On This Day

Every morning, as I sip my first cup of coffee, Facebook kindly reminds me what happened On This Day over the last few years.  Usually it's filled with an incredible amount of narcissistic nonsense, sarcastic statuses about my children, or bacon memes shared with me by my friends.  Much to my chagrin, I also get reminded of those days when we all posted our Facebook statuses in the third person, circa 2008. "Cassidy... is talkin' more Shick than a Bic".  Yeah.  I posted that once.  I'm past feeling embarrassed by it. (Bonus points if you know where that is from.)

A few weeks ago I was reminded On That Day that it's been about three years since I posted my very first blog.  I've been meaning to write for awhile and that definitely spiked my guilt sensors (which are acutely sensitive, by the way).  It's been about seventeen months since I have written and I wasn't even that prolific before that.  I'm not even sure anyone is still reading but, if you are, let me tell you where I've been.

I feel like I'm in some VH1 special about a B-list, Screech-like celebrity, though I'm sure I'd be more likely to end up on Dances with the Stars instead of a sex tape.  Maybe.  Who am I kidding?  I really can't dance.

(Note: I probably won't be filling this blog with funny memes and pictures as is my usual way.  There really aren't any that are even relevant and I'm still recovering from a Google search for funny Screech/Porn memes.  Word to the wise - don't.  Just don't.)

Where have I been?  Well, to sum up I'm completely cured of all body confidence and worthiness issues, I've reached my goal weight and I've had no more reason to overshare with all you people.

Or...

Life.  And I needed a break.  And vulnerability is exhausting sometimes.

My last post left me pretty spent.  Maybe not the post itself but the whole experience.  I had challenged myself to be vulnerable and open at a difficult time when I started the blog and when I had surgery. For the last three years I have, in the name of body gratitude, publicly talked about my body for an entire month on Facebook.  I overshared about my life-long feelings of shame. I was terrified when I had a boudoir photo shoot, all in an effort to see my own beauty and embrace my size.  And I was scared to death when I got on a stage to sing in order to face my body image fears that have kept me from trying new things.  Frankly, I was tired and emotionally spent from trying to double-dog-dare myself into loving me.  I needed a break.

I've known for awhile that loving yourself as you are is the key to making lasting change, should you want to do so.  But that doesn't mean it doesn't also take work.  I decided enough was enough.  Enough talk.  Enough poor-me blogs.  Enough scary to-do lists.  I needed to start walking the talk.

In the midst of work and family and all the normal life stuff I really committed to making time to care for myself again.  I started tracking my food intake again with a modest deficit.  I started working out regularly.  Between those two things I've lost about 30 pounds since last January.  But the weight loss isn't what I'm proud of (and I'm not even back to where I was when I worked at the gym).  I am proud of myself for making ME a priority again.  For practicing self-care in a way that respected my body.  It's not been easy to stay focused on that and I've battled some injuries but overall I'm doing ok.  I've made these behaviors a habit again and that makes me happy.  Even so, I've been a little off course the last six weeks or so (more on that later) and there always has to be readjustment, even with habits.  Self care is a work in progress and always will be.

Let's see.  What else have I been up to?  Well, I survived wearing a walking boot in a Minnesota winter.  I've taken more voice lessons with another instructor just for fun this time.  I've spent a lot of quality time with friends and family.  I've worked a lot of hours. These are not dramatic events but it's what I've been up to.

I also ran into my old boss / close friend from the gym last Spring.  When I finally recognized him I was about to say hi and then he gave me a look.  A look with more hatred than I've ever seen anyone give me before.  Then he turned and walked away.  This stayed with me for a few days, mostly because I don't think I can ever remember being on the receiving end of that much hatred before.  And I still don't know where it's coming from or what I did.  But I sat with it, processed it and realized it's not for me to understand.  It's not about me and I won't carry it with me anymore.  I forgive many people for the things that happened back then and I hope they can forgive me for whatever ways they feel I've wronged them.  But I've moved on.  I wish him peace. Look at me, I'm growing!

I also survived yet another reminder that family, the ones that are supposed to love you, won't always love you unconditionally.  I felt hurt and angry for a few days and then I let it go.  Their loss.

This summer I celebrated my 20th wedding anniversary by taking a trip to Mexico with my husband, sans children.  It was relaxing and romantic and everything we needed, despite trying to fight off a little cold while there.  And, to make it extra interesting, I brought only bikinis.  Me.  Bikinis.  What? At first I thought I may try to make a challenge out of it - a blog post - and then I changed my mind.  I won't post any pictures here because it wasn't about that.  I can tell you what happened, though.  Day one - I put on my bikini and walked out to the pool.  That was it.  It wasn't some bold feat of strength.  It was a non issue.  A non issue in the best way possible and exactly what I needed.  I wasn't being brave because to say that would infer that I needed to be brave in the first place to show my body.  I was just a woman in a swimsuit just like all the other women in their swimsuits.  It felt wonderful to do it for me and not some crazy notion I committed myself to publicly.  It was freeing.  I can't wait for Facebook to remind me about my trip next year On That Day.  I felt beautiful and loved and free.

I've been wearing leggings and skinny jeans lately, God damn it!  That's gotta mean something right there!

It hasn't been all sunshine and tanlines and tight pants.  There have been some rough points, too.  I don't have the body image stuff figured out all the time and it sneaks in, usually when I'm actually upset about something else.  Hating on my body is the path of least resistance when it comes to self-loathing.  It's comfortable and I'm quite good at it.  Hell, in a recent bout of pain and grief I decided to get bangs.  About 2.5 seconds later I decided that every bit of sex appeal I had was now lying in a hairy pile on the floor and I was now completely unattractive.  Clearly I don't have it all figured out. 

What I know for sure is this - I may not always love my body.  I may unfairly punish it for other feelings I'm too afraid or too weak to deal with.  But through all that I still know that it's worth all the effort.  I am worthy.  You are, too.

I met a girl in the bathroom gym years and years ago.  I had seen her come in day in and day out to work out but I had never met her.  That day in the bathroom she was crying.  She was crying over her weight and her frustration and her feelings of unworthiness.  She was overwhelmed and was thinking of giving up on trying to lose weight.  That's when I promptly stepped in, hugged her next to the sinks and said the most asshole-ish thing a person can say at the gym. "I lost XXX number of pounds.  You can, too!"  Ok, maybe not the most asshole-ish thing but if she hadn't brought up the subject I would never have been that person to approach someone bragging about weight loss.  Lucky for me she still talked to me the next time she saw me.

We were brought back together again after I became a trainer and she had a horrible experience with another trainer that left her very disenchanted.  A friend brought it to my attention and I stepped in to fix it.  What I didn't know On That Day was that she would start attending all my classes faithfully and eventually become one of my closest friends.  She was part of my inner circle and integral in my recovery from leaving my job there.  Jenn was irreplaceable.  Facebook just reminded me a few weeks ago On This Day that we had been Facebook friends for 5 years.  It feels like I've known her my whole life.

