Flattery Will Get You Everywhere

My last blog took the wind out of my sails for a little bit.  It was a bit emotionally exhausting.  And while I now know the root of some of my issues (and probably yours, too, as I believe shame is the backbone of all worthiness problems) I am not yet quite sure of the full path to healing that.  Baby steps.  I'm working on it and we'll come back to that.  Stay tuned.

For today I want to wish you a very happy National Compliment Day!!  Yes, January 24th is, according to Google, National Compliment Day.  Interestingly enough, it's also Eskimo Pie Patent Day.  And yesterday was National Pie Day.  Tomorrow is obviously Don't Even Think of Buttoning Your Jeans Day.

I don't know how these things are determined or why Americans feel a need to commemorate such ridiculous things but I'm a little angry that my birthday in August happens to be National Creamsicle Day.  I don't even like creamsicles. I want a do-over. 

National Compliment Day may not be a bad one to commemorate, though.  Who doesn't like a good compliment?

"Everybody likes a compliment" - Abraham Lincoln

"I can live for two months on a good compliment" - Mark Twain

No word yet on when National Steal a Quote Day is.  I'll keep you posted.  I'm pretty sure there will be a meme posted on Facebook about it any second.

There should be nothing in this world that feels as good as a compliment.  Sadly, the art of receiving them has been lost, particularly by women.  In my opinion we are the world's worst compliment receivers ever.  I'm guessing men sometimes struggle with this but I have never once heard a man receive a compliment and follow it up with, "Oh my God! I'm feeling really bloated and gross today and I'm sure my ass looks fat in these pants."  Not once. Do they sometimes mishear a compliment as, "I want you to take your pants off right now"?  Absolutely.  But overall they are pretty good at accepting compliments.

Women are another story altogether.  We are horrible at receiving compliments.  We will argue with you until we are blue in the face. We will systematically try to disprove your compliment theory with the Law of Falsifiability argument.  In other words, since we already believe it to be false we have no problems giving you a full break down, in outline form if you choose, of our observations that prove it as such.

Do you really think everyone is lying to you?  Do you think all your friends and loved ones are so full of shit, so misinformed as to negate every nice thing that comes out of their mouth?  How about giving them a little credit?  Are you giving honest, heartfelt feedback when you compliment a friend or partner?  You should be.  So how about you give them the benefit of the doubt?

I was researching this topic even before I knew it was a holiday.  I picked up a book from the library by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D. called Women Who Run With the Wolves - Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype and though I'm not very far at all in the book what first drew me to it was some information on how horrible some women are at receiving compliments.  She references the Ugly Duckling story by Hans Christian Andersen as a perfect example of that feeling of not belonging or fitting in and being judged for those things. She goes on to say that some people still struggle with distrust even after finding that security and belonging they were searching for.

"There is probably no better or more reliable measure of whether a woman has spent time in ugly duckling status at some point or all throughout her life than her inability to digest a sincere compliment...Although it could be a matter of modesty, more often a compliment is stuttered around about because it sets up an automatic and unpleasant dialogue in the woman's mind."

Dr.  Estés says that when we receive a compliment something in our minds tells us we are undeserving and then we assume the complimentor is an idiot for even thinking such a thing to begin with. "Rather than understand that the beauty of her soul shines through when she is being herself, the woman changes the subject and effectively snatches nourishment from the soul-self, which thrives on being acknowledged."

So we're back to internal dialogue. How we really feel about ourselves is evident in how we talk to ourselves in our quietest moments when no one else can hear.  And for 99.9% of us (ok, so that's not a real statistic) what we say to ourselves each and every day is far from complimentary.

So many women told me they couldn't participate in my 30 Days of Body Gratitude project along with me because there was no way they could come up with that many things to be grateful for.  Some couldn't even come up with one.  What can we do to try and change this?

I don't have all the answers and I'm a work in progress each and every day.  But here's a thought - how about we try just ever so slightly to see ourselves through someone else's eyes?  Someone who is kind and loving and thinks we're having a really good hair day and no, we don't look fat in that outfit. (FYI - Fellows, do not actually answer this question.  If she asks you if she looks fat in said clothes, whatever you do, evade.  Change the subject.  She already has an answer in her mind and you will never, ever find the right one.  It's a riddle, wrapped in enigma.  It's a trap and you will fall right into it.)

