and completes them. He doesn't take on things he doesn't feel he can commit to. I believe he is a good example of personal success because he is happy and comfortable with his self-care, and he can do it in a way that serves others but that doesn't compromise his happiness and comfort.

His way of doing things has been on my mind because I'd like to achieve some of the same things he has - especially the personal commitment to taking care of myself.

As you know, I've made some immediate changes in order to treat myself (and others!) better, be less hard on myself, less taxing on someone else...so I feel I am on my way.

This morning, I woke with the idea that I would make a list of things I want to be disciplined about. I even went to Google for others' examples of living a life of discipline - and wow, I am glad I did!

I found this site written by a Zen practitioner to be really helpful. At first, I wanted to argue that discipline is no illusion - I see my dad in law stick to it. I see others around me, like Jay at work, stick to it...and I want to, too.

After reading the "discipline is an illusion" post, I had to admit the content makes sense. Not only that, but it makes 'discipline' accessible and lends to the appearance of PROBABLE, should I go ahead and apply the principles of discipline I admire so much of others in the controlled environment the zen piece describes.

Ultimately, I know the decision and the exertion is mine alone. I know that nobody wakes my father-in-law up and tells him to exercise today. Nobody shakes Jay out of bed and says he has to pray and spend the day celebrating everyone he meets. But they do it. Because they want to.

It feels right to think about what I want to do...and that zen-writer piece seems like a good reference to use again and again until I do feel disciplined. To me, there is admirable strength in making healthy choices for oneself...and I, of course, want to live admirably.

So, I'm going to think about this and jot down wants for myself until I can form a list that I'm happy with and eager to go ahead with. And I'm going to meet Barb at the gym today, as planned, because I really like to be there and I really like her company and I really like the feeling I get when I've accomplished that hour of self-care.

Just a quick check-in.

I've made best friends with an antihistamine because sinus headaches are kicking my skull. I'll be better and nicer soon...then I can tell you what has been going on with my walking and stuff. Good news on that: I've been able to push through to get it done, though I definitely feel the loss of momentum and its resulting success. I'll fill in with more soon!

Here We Go Again

I have a confession to make: I suck at taking pills. Years ago, I received the diagnosis of hypothyroidism from awesome Dr. Hong when he had a practice with his partner in Charlottesville. He was my PCP at that time and was probably the most thorough physician I'd ever known. I'm not a good patient, though. As much as it should become a habit, I lost the want to take thyroid pills (I just felt so stereotypical i.e. fat chick with low metabolism/thyroid trouble) and would only wish to resort to taking them when my energy felt drastically low.

But, I couldn't just take the pills even if I was unbearably tired because there is a warning about stopping and starting this particular prescription - it is something you have to gradually increase in volume or ween from once you've had blood work properly analyzed and are on a closely-watched regimen. I got tired of the maintenance because I was so used to feeling a lack of physical (and sometimes mental) energy.

For someone with the problem, I've managed to get along pretty well aside from my not losing any weight. I found ways to fit in naps, ways to work around spending too much energy at any one time, and how to schedule my day around my drowsiest hours so that I can have them and still function "normally." I have handled my diagnosis in a very mind-over-matter way. Sometimes I even convince myself that I'm doing great.

That can't be true, though. How can I be doing so great, but still be this size? I'm not really doing great. What I'm doing is coping.  I am doing a great job of coping. What I really want is to be doing great. Get me?

Like it or not, the pills help me when I take them so I'm eyeing the possibility of taking Synthroid again. To do so would mean: A visit to a new physician. Regular blood drawing. Tiresome history reports & other paperwork. Kicking my own ass to take the pills consistently. It looks and feels like a lot of work just to take one stupid daily pill; however, I have to ask myself 'how much work am I doing just to cope with the problem?'

Having slow metabolism prevents me from losing weight at the rate and pace that normal people can. Having slow metabolism messes with the process of my girl parts. Having slow metabolism breaks my day up into segments of can or can't. Having slow metabolism  makes digestion even harder. Having slow metabolism turns out to be a much bigger chore than taking Synthroid and, if the preceding statements weren't enough, that seems to be what motivates me.

I called a family physician and I can get in to see her on Tuesday.

EDIT: I had an interesting conversation with a nutrition coach this afternoon and I am going to put the idea of getting a Synthroid prescription on hold for now. First, blood work to get all my levels of everything, then some dietary changes, then some blood work to get all my levels of everything, then see if the hormone replacement is still necessary. Coming up: My consultation with Ivana Kadija and the start of a new venture (and friendship, I think!)

Does "Honor Thy Mother and Father" = An Unhealthy Body?

Reflections on The Ten Challenges, Chapter 5:

To honor my mother and father didn’t used to be an easy task, but with time and growth I do believe I’ve become better at doing so. My mother is the only of the two who is still living and sometimes it is hard to keep from getting angry at her, saying things that I wouldn’t like to keep saying; however, the older I get, I find those times have less to do with my own selfishness.

When I “lash out” or get irritated with my mother it is usually because she is not taking very good care of herself. It is difficult to watch her be overweight (like me) and make poor choices for herself (like I have) and refrain from exercise (like I have) and, as a result, contract all kinds of diseases and disabilities (like I am afraid to.)