In recent months she really struggled again with her own worthiness for different reasons.  I know this because she would text those exact words to me. "I'm struggling to feel worthy."  She knew I would get it but I was at a loss on how to help her.  I don't even have my own shit together most days.  Plus stuff gets in the way like life, family, people you probably shouldn't be devoting your time to, work, etc.  I thought I had time.  I thought we both had time to work it out and have a big hug and a laugh when we realized how crazy we were.

Seven weeks ago today Jenn died unexpectedly from an undiagnosed medical condition.  The night before I was texting her.  The next morning she was gone.  She was just fucking gone.

"Oh My! I might actually make it to cycle class tonight.  Seeing you twice in one week might be too much for me to handle."  Jenn wrote this on my Facebook wall On This Day five years ago.  Thanks, Facebook, for making me cry almost daily for 7 weeks.

On This Day I miss my friend terribly.  On This Day I feel a different kind of loss than I've ever felt before - the loss of a family member of my choosing.  On This Day I am also profoundly grateful to have had a friendship that leaves me devastated in its absence.  What a blessing to care so much that a hole is left when she is gone.  Because I've had plenty of relationships that were less than and I spent far too much time and energy trying to keep them and make them care for me, sometimes at the expense of the ones that really mattered.  I have learned such a profound lesson in this pain that she has taught me.

I may not have spent the last seventeen months mastering all of this body confidence stuff but I have spent the last seven weeks thinking about what matters.  What matters to me is that I live a life that leaves others devastated when I leave this Earth.  And I hope that I can leave this Earth knowing my own worth.  I'm heartbroken at the prospect that Jenn may not have fully understood her own worth or what she meant to people.  Those that she left behind know.  We know.

A week before Jenn passed away she emailed me a song that she thought could help another friend of mine.  I actually didn't get around to listening to it until the day we lost her.  She gave me exactly what I needed to hear that day.

 She was right.  I can handle this pain for awhile.  But I will miss her forever.


I'm not sure what will become of this blog.  I have no idea how much I'll still write.  I'm not feeling the need to be brave in order to earn my own self love.  I'm just trying to live and make the most of the time I have because it all seems so finite now.  I guess I'll just write when I feel something and when I have time.  If you are still here with me I thank you.  Deeply.

Lady Sings the Blues (and smells like BBQ)

They say that 45% of people usually make New Year's Resolutions.  And by "they" I guess I mean the University of Scranton's Journal of Psychology, from which I got my statistics, but at least I didn't make them up this time.  Of those, only 8% have success.  49% have infrequent success and 24% never succeed and fail at their resolution every single year.  (I believe the remaining 19% were too hungover New Year's Day to remember what they resolved to do.  Or maybe they were distracted by cat videos on YouTube.)

Six months ago I made some resolutions.  They were not about weight loss, though that's not necessarily a bad goal if properly motivated.  I just don't believe in starting off my year bathing in a pool of self-loathing like most who resolve to lose weight on that day.  Instead I wanted to approach the topic of body confidence and body love from a resolution angle.  What goal can I set that I have avoided my whole life because of how I felt about my appearance?

Well, you all know I don't like having my picture taken.  Never have - that's no secret.  So one of my goals was to commit to 30 Days of Selfies in order to take back the power of the camera and learn to be more present rather than afraid.  I did it.  I took a photo of myself every day.  I only gave myself one or two shots at the most and I just went with it.  Sometimes I was at the gym.  Sometimes I was on my couch.  Sometimes I forgot until the end of the night and took one on my pillow. Sometimes I had cried all day. Sometimes I even wore a bra and make-up. (Moments saved for special occasions.)  By the end of the 30 days I was entirely sick of photos of myself but they no longer elicited any emotional reaction beyond, "Oh.  There I am again.  That's me."  I felt I had some success.

Speaking of which.

My other resolution had to do with vocal lessons.  I love to sing.  LOVE it.  I have no delusions about fame and fortune with my mediocre talent but it brings me such joy and all the same feel-good endorphins that a workout also gives me. I've always wanted to take vocal lessons but I knew they would almost always end with some kind of performance.  And THAT is what I just couldn't do.  Not only because I wasn't that great but because I was fat.  Not thin enough, not pretty enough, not talented enough, not confident enough, not perfect enough.  Not enough.  So I haven't had a lesson since the last one I took with my junior high choir director.

I have declared this last year since my 39th birthday my Year of Bravery.  I've made concerted efforts to do the things that scared me the most.  I wore a two piece swimsuit in public last Summer.  I had photos taken in my drawers.  There were numerous other personal braveries that I tackled.  But there was still another thing I was afraid of that was within my grasp as the age of 40 rushed at me at breakneck speeds.

After my month of selfies I contacted a vocal coach, Connie Olson, at the recommendation of a friend.  Within a week I had my first meeting with her and she asked me to be a part of the Showcase she has for her students at that very meeting.  I thought she was out of her mind.  I was terrified to sing in front of just her, let alone an audience.  But Connie was adamant and she's hard to refuse.

I took vocal coaching lessons with Connie from mid-February until June and in that time I could tell my confidence was growing.  My singing was stronger, my embarrassment was miniscule and my joy was abundant.  And never when I was with her did I think about not being pretty enough or thin enough to sing.

Until I thought about that performance, that is.  The thought of it still made me nauseated but I was committed.  June came fast.  Too fast. As the date of our performance at Famous Dave's BBQ & Blue's Club approached I started getting more and more nervous but I couldn't back out.  I told too many people.  Jesus, I shared it on Facebook, the most concrete and eternal of all promises.  I had to do it now.

I was nervous about the singing for sure but I was more nervous about how I would look.  I'm just not meant for the stage and I'm fine with that.  Too fine.  God, what in the hell am I going to wear? I found a dress that was curvy and feminine and sexy, I thought, without being too revealing since my kids would be there.  I took a few selfies (yay, me!) and sent them to some friends to get the nod of approval.  I got it.  I know I've gained weight but this dress made me feel good.  See?  Not so bad, right?  *cough*  We'll get back to that in a bit.

Connie asked me to sing three songs instead of the typical one for newbies and I had chosen three songs that I knew like the back of my hand.  Bluesy, jazzy, old school.  Perfect.

About two weeks before the show I found out we lost our sax player to another gig.  I could NOT not have a sax player with my songs.  Panic! Since I happen to know one of the best around I contacted Walter Chancellor Jr. and he was willing to help, thank God.  What an honor to share my first time on a stage with so much talent.

To say I freaked out over the final week or two would be an understatement.  I worried.  I panicked.  I literally made myself ill.  I'm not lying when I tell you my anxiety was through the roof.  Just ask my husband who had to give me daily pep talks or my friends who helped me after my post-rehearsal melt-down.  I was scared shitless.  Shit. Less.