How about instead of arguing with someone who compliments us we just accept it?  Because I promise you this, ladies:  No man wants to argue with you.  He knows you don't argue fairly and when it comes to our appearance we are rarely rational nor logical.  It's a lose-lose situation for him.  So if you think those compliments will keep coming when you repeatedly shoot them down you are in for a rude awakening.  He will eventually stop.

I'm going to challenge you for the next month to accept every compliment you receive with grace and gratitude.  Even that creeper from the bar who is just trying to get in your pants - take it for what it's worth.  If you can't practice your own body gratitude then let someone else do your homework for you for awhile until you can.  For part of this challenge you are allowed to respond to a compliment with only two words.  If those words aren't "damn straight!" then please let them be "thank you".  And try to mean it.  Because I promise you the compliment given was genuine and full of truth.

"Like pollen on a honeybee, flattery clings to the things you tell yourself." - Willis Goth Regier, In Praise of Flattery, 2007

"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."

New Year's Evolution

Happy New Year!  Today is the first day of a brand new year where people feel the powerful lightness of new beginnings and clean slates.  Fresh commitments to be a better person, parent, spouse, employee.  To be organized and punctual and vice-free.  And, most commonly, thinner.

I hate New Year's Resolutions primarily because they don't last.  They have very little staying power.  Any decision made while suffering from a hangover and after being tagged in far too many NYE party photos making your duck lip face shouldn't be taken too seriously.  And very often it's not.  I've seen it time and time again in the gym - the place is packed the first few weeks in January.  You can't get a machine to save your life.  By early February there is a little more room in those classes you wanted to attend.  By the end of February you have the run of the place again.  And as quickly as that the Resolutioners disappear.

This is why I wanted to try my Body Gratitude experiment.  What would happen if I entered the New Year having already practiced for a month what I'm convinced is the secret to all successes?  What if I had already laid the ground work for a brand new tone for my life?  Would I feel differently at the end of 2013 than I felt about 2012?

2012 was personally one of the hardest years I've had in awhile.  Not the hardest, mind you.  I've been through much worse.  But this one really got to me.  By mid-year I was beat down physically, emotionally and spiritually and it took the rest of the year to try and climb back out of that hole.  The worst of it all was not what people did or said to me.  It's what I did and said to myself.  I was a horrible friend to myself.  And like a lot of women I let all that self-hatred manifest itself in hatred for my body.

So, enter 30 Days of Body Gratitude.  Today is day 30. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.  I was able to come up with 29 separate entries for physical attributes I loved, liked or was ok with.  Contrary to what many thought it wasn't about complimenting or bragging about myself.  It was about making a conscious effort to say nice things to myself and change that internal dialogue.

And you know what?  It kind of worked.  I spent a lot of time each day thinking about what I wanted to post about or how I could spin something that normally was a negative thing for me and change it to a positive one.  I felt responsibility in living up to what I was preaching about so any time I felt those "ugly" thoughts or "fat" thoughts coming on I quickly changed those words in my head or, more importantly, thought about what emotion I was feeling that made me want to say those things and I tried to deal with the real issue.

The best part of all of this wasn't what I said to myself each day.  It was the feedback I got from others and the gratitude posts from them.  There weren't a lot of people that went the distance with me.  I had quite a few that started strong and didn't make it.  I had a few that just popped in once in awhile to contribute on days when they were probably feeling pretty decent about themselves.  I had a few surprises from people who never posted but at the end said they were sad to see it go as it made a difference in how they looked at their own bodies each day.  How amazing is that?  That made it totally worth it to feel so vulnerable and exposed most days when I posted, wondering when someone was going to call bullshit on me.  And one gorgeous friend has decided to put her scale away for a year because of this project.  Fantastic!  I am truly inspired by all that came out to play with me.

Sadly, I had some friends who gave up quickly or couldn't contribute at all, saying that there was nothing they were grateful for on their own body.  That kind of self-loathing for their own bodies speaks to a much, much greater problem which was the real root of what I was trying to accomplish for myself.  It's what I believe is the secret to all successes or goals.  It's love for yourself.