I see reflections of my mother in my own behavior as an overweight woman. For a long time I chose to blame my mother’s weakness toward wellness as reason enough for me to ignore my own. And there have been times when she and I have “partnered up” to take on the big jobs of losing weight and getting healthy, and one then both of us simply quit(s).

When my mom says she is starting a weight loss or exercise regimen of any kind, I have lost the ability to support her wholeheartedly. I have come to expect failure from her because I have invested anew so many times only to see expectations she has for her progress (and ones that I have for her) fall short. I’m tired of being disappointed in my mom to where I get tense, angry, frustrated, worried and tired by just the simple mention of what she had for dinner – or by the admission that she couldn’t walk up the stairs or needed to sit down to breathe without finishing her walk through a pharmacy or grocery store.

I forgive my mom on a daily basis, then this kind of situation comes up again and I find myself getting angry again… so there is a cycle or pattern of “I’m okay with mom, I’m frustrated with mom” going on kind of constantly.

The truth is, I love my mom so very much. She is so important to me that I am fearful of her leaving our world too soon! My mom is funny and smart and clever and has a lot of great ideas. She’s adventurous and silly…. but a lot of people wouldn’t know that because she is a prisoner of her own flesh now (like I have been!)

My mother’s advanced stages of asthma and rotator cuff injury and diabetes have made her less healthy than me, but I can see myself heading in her direction if my own choices go unchanged. I make more attempts to right my diet and to get exercise than my mom does; however, I wouldn’t consider our lives a competition.

I want to be healthy and I want my mom to be healthy, too. I am working with a physical trainer and will soon have a dietitian and a plan to work with so that I can fulfill my want – I am feeling able and ready to commit to this. I wish my mom could do the same.

I sometimes wonder if having my weight is one way I’ve been able to stay with her and not leave her behind. I will share a significant life story of mine to explain why:

When I was only nine years old, my family went to California. It was a big, big trip and very exciting to do together. My stepdad and his kids, my mom and I went into this adventure as a family, but as it turned out, this time together provided an opportunity for us to become a divided one. Again.

A lot of my childhood was spent being “Carole’s daughter” in a house full of “Jimmy’s kids.” They were known as privileged and I was known as poor, or that was the assumption. Jimmy was the Be All in our family – the decision-maker, the heart-breaker, the provider of all things, the captain of our ship…you name it. Mom was understood to be the “housekeeper / babysitter whom Jimmy took pity on and allowed to stay in his home with her daughter” despite the fact that they slept together and my mom was, in every respect besides paperwork, a wife.

There we were in California where the high cliff walls turn into sandy beaches. I was jazzed about going down the side of the cliff just to get down to where the water was. My stepbrother and I were the first ones most of the way down and everyone else followed.

My mom got stuck. She wasn’t very heavy back then. She was just scared and couldn’t get her footing right and didn’t want to tumble who knows how many feet, so she cried out.

Jimmy was up there with her, but I saw him coming down. His two daughters, teenagers at the time, were coming down also. Mom was crying, sitting in the dirt, wanting Jimmy to help her back to the top where the pavement would be sanctuary, but he razzed instead and told her to stop being a wimp and to follow along.

By then, my stepbrother was down on the beach. My stepsisters were climbing over me to continue down. My stepfather was in a bad mood and cursing about my mother’s uselessness and I was frozen in place. I watched my stepsisters scuttle past, easily digging their feet into crevices of rock. I heard my stepbrother shrieking in delight because he was the first to make it down. I asked out loud if anyone was going to help my mom because I knew she was too afraid to make it.

“She’s your mother!” they said. Every single one of them left it up to me, at nine years old, to climb all the way back to the top of this cliff and help my mother (then at least twice my size) get back to the parking lot.

It was hard, but I did it. The place where she was had too much sand to get any good footing and she couldn’t go up. I tried to convince her to follow me down because it would have been easier, but she was freaking out too much. I couldn’t get up the sandy ridge any more than she could, so we were kind of stuck there – until some guys who came to park and view the ocean overheard my mom crying and came to lend us a hand up with some rope.

From below, I could hear mimics of my mom’s crying – my stepsisters – and comments of how useless she was – my stepfather – and laughter – my stepbrother and I thought they were cruel and I loved my mother, but I was angry at her because I didn’t want to be her rescuer. I was angry at everybody else for the same reason.

To say that this scenario was normal is an understatement. Within our home, I was often forced to “deal with” my mother or was forced out of the family unit because I belonged to her. It bothered me that no one else would help her or care about her. I love my mother with great, great love and would not deny her or disassociate with her for anyone.  But would I hold onto my weight and poor eating habits and keep from exercise to continue to be “with” her? Sometimes I wonder if I do.

This was about forgiveness, I know. I don’t feel a need to forgive the things I’ve mentioned, though. I feel a need to forget, or a need to move away from that bond or somehow change the dynamics of that bond so that I can be healthy – really, truly healthy…. even if my mom decides not to. It breaks my heart to think of that? But I am afraid my heart will give out if I don’t take care of it with or without her.