I did come very close to vomiting the morning of the show.  Which would have been a damn shame because it was a Sunday.  And anyone who knows me knows that my family always has bacon on Sundays.  Always.  It's our church.  To vomit up bacon would be a mortal sin in my book. I held it together, though.  Fortunately by the time I started showering and getting ready I started to feel better.  I did my hair, put on my makeup, some heels and that dress.  That damn dress.  Anyway, I felt beautiful, which is a victory in and of itself, and I was as ready as I was going to get.

Throughout the afternoon, over several hours, I got Stuart Smalley type texts from a friend of mine who follows my blog and apparently uses my own advice against me.  I can't tell you how much they meant to me that day.  I was laughing by the last one and that's exactly what I needed. I saved them all.  Here they are:

"You know you look fantastic, right?"
"You also know how much fun you are, right?"
"You also know how smart you are, right?"
"You also know you have fabulous hair, right?"
"You need to take a selfie right now.  Duck lips and all." (I did and sent her one after another prompting)
"I also know you're wearing amazing shoes"
"I like your knees and your toes, too.  They're pretty awesome."

She sent all these texts without telling me she was coming.  When she walked in I was shocked and so very grateful.  My family was also there - my husband, kids, mom, aunt, cousin and baby 2nd-cousin who loved her first trip to a bar.  Fitting it was with me.

 In addition, some of the women I love most in the world were there.  The ones that put up with all my crap.  The ones that listened to me cry when I left the job that I loved.  The ones that support me daily and unconditionally.  I couldn't have asked for more.

I was surrounded by love and friendship and cheers and hugs.  I could do this, right?  RIGHT?

My first song was pretty awful.  I'm not gonna lie.  The tempo was off with the band so I was off and I never actually got it under control.  Was it worthy of American Idol when they make fun of the worst singers around?  No.  But it wasn't my best.  The second song I started to rally.  Much better.  The third song, Queen Latifah's cover of "Baby, Get Lost" from her standards album, The Dana Owens Album, was when I really felt like I did my thing for someone who has never been on a stage in her life.  Having a spectacular sax musician right next to me sho' nuff didn't hurt, either, but that's the video I'm going to share with you shortly.

When I got down from that stage, amid the hooting and hollering of not only my people but others in the crowd, I was all fired up.  Fired up with adrenaline and relief but most of all pride.  God damn it, I did it.  I really did it.  The adrenaline high was so strong I couldn't even eat much of my BBQ ribs after.  Now you know that's some serious excitement.  I was flying high the rest of the night and into the next morning.

When I got in the car to drive home I snapped another selfie of myself (because that's kind of how I roll now).  This is what pride looks like.  And feeling achieved.  And blessed.  And relieved.  And grateful, for myself and everyone else who supported me.  This is what knocking another item off the bucket list looks like.  This is 6 months almost to the day Resolution Success.

This is also "My shoes are starting to hurt my feet"

Now I knew my family took some video on a tiny pocket camcorder and I had enough sense to wait a couple of days to watch it.  I wanted to keep feeling all those feels.  I wanted to not think about how I looked or how I sounded and I wanted to be happy that I. Just. Did. It.  But I knew I was going to have to look eventually because I wanted to share it with you all.  So I looked.

If I had to guess just how negatively those videos would impact me I would never have come close to the full amount of self-loathing I was capable of.  They were bad.  So, so bad.  Not the singing - the singing was just as I described.  But how I looked.  I was devastated.

Now, it's no secret that I have gained weight.  A considerable amount in fact.  You only have to run in to me at Target in my stretchy pants and hoodie to discover that.  But what I saw in that video compared to what I saw in the photos I took of my dress and the selfie I took in the car were light years apart.  Light years.   Maybe it was the poor quality camcorder.  Maybe it was unflattering stage lighting showing every bump and roll. Maybe I was just swelled up like a tick.  Maybe the old myth about the camera adding 10 lbs was true and I had exactly 72.5 cameras on me. 

All I know is that it broke my spirit.  For a couple of days.  I was shocked and embarrassed and mortified that I got up there.  And just in case you think I am over-reacting, my husband did agree that the video was "unflattering" which is about as close to the honest truth as I'm going to get from a smart man who knows how to word things properly for his woman on the edge.

I had a pity party for exactly two days.  Then a friend told me she hid in the back room of her house when her husband's friend, whom they hadn't seen since their wedding, stopped by for a visit.  She hid because of how she looked.

And then I decided enough is e-fucking-nough.

I am fat.  Much fatter than I used to be or that I want to be. And perhaps I don't know how to choose outfits that are flattering under stage lights.  Maybe the video was worse than it looked in person or maybe I do actually look like that and I'm delusional. Maybe this didn't heal me from worrying about how I look.  Whatever.  It doesn't take away from what I did.  And that's what made me the most angry at myself.  I allowed what I DID for myself to be diminished by how I LOOK.  When will that stop?  We let ourselves be made small in the very face of our huge accomplishments because we aren't perfect enough on the outside.  It's got to stop and stop right now. 

My biggest fear was getting up on a stage to do the thing I loved and looking bad or sounding bad.  And the very things I was afraid of happened to some extent.  And no one died.  And no one kicked me off stage.  And no one, aside from myself, even said horrible things to me.  Perhaps I won, not because I have conquered the fear but because I did it in spite of it.  I am not fearless by any means.  But I can call myself brave now.  Lessons are never learned from perfection.  They are learned when, in the face of imperfection, you still act.

So what was my lesson?  I'm glad you asked.  I may have forgotten for a hot minute what I set out to do by performing on a stage.  I got caught up in ego.  I may be a slow ass learner but I'm getting there.  The lesson is this:  What I do for myself and for others and how those things make me feel are the only things that matter in this life.  How I looked while I did them?  That's nothing.  It's not often I get to feel proud of myself and successful and beautiful all at the same time.  I don't ever want to take that gift away from myself again.

I'm reminded of an article that I read recently on HuffPo by Glennon Melton and shared on my Facebook page.  I recommend the read but one thing that struck me was the line, "If you do not feel beautiful then FILL UP, Precious Sister."  Fill up on all the lovely experiences because that's where a beautiful life comes from.  And when I got down from singing I felt pride in what I had achieved in facing my fear.  I felt all the love of those supporting me.  I felt radiant.  To hell with the dress.

I got up on that stage, not because I'm thin enough, pretty enough, talented enough, confident enough, or perfect enough.  But because, god damn it, I FUCKING CAN.

I'm sharing a video with you of that last song.  In the spirit of full disclosure I will tell you that it's not the full body shot that I saw and disliked but it still doesn't exactly match what I see in the mirror.  However, I promised to be vulnerable and open and that means you get to delight in my amateur singing abilities as well as my sailor mouth and pantsless jokes.  Enjoy.

Hey, Forty?  Come at me, bro.