So many think they will love themselves when they get to their goal weight.  Or when they find the right person to spend their lives with.  Or perhaps when they find that perfect job that will finally make them feel like a success in their professional lives.  But what if they have it all backwards?  What if the only way to get to those points is to love yourself first, thereby inviting all those things into your life because you are DESERVING and WORTHY of all good things.  What if the key to your resolution of being a better person, parent, spouse, employee is all about knowing, first and foremost, that you "are worthy because you were born"?

I'm still going to struggle with worthiness on a daily basis.  Even through all this gratitude I've been practicing I have still been battling with that which should be my birthright.  It doesn't help that I'm still hurting from losing friendships that I thought I'd have forever just because I made a career choice that was better for me and my family.  And just a couple of weeks ago I was reminded, yet again, that I was "a stupid mistake" (not my words).  It all takes it's toll.  But I didn't manifest those feelings into calling myself ugly or disgusting these past 30 days.  And that's worth it because those were my weapons of choice.  Instead I dealt with the real issues and feelings and felt what I had to feel instead of beating up on my body just to take it out on someone.  It was painful but I did it.

So what is my plan for the New Year?  I'm going to keep practicing loving myself and I'm going to find a way to focus on worthiness.  And I will not let a number on the scale dictate my worth any longer.  I know the issues are bigger than that and I will not shrink away from them and hide under a bathroom appliance.  This doesn't mean I won't try to be healthy.  I will still try to eat better and exercise smarter and feel stronger and leaner because I like feeling that way and I like being able to participate in activities that require me to take care of my body.  And there are still things that I would change about my body. But I will do my best to try to approach my body with the intention of love and gratitude for what it can do for me rather than trying to fit it in to some mold before I can love it.  Love first, change second. And I'm not calling this a resolution because those come every year.  I'm hoping to evolve to a point where I never again have to start over on this project.

I no longer have a goal weight or a goal size.  I really don't.  I do have a couple of other goals, though.  First, I'm going to try my hardest to never say anything to myself that I wouldn't say to one of my best friends.  Next, I will no longer wait for the perfect weight or size before I try new things or new activities. It's time to start living and achieving all the things I want for myself. And finally, my last goal is a line from one of my favorite Brandi Carlile songs - "Do I make myself a blessing to everyone I meet?".  This includes being a blessing to myself.  And unless there is some new way to measure blessings I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with a god damned scale. 

May your 2013 and forever after be filled with all the blessings and worth that you are entitled to just because you were born.

The Morning After

Yesterday was a nearly perfect Christmas Day.  I spent it at home with my immediate family.  I wore stretchy pants all day and relaxed when I wasn't cooking.  And the expressions on the boys' faces when they opened their presents were priceless.  At one point my youngest threw himself into my arms as if I was Santa himself, which I guess I kind of was.  We were very blessed as a family yesterday.  And I may have made the most perfect prime rib that has ever been made.  I actually jumped for joy when my husband started carving it and I saw that it was perfectly medium-rare. I win.

Today, however, I woke up in a foul mood.  I still felt like Santa but now for different reasons.  I felt bloaty and thick and unattractive.  I could also discuss chin hairs left unattended over the holiday but that's a story for another day.  I'm totally over Christmas today.

This morning I had one of the worse food hangovers ever.  If you are like me you had way too much in the way of holiday foods and snacks over the last couple of days.  If you are unfortunate to be like me you also still have many of these goodies still in your home.  And if you are eternally screwed in the food department like me, you still have two more family gatherings to go to this coming weekend.  Let's not even discuss New Year's Eve.

So I started this morning thinking about what I ate and feeling guilty and full of regret.  But I stopped it as quickly as I could.  Holidays are always about family and friends and yes, food.  It's what we do.  We love each other with food.  It's why I made the cookies and other desserts that remind my husband of childhood Christmases. It's why he shoved a bunch of truffles in my stocking.  It's why I slathered a bunch of honey butter on homemade popovers for the boys.