Miss Understood

Yesterday I had a conversation with someone who referenced my comments on Facebook regarding an article I shared.  She said it was no wonder I was having trouble with a former colleague.  I was telling everyone to get larger while he wanted everyone to come in to the gym to get smaller.

Wait - what?  I don't recall saying that.  I do recall saying I would never again apologize for the space I take up and if you didn't like it you could move your ass over.  But telling everyone to get larger?  What?

In her defense I know she was just kidding around.  But it got me wondering if perhaps I'm coming off the wrong way.  When I say that I'm not going to make myself "small" anymore do people think I'm talking about my size?  Because I'm not.

I don't give exercise advice here because it's no longer my job to do so and you can find just about anything you want to know on the internet already written by smarter people than me (and some not so smart).  In addition, what's right for me is not necessarily right for you.  Same with nutrition.  I'm not going to tell you what to eat.  I'm not going to write a specific diet out for you.  Because, frankly, I don't believe in that.  I once had a trainer try to give me a diet to follow that seriously listed items such as: 4 raw green beans, 7-9 almonds, 6 pieces raw broccoli, protein shake.  Are you fucking kidding me?  What I eat may not be what you want to eat and I'm not about to tell you to eat something you don't like.  Seriously - have you met me?  I firmly believe food should be pleasurable.  I do have some pretty definite feelings on both issues and if you ever wanted to really talk about it I would be happy to give my opinion but that's not what this blog is about.

From the beginning of this blog I have been about one thing - making peace with my own body.  Whether that leads me to wearing a smaller size someday or not, that is my goal.  It was my entire bucket list in my last blog.  But maybe people aren't smelling what I'm cooking here.  Maybe I'm not making any sense. Maybe I've become a misheard lyric.

Oh my God.  I'm Tony Danza.

Body Acceptance.  That's what I'm talking about.  But I'm starting to wonder if people think I'm talking about Fat Acceptance instead.  There is a movement online that's gaining momentum for Fat Acceptance and I think it's a fabulous thing.  I think the pain, harassment and prejudice that people of any size larger than average endure is unacceptable.  I think people should not be ashamed of their weight and deserve to love their bodies. But I'm not actually talking about Fat Acceptance because my feelings go so much further than that.  I don't care if you are overweight or underweight.  I know for a damn fact that you have battled body shame at one point or another in your life, regardless of weight, and every single one of us can benefit from Body Acceptance.  Every single one of us.

But what does Body Acceptance mean?  I think for many there is a belief that if you accept your body as it is right now that you are admitting defeat.  You are giving up.  You are lazy.  You are unmotivated.  You are making excuses.  But I'm about to lay down some truth on you and tell you why they're wrong.

Before I do that, you should know that I struggle sometimes with really slowing down and meditating on things.  I think it's because I get way too emotional.  I like to lift heavy stuff and I like to box.  I have not really connected with yoga yet and that's probably because the whole two classes and one meditation I've been to made me bawl like a baby.  Today I am going to get all Zen up in this bitch.

I've considered learning more about Buddhism many, many times.  I've been so turned off by religion from lifelong experiences that this "philosophy" really appeals to me. To lead a moral life; to be mindful and aware of thoughts and actions; to develop wisdom and understanding.  I can get on board with that without all the traditional religious dogma.  However, aside from the fact that I'd probably get kicked out of both branches of Buddhism for continually repeating this entire scene from Caddyshack by heart, I didn't get very far in much of the teachings.  It seems the first of the Five Precepts of Buddhism is to avoid killing or harming living things.  Houston, we have a problem.

Imagine my surprise while trying to do some research on Body Acceptance that one of the most fabulous things I came across was a Dharma talk by Tara Brach, author and leading western teacher of Buddhist meditation, emotional healing and spiritual awakening.  Her talk, Genuine Acceptance, is definitely worth a listen on your own but I'll share some of the information that I found most beneficial.

First, let's talk about what acceptance is.  Tara defines genuine acceptance as "recognizing the truth of this moment without resistance.  With openness."  She says acceptance is an active, engaged process - not passive.  It's not lazy or giving up. It's an intention.  "Acceptance is in this moment how you are relating to the reality that's right here."  Essentially a state of heart/mind with absolute non-resisting presence.  The opposite of acceptance is "any moment that we are trying to manipulate our experience."

Tara goes on to say that there are three major archetypal challenges to acceptance that we are programmed for.  Fight-Flight-Freeze.  When we fight acceptance we push it away, we judge or blame.  Fight is full of "shoulds".  How do I apply this to the idea of body acceptance?  We judge ourselves for our own bodies or we get mean and spiteful over other bodies. (No one does the latter better than a woman.)  We "should" ourselves into a long list of restrictions and demands to try to change it.  And we beat the tar out of ourselves, emotionally and physically, in an attempt to get smaller.  Flight, in regards to acceptance, is about ignoring, denying and tensing against it to avoid pain.  I think this is where we distract ourselves with whatever method of pain relief we have. Mine is often food.  It's where we avoid truly looking in the mirror and going out and living life.  It's where we skip big events in our lives for fear of what someone else will think of our weight gain.

Freeze is more difficult for me to put a finger on.  She says that it's a "doormat in the guise of acceptance".  It's pretending acceptance when we've really just stuffed it under.  Perhaps this is where I was when I thought I had it beat and had it all figured out.  At my lightest weight and highest muscle mass and teaching classes and training clients all week and being a "role model" and "inspiration" for obesity turned fit.  Maybe that whole time when I thought I had all my shit figured out I was really just frozen.  Must have been. "If you push it under it always comes out sideways." Indeed.

Tara says that the Buddha's inquiry when life happens or when we struggle is how to find that liberating quality of non-resistant presence so that we can respond, not react.  The basic teaching in the spiritual tradition is that "wise behavior arises out of an accepting presence".  What's the difference between responding versus reacting?  Take for instance a child who has just gotten into trouble. (Not that I would know anything about this.)  I had an opportunity just this week to sit down with my child after getting a call from the school and discuss some serious topics.  Keep in mind that I had several hours to process everything and deal with my emotions but I can tell you that responding to his issue from a place of love and acceptance - knowing that maybe what happened was just merely a result of him not having all the pieces to put together in his mind - rather than reacting from a place of anger and judgment made all the difference in the world to the results we got from him.  He understood.  He responded and he was willing to change.  Parenting for the win!

In relation to the body, can you imagine how it feels to come at yourself from a place of rejection and reacting solely to that emotion.  Of course you can.  We all do it.  Sometimes even daily.  Now imagine coming at yourself from a place of whole-hearted acceptance and then responding. Of really taking in where we are in this moment, staying with it and feeling it, without judgment and thought, until we can respond with love and inevitably heal.  Doesn't that sound like a better method?  If are willing to treat our children that way why can't we approach our own selves in that manner?

Famous psychologist, Carl Rogers, once said, "It wasn't until I accepted myself just as I was in this moment that I was free to change."  Acceptance is the precursor to true transformation - accepting ourselves in this very moment.  Resignation is quitting or giving up - feeling defeated.  Don't confuse the two when I say I am working on body acceptance.

Am I able to make this change to acceptance all at once?  Of course not.  I struggle daily.  It's an active effort to steer my thoughts and feelings in the right direction and be at peace with who I am in the present.  I resist on those days I run into someone at my new gym who knew me at my lightest and I feel like I have to explain myself.  I resist when my clothes don't fit anymore or when someone talks about a certain clothing size being their "OMG I can't go back to that" size and it's the size I'm wearing right now.  And I freeze sometimes when looking in the mirror and wonder why I let myself get to this point again. (All of these things have just happened in the last few days.) But I make the intention every single day to come at myself with love and acceptance for who I am in this very moment.  It's all I can do.  And I make a little progress each and every time.

Tara Brach says that in it's purity, genuine acceptance "is no different than love.  The space that accepts is a loving space."  She doesn't say that it's easy, however.  It's going to be difficult because we are programmed to fight, flee or freeze.  It's going to take tremendous effort to arrive in that place.  That sure doesn't sound like giving up to me, though.  Maybe my pants size is larger than it used to be and maybe I'm not working out 6-7 times a week anymore but I'm not giving up.  What I am trying to do is not pretend acceptance like I did before, only to have it wreak havoc on me again.  This time it's for real and that's why I am not preaching about how you should move or what you should eat or how to get smaller.  I believe that if you truly love yourself in the form of absolute acceptance then you will RESPOND by caring for yourself in the healthy manner in which you and your body deserve.

We are all born loving and accepting ourselves just as we are.  Life changes that in so many different ways but I have to believe it's still inside me and I can find it again.  The American spiritual teacher, Gangaji, wrote, "Opening to whatever is present can be a heartbreaking business. But let the heart break, for your breaking heart only reveals a core of love unbroken."  I'm going to find that love again.

Since beginning this blog and it's Facebook page I have repeatedly used the phrase, "Love first, change second."  If you keep up with me you'll see it again. It's still my mantra. Who knew I was so fucking Zen already?

Dorothy, you've had the power all along.

The More You Know...

I haven't blogged in awhile and it's been intentional.  Aside from the last couple of posts I wasn't happy with the direction it was going and I was at a loss on how to get it back on track.  It was whiny and pissy and not at all helpful to anyone and that's not what I want it to be about. In many ways my surgery set me back for a bit but I'm feeling pretty good now and ready to move on and get back to the work at hand.  What were we talking about again?

Oh, yeah.  Retired personal trainer.  Body image.  Vulnerability.  Shame.  Spanx.  Blah. Blah. Blah.

It just so happens that tomorrow is the one year anniversary of me leaving my job as a personal trainer, group fitness instructor and manager at the gym I worked at.  I was a hot mess a year ago - anyone close to me (and some not even so close) can attest to that.  Even four months later when I wrote my first blog I was still in rough shape.

So where am I at one year later?  What have I learned? I've come up with a list, in no particular order.

1. How I speak about myself, especially when I'm alone, is the key to just about everything when it comes to body confidence and recovering from shame.  Actively trying to find things about myself to be grateful for is absolutely necessary.  And I know I am not alone based on the feedback I got from people during my Body Gratitude project.
2. I do not miss working nearly every night outside the home.  But at the same time I can hear a song while driving and miss teaching so much it makes me cry.  I don't know when/if that will go away.  But I'm 99.9% sure I am not going to teach or train again.
3. I think that people that have battled weight issues and body image problems are so very necessary in the fitness world.  They have a perspective when teaching and training that people that have never battled these things do not have and the connection they can make with people because of this is amazing.
4. That being said, based on my own experience if you have a serious issue with weight and food and body image I would think long and hard before I recommended getting into the business.  It's a slippery slope and a difficult image to uphold even if you never have these issues.  If you struggle it can backfire on you.  If anyone is seriously considering a job in fitness and wants me to explain further, feel free to contact me.  Bottom line - if you can't balance taking care of yourself while you bust your ass to care for others - it's not the place for you.
5. Jeans.  They still suck.  Surgery or no, I still can't find a pair of jeans to save my life.  I think my issues are worse than they were before.  Not a damn designer assumes that if you have ass and thighs like mine you will have a flat stomach.  So as far as I can tell this is the truth: Jeans shopping sucks no matter what your size.
6. So have I lost weight in the last year?  I did for a little and now I haven't.  I'm about the same as where I started, aside from what was removed during the surgery.  Some may view this as a failure but I don't. I had a helluva year that seriously broke me emotionally.  Any time this has happened in the past I have gained a considerable amount of weight. To maintain for a year while struggling so much is a big deal for me.  I'm going to chalk that one up as a win.
7. When I left the gym I thought to myself, "I'll show them.  When they see me next I'm gonna be thinner and stronger and ripped and hot...", etc.  Yeah, that didn't happen.  Do you want to know why?  Other than the fact that none of the people that hurt me would have even given a shit nor have they stayed in touch anyway, my desire for "revenge skinny" was impossible.  It can't happen.  Approaching health and weight loss out of anger and frustration and retaliation will never, ever work.  Your body knows better than you when it comes to knowing what motivates you.  I had healing to do before I could even think about changing my body.
8. Can you still change your body while loving it?  I think you can though if I'm being honest I still struggle with it.  I try to focus on stopping the negative thoughts when I think about how I would like to change and focus more on the health aspects.  And I really do miss feeling and looking strong.  The recovery from surgery (and the lack of a routine since then) has really taken it's toll.  I'm ready to get back to it and lift some heavy shit.
9. This:
   
   
10.  I'm not meant to completely avoid any particular food group.  I've tried and I've played with it all year.  It's just not for me.  Whatever you do to lose weight you have to be willing to do forever.  Am I going to have some bread?  Yeah, I am.  *shrugs*  What else will I put my favorite cheese on?  Moral of the story - balance, moderation, focusing on whole foods.  This is what works for me. It worked before and it's what I can maintain. I will no longer vilify any particular food group.  Except cucumbers.  I hate those things.
11. Moisturizer.  Get some.  I've been horrible at skin care for 38 years and I finally got on board.  What a dumbass I've been.  Get thee to the mall.
12. Weight loss or surgery - neither of these will fix you on the inside.  Whatever problems you had before you will have them after.  You'll just look different on the outside.  God, I wish I had a dollar for every time I've had to relearn this.
13. I seriously hate Fitspiration pics.  You know - the Nike-esque pictures with motivational sayings that also happen to include a picture of a woman so graciously sprayed down with fake sweat so as to enhance her nearly perfect, body fat free physique?  Google Fitspo and you'll see what I mean. 
    
    I like most of the messages and I give the people credit for their hard work but I'd venture to guess that 95% of these people are fitness models who have never really battled weight and have a natural ability to build muscle (not everyone can look like that no matter how hard they work and that's the damn truth - a lot of it's genetic).  I am not motivated by pictures of women that I will never in my life look like, no matter how much lifting I do.  And don't get me started on the air brushing.  It's worse than the fashion industry.  Show me real pictures of real people busting their ass and getting REAL sweaty and I'll be inspired.  And who the fuck works out in those outfits? 
14. I'm not always a nice person.  There.  I said it. Recently I found out that my former boss was fired from his current job and for a brief moment I was ecstatic.  I was triumphant.  It was one giant "I told you so"/middle finger and I had won.  But deep down I know this does not really make me feel better.  And I do worry about the financial situation that his family must face.  I need to be better than this because his pain will never truly make me feel better.  My problems are my problems.
15. Sometimes it takes a real asshole to push you to make the decisions you need to make. (see above) (Yes, I know it's not nice to call names.) (I already told you I wasn't a nice person.) (see above) Fact: It was time for me to leave my job.  I wasn't taking care of myself.  I was burned out.  My family was suffering.  I was miserable.  But my sense of obligation to that place, my manager and my friends/clients/class regulars kept me from making the decision I had to make.  I owe the owner a debt of gratitude for pushing me that last little bit that made me gather up the pride and strength I had left and say "peace out".  Thank you.
16. Obagi Pore Therapy Toner.  Get some.
17. Sexy panties really do work wonders.  Even if no one else can see them you know they are there.  Again, get thee to the mall.
18. This one is a doozy and just came to me in the last couple of weeks.  It will take some explaining.  You know how some people can pinpoint what started their weight gain?  Abuse, rape, broken hearts - no wonder people are self-medicating.  I actually think food is the safest way to ease that pain.  It could be so much worse.  I could never figure out what my "thing" was.  I've had some inklings.  I know of some pivotal moments for me but there is no concrete reason.
    
    Then the tornadoes hit Oklahoma, my birth state.  My grandfather still lives there and no one could reach him to find out if he was ok.  In the end I decided to email one of my aunts that hasn't spoken to me in years.  To describe everything that happened between me, her and her younger sister that ended our relationship would take way too long.  Just know that it changed me forever.  I grieved no differently than if they had died.  Maybe worse because I knew they completely rejected me.  Two people that I felt as close to as if they were my sisters.  I promptly slipped into a major depression back then and gained a shit ton of weight.  My highest weight even.
    
    I prepared an email for her to find out what she knew.  They often know more about family goings-on than the rest of us "black sheep" and neglect to tell us anything.  I didn't even know if her email was the same.  It took all I had to hit the send button.  My heart was racing, my stomach sick, tears running down my face.  What if she got my email and didn't respond?  What if she didn't get it and I just assumed she was ignoring me?  What if she actually responded and I had to take down the wall I had so meticulously built up around that part of my heart so I couldn't be hurt again by her?  This was a no win situation and it scared the shit out of me.  But I hit send anyway.  Seconds later I got a text saying Granddad was ok.  Mother fucker!!!  (Not Granddad.  Just the fact that I opened that can of worms when I didn't have to.)
    
    This is my "thing".  And I would venture to guess it's a lot of people's "things".  Rejection. Abandonment. Being ignored. Loss of love and affection.  And it all leads to one place - "I'm not good enough."
    
    A lot of people have wondered why I was still hung up on this gym or the people there.  Why did it still affect me so much?  Why I was still hurt by the loss of a friendship that I thought would last a very long while but virtually disappeared the second I was no longer there to bust my ass?  Why can't I just get over it?
    
    I can tell you it goes back farther than that.  It involves rejection from my father by absence. It includes my grandmother moving away and taking some of the people I cared most about with her. Attending seven different schools between kindergarten and senior year and having to lose friends and make new ones all over again each time. It includes being abandoned by every single one of my friends when I chose to marry the person I'm still with today.  It involves a group of online friends that I love dearly and were pivotal in my weight loss that I lost for reasons I can't exactly explain but I'm sure I'm responsible for at least half of, if not more, for I have developed a nasty habit of pushing people away before they hurt me.  And it includes losing two aunts who were there for me at some of my darkest moments when I lost a pregnancy and battled post-partum depression so severe it almost ended my life.  They just left me.
    
    Leaving the gym scared the shit out of me because I knew it would mean I would lose people again and I didn't know if I was strong enough for it.  And the one person I thought I wouldn't lose I did lose.  And in the defense of everyone from the gym that I felt had hurt me, they didn't know they would have the burden of fending off all my baggage on this issue.  This is my load to carry.  Not theirs.  I have to forgive them for they didn't have the whole picture or know what their actions would do to me.
    
    In the end this is still a success for me on this one year anniversary mark.  It hurt me and it was so hard to lose people again, but I made it through.  Just like I did before.  I'm still here.  Annoying the hell out of you people now.  Maybe I'm starting to get stronger than my "thing".
19. Love first.  Change second. (I ought to trademark the hell out of that)
20. And last but hopefully not least - this:

I'm ready to let it go.  Trainer and instructor - that's all in the past.  I'm just me now.  No one to answer to but myself when it comes to my own body.  It will continue to be a life long battle I'm sure and I'll do my best to write more often and share my experiences for as long as anyone finds it useful or relevant.  And maybe for a while past that as long as it's useful to me.

Oh!  I just thought of one more!

21. I'm kind of a big fucking deal.  And so are you.

Indecent Disclosure

Yesterday started like most days: alarm, coffee, getting the kids off to school and a little work.  And then a bunch of buck ass naked pictures were taken of me by a professional.

Ok, so maybe that last part was not part of my normal Tuesday routine.  But it got your attention.

I've been thinking long and hard about whether I wanted to disclose this information.  It's not that I'm ashamed of it or embarrassed about sharing.  And I certainly am not shy about talking about my body.  I'm actually afraid of being called a hypocrite and I'm terrified that it will negate what I've been trying to do here in your eyes.  But you know what?  I told you I was going to be honest and vulnerable and authentic.  And the most honest truth is this: whether or not you think I'm a hypocrite I am not changing my mind.

In just under two weeks I am having cosmetic surgery.  Abdominoplasty to be exact.  In layman's terms I am having a tummy tuck.  I've made no secret that this has been my desire since I first lost weight.  I have waited for this for over four years, always wondering when would be the right time, the perfect weight, or the best financial situation to get it done.  I'm no longer waiting for the perfect weight, I can afford to do it and now that I am not working at the gym the right time is now.

Here's a not so secret secret about losing a drastic amount of weight.  You are a hot mess after.  You all know this already.  It's why the contestants on The Biggest Loser start out with baring their shameful fat on t.v. only to have it suddenly covered up half way through the show.  That's because it's ok for the show to shame these contestants this way.  It's not ok for the reality of drastic and quick weight loss to shame the television show.  Cover that shit up ASAP and don't tell anyone that they won't look perfect when all is said and done.

As big as I was I was always pretty solid. I still am. It wasn't even until I got pregnant at nearly my highest weight that I ever got stretch marks (and I did it again less than a year after the first was born, at exactly the same starting weight).  My stomach had no where to go any more.  It had given what it could and it was all out of give.  When I lost the weight I was left with a flap of skin hanging over at my bikini line.  A pretty hefty flap indeed.  There is no amount of exercise and perfect diet that can remedy this.  I was actually pretty lucky - it could have been much worse.  The skin has an amazing ability to shrink back if it's not terribly damaged and it did shrink back for me, otherwise I'd have a FUPA hanging down to my knees.  But I don't.  I have just enough that I can tuck that shit into my pants and be on my merry way.

The medical term for this is called a panniculus. (Don't Google the images. Yeah, I'll wait............I told you so.)  It sounds like a cross between a creamy Italian custard and a sexually deviant Roman emperor.  I can tell you it resembles the custard more closely, but it certainly makes me feel deviant.

They say when you lose weight that you should throw out all your old clothes.  I was diligent throughout my entire weight loss and I donated my clothes to friends or organizations as soon as they were too big.  To keep them would be just setting myself up for future failure.  We're not going to talk about the shame involved in having to buy some of those sizes again, right?  Yeah, I didn't think so.  Another day.

Every morning or every time I change or after every shower I see one of these old oversize outfits, except I'm wearing it.  I'm wearing a skin suit of my former 300 lb self that I just can't take off and donate.  It reminds me of my past, but not in a good way and it feels like it's just sitting there, waiting for me to fill it back up.  I'm not doing that.  I've already stopped that process and I won't go back to that size where I was at the unhappiest I've ever been in my life.  I have one choice to take it off and that's surgery.

I was actually afraid my surgeon was going to tell me that I was too fat to have the surgery - that I would need to lose a ton of weight first.  As she knelt before me back in December, grabbing my flap of a stomach and shaking it up and down she seemed giddy as a school girl. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!  This is so exciting.  You are going to love this!"  I asked if she thought I needed to lose more before the surgery she said, "Oh, I don't think so.  I don't know if you realize this but you carry all your weight from the waist down."  *snort*  No, I hadn't noticed.  She said the chances of further weight loss coming right from that area I wanted to fix was slim to none.  She also said I had some "really good stuff" from the waist up.  She should know.  She made some of it.

You see, this is not my first surgery.  I may as well tell you all of it.  I did have one surgery four years ago after the weight loss. I had a breast lift.  I like to joke about the fact that I went from a 44FFF bra size to a 34 Long.  Seriously, tube socks with tennis balls.  Cocker Spaniel ears.  I was fed up with needing some kind of search and rescue mission to my armpits every time I laid on my back.  "No, honey.  They're back there!"  I was the same size after the surgery as I was before.  I just didn't have to roll them up into my bra anymore.  They are not completely store bought (not that there is anything wrong with that - to each their own) but they are refurbs.

I trust my surgeon, Dr. Jennifer Harrington.  She is amazingly talented and one of the best in the state.  She's just arrogant enough because she knows she's that good.  I promise you - humility is not a quality you want in a surgeon.  But I wanted the best and I know she's the one.  This is my last procedure. I will not go crazy with the cosmetic surgery.  Case in point:

So there you have it.  I was nervous to tell you about it because I thought you would call bullshit on all my body gratitude shenanigans.  Say I was full of it when I said we should love our bodies first.  But I want you to know that I am not removing this piece of skin because I'm full of hatred for it.  I've actually been living with it for quite a long time and it's normal to me.  I'm just ready to let that part of me go.  It's like scar tissue but I'm ready to move on and heal now.  It's time.  That and I just really want to be able to rock some smokin' hot drawers.  And take a break from Spanx.  And not have my shit jump out of my pants every time I round house like a mutha.  There has never been and there probably never will be a burpee and kickboxing friendly pair of drawers out there when you have a panniculus.  Especially a custardy one at that.

I'm going to be recovering for a minimum of six weeks.  Two to three of that I probably won't even leave the house except for doctor appointments.  I know I'll go stir crazy and I would have probably blown my cover anyway on Facebook if I hadn't told you about this.  Never Facebook and Percocet.  Remind me of that in a couple of weeks when I'm sliced from hip to hip and on house arrest.

So back to my naked pics.  I had forgotten that they take pictures before the surgery for the surgeon's reference and for "before" shots.  God, I would have groomed or something if I had known. This poor young woman whose only job at this office seems to be taking naked people to a closet had to kneel down in front of me and take pictures of my stomach as a raised my hands above my head.  Front. 45 degrees. Side. Other 45 degrees. Other side.  With no soft lighting or cocktails on either of our parts I'm sure it had to be the scariest mugshot since Nick Nolte's and at least he had clothes on.  I will make this promise to you here and now - the next time I have naked pictures taken of me my shit is going to look good.  And hopefully one or all of us will be a little drunk.  And candles?  Is that too much to ask?

"Leaning into the discomfort..."

"Your blog screams 'Shame' to me."  That's what I friend told me when we were out for a girl's night.  She'd been trying for quite some time to get me to watch an online video that I'd been putting off.  Why?  Because I knew it would get hard and ugly and messy and I have to be in the right frame of mind to cannonball into that emotional pool.

I thought a lot about what she said.  Shame?  Sure.  What person who has struggled with obesity doesn't feel shame at times?  And openly gaining weight while working in the fitness profession?  You guessed it - shame.  I thought about the other times in my life that I felt shame.  I know that struggling with shame during horrible post-partum depression was debilitating - very close to life-ending if you want to know the real truth of it all. (Fortunately I was so busy with a 17 month old and a newborn that I never had a real moment to myself to do any real physical damage.)  Religious shame?  Been there, done that, wish I had the t-shirt.

But does it go farther back than that?  You want to place some bets?

I was scheduled to do an ultra-boring Zone 2 workout on a Spin bike that would most likely involve me sitting in the saddle the whole time and I thought I'd skip the tunes and finally watch that video I was avoiding.  The video is a talk by Brené Brown, Ph.D. given at the TED conference in Houston, a non-profit devoted to "Ideas Worth Spreading".  This particular talk was on "The Power of Vulnerability".  I strapped on my heart rate monitor, gave my ass a quick pep talk so it wouldn't be angry with me later, and popped my headphones in.

I expected to cry.  To get all serious and introspective and all that other bullshit that I seem to be wallowing in lately. (I blame Oscar season and the Academy for the fact that no decent comedies have been out in awhile.  Who doesn't need one around the holidays?)  What I didn't expect from Ms. Brown was to laugh.  A lot.  Finding humor and making jokes in the middle of all that emotional work - you had me at hello, Brené.

So in between laughing, blowing my nose, wiping my sweat and repeatedly telling a guy named Bill that, no, I was indeed not talking to him and he could put his headphones back in I managed to watch the 20 minute video.  I was hooked.  I immediately started googling for more videos (while maintaining a steady Zone 2 heart rate between 150 and 155, thank you very much) and found "Listening to Shame".  Perfection.  I spent the remaining portion of my workout trying to fully understand the connection between vulnerability and shame in my head.  Later that night I watched the videos again and took notes.  Yes, I am that girl.  I also downloaded her latest book to my Kindle.  And maybe found her on Facebook.  And perhaps subscribed to her blog.  One person's "stalker" is the next person's "biggest fan".  It's all about perspective.

According to Dr. Brown what we all fundamentally crave is connection.  She goes so far as to say that "the ability to feel connected is why we're here - what gives us purpose and meaning to our lives."  Given all the avenues of social media that we have at our fingers at any given moment of the day, I would have to agree.  I miss that connection that I had with people at the gym.  I used to always think I was better at working alone, which suited my self-employment just fine.  Turns out I'm a fucking people person.  Who knew?  "Connection" is one of the reasons I started this blog, in addition to working on my own crap, I mean, issues.  I still feel like I have something to say about these topics even though I don't have that fitness center venue anymore.

She says that "shame is the fear of disconnection".  If everyone knew about all our junk would they somehow deem us no longer worthy of connection?  There's that word again that keeps coming up for me.  Worthy.  Worthiness.  Self-worth.  It's like I'm in a real life "Where's Waldo" book and I can't find the sonofabitch anywhere. (No, I won't start a "30 Days of Worthiness" project on Facebook.  You're welcome in advance.)  And the real emotion that underpinned shame was "excruciating vulnerability". In her words, vulnerability is the "core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness" but it is also the "birthplace of joy, creativity, belonging and love."

In her six year of studying shame, Brené Brown found that people who were sure of their worthiness, those that she called "Wholehearted", the ones that truly believed they were worthy of love and belonging where those that also believed that "what made them vulnerable made them beautiful".  They fully embraced vulnerability instead of trying to numb it.  They took chances.

I thought I was being vulnerable.  I really did.  I'm sharing a lot and I have a mini-panic attack each time right before I hit "Publish" on a new blog post.  What if no one reads it?  What if no one comments?  What if, God help me, no one "likes" it on Facebook?  But being scared that people won't like it is not the only litmus test of vulnerability.  It's risk and exposure and honesty and authenticity and uncertainty.  And I haven't done that as much as I could.  I haven't "kept it real" like I should.

Case in point: The post about my first contact with my half-sister.  Let me preface this by saying that I am so thankful that she contacted me and I hope that someday we may have some semblance of a relationship, albeit international.  People who read that blog post thought it was uber-cool that I had a sister and how exciting, yada-yada.  What I didn't share that day was how torn apart I was, how fundamentally raw and unworthy I felt.  I wanted to spare her feelings, spare her father's feelings and my mother's feelings.  I didn't want to expose too much.  I couldn't possibly tell everyone that I spent the entire day crying and feeling destroyed and broken and then decided that I couldn't possibly be expected to fix a normal dinner for my family after that so I had to order take-out from a local Italian joint and eat penne instead of vegetables, now could I?  (This is how the fat brain works, people.) A few people knew.  My husband knew.  My mother sent me a message after reading it and asked if I was ok.  She knew I wouldn't be ok. But I didn't tell the truth that day.

Here's the truth: I was worried, being the grown-up in the relationship, about it being ok for my under-age sister to contact me.  I wanted to make sure her parents were ok with it. That led to a discussion about when she first learned about me.  She said her mother had mentioned a half-sister a couple of years ago but it wasn't until that past week that her father (yes, I know her father and my father are the same person - you can analyze me another day) sat her down, now that she was a teenager, to tell her about all the "stupid mistakes" he made when he was 15.  The conversation went on for awhile after that but I couldn't focus on anything but "stupid mistake".  It's all I heard.  She didn't know that she should edit that part for me - she's 13.  She has lived her entire life with two loving parents and the knowledge that she was intentional and worthy of being here.  She also has no clue, until now, what a basket case of a sister she has.  Hearing the words "stupid mistake" takes me right back to being a kid who never really belonged in the family. I wasn't supposed to even BE.

My mother had me when she was 16 1/2.  She got pregnant at 15.  She hid her pregnancy until the day she went into labor and had to tell her mother, also 9 months pregnant, that she was about to have a baby.  I can't imagine how hard it was for her to be pregnant and not tell anyone but I get why she did it.  There had already been a baby born to another sister and he had a tremendous amount of medical issues to be dealt with.  My grandmother was pregnant with her NINTH child.  And I'm pretty sure my grandparent's marriage was already falling apart.  How could she tell anyone?  I'm sure she was scared shitless.  I would have been. (These are just my thoughts and conclusions - it's not something we really ever talk about).

After I was born my grandfather told the other kids they were absolutely NOT to go to school and tell anyone and they would be punished if they did.  This was supposed to be a secret.  What in the hell would people think if they knew?

That's how I entered the world.  I wasn't planned.  I wasn't intentional.  I wasn't welcomed or celebrated. I was hidden. I was a "stupid mistake".  That's what my sister's comment brought me right back to.  And the logical part of my brain says, "Yes, it's terribly stupid to get pregnant at 15".  And I know my mother would agree.  But my mother would also have said, "But I don't regret it."  And I can't get that from my father and wouldn't believe it if he said it because he doesn't know me nor has he been a part of my life.

Brené Brown says that if you were to put shame in a petri dish it would require three things to grow: 1) Secrecy 2) Silence 3) Judgment.  Sound familiar?  That was the holy trinity of what I was born under and apparently my cross to bear.  I know shame deep into my core and I truly believe that conquering it is the key to finally believing my worthiness.

Are there worse things to happen to people?  Of course.  I had a good life.  I grew up to be a pretty good person. I was loved and I still am. And my heart goes out to the people that I love that have been hurt by far worse things in their lives - rape, abuse, poverty, illness.  My shame is not the worst out there but it's also why I don't have a drug addiction or an alcohol addition or some other vice.  I just eat a little too much and say bad things to myself from time to time.  So how come, until now, I have only talked about the shame of being overweight? Silly rabbit, it's the only shame I can't hide.  I wear it, literally, on my sleeve.  And my ass.  And my thighs.  And my stomach.  The rest I have neatly tucked away.

So now what?  How do you fix shame?  Ms. Brown says that there is one sure way to douse shame because with it shame can't exist and that is empathy.  "The two most powerful words when we are in struggle: 'Me, too."  How do we get it?  By being vulnerable.  Shame + Vulnerability = Empathy.  Welcome to the new math.

I promise to be open and truthful and authentic from now on.  I haven't got a shot in hell in beating this if I'm not.  I have to be "excruciatingly vulnerable" in order to get empathy from you.  And I hope that when you read my struggles you will also hear what I am trying to say about your own journeys, which is the number one thing I wanted to share with you when I first started this blog.

"Me, too."