One of the things I always told myself and others the first go-around on weight loss was this, "Even naturally thin people eat too much on holidays, birthdays or vacations."  Then they come home, go back to their regular schedule and the weight they gained comes right off.  Do they feel guilty about what they ate?  I have no clue.  I'm not privy to how the brain of a naturally thin person works.  For me it's like trying to read German or Chinese. (FYI: I can translate "fried dumpling" in 2.5 seconds)

One thing I know is that guilt and shame are not productive emotions for anything.  Not a damn thing.  So brush off the tinsel and the glitter (hey, no judgment on your "traditions") and go back to taking care of yourself, whether it's with healthy food or exercise or just being kind to yourself.  And if not today, then tomorrow.  And if not tomorrow, then the next day.  Just don't wait until New Year's Day.  You know how I feel about that.

13

This whole Body Gratitude project I've challenged myself with has gotten mixed reviews.  Some people are clearly sick of my posts.  Some are motivated by them. A few want the "old Cassidy" back who posted nothing but snark and sarcasm.  Others have admitted that, while they don't feel strong enough to participate, they appreciate the concept of this exercise in changing our internal dialogue.

I wanted to quit on Friday.  The news of the Sandy Hook Elementary massacre in Newtown, CT had me reeling.  What kind of bullshit project was I promoting when there are REAL issues out there?  Real tragedies much greater than feeling shitty about yourself for 30 years.  My life is good.  My family is with me, safe and healthy, and I am blessed.  Who cares if I don't feel beautiful?

A couple of people reminded me that I was making a difference to them.  One suggested that if maybe the world was full of people that had learned to love themselves a little more we wouldn't have these kinds of horrific things happen.  I'm not crazy enough to think what I'm doing is as grandiose as all of that.  This is a small thing, meant to help me and a few friends go into 2013 with a new mind-set. But what convinced me to continue on was the news that the 13 year old daughter of one of my friends was inspired to write her own body gratitude in her journal.  In a short amount of time her list was already up to 12.  12!!  It was excruciating for me to get that far.  She is absolutely amazing.

Can you imagine having the chance to go back in time and say wonderful, beautiful things to your 13 year old self?  What difference could that have made to my 38 year old self now?

I turned 13 in the Summer of 1987.   It was right before I started 8th grade at a brand new school (again).  I was terrified at the thought of trying to make new friends for the third time.  Of trying to fit in.  I was chubby and pimply.  I didn't have all the name brand clothes.  I had a raging crush on a guy about 5 years older than me who only thought of me as his best friend's little niece.  And I was really good at not being nice to myself in my own head.

1987

We got our first CD player that year.  The Princess Bride was released. Married with Children and 21 Jump Street started that year. The top songs in 1987 included George Michael's "Faith", U2's "With or Without You", Bon Jovi's "Livin' On a Prayer".  (Don't even get me started on the huge Janet Jackson phase I went through when "Control" came out.  I rocked the hell out of my boom box that year.)

In 1987 the cost of a gallon of gas was only $0.89 and a pound of bacon was only $1.80.  I mention the bacon not because I had any concept of the price of bacon that year but because I don't think I have yet mentioned bacon in my blog and I have been remiss.  Bacon is good.

The age of 13 is heavily on my mind today.

Just six days ago I wrote about my feelings of never belonging and of disconnect with family.  Less than twenty-four hours ago I mentioned in my Facebook status that I wish I could go back to my 13 year old self and tell her that she was beautiful.  13 seems like such a pivotal age to me.

This morning I woke up to a friend request from a half-sister in Germany I've never met.  We share the same father, whom I have also never met.  We talked a little on Facebook.  She's gorgeous and looks so much older than she is.  And I can already tell she's fierce.  I'm old enough to be her mother and my inner-mom has already decided that if I had a daughter that looked like that I would lock her away.

This young girl took it upon herself to reach out to a 38 year old woman, not knowing how I would respond.  She took the first steps that I may never have taken, fearing I would overstep my bounds or open up a can of worms I wasn't ready for.  She seems fearless and confident and apparently has more balls right now than I do at my age.

She's 13.

I'm reeling again today.

Whatcha huntin'?

A week into my Body Gratitude project and I find that I'm quickly running out of body parts that I feel really good about.  This doesn't mean I should quit, though I am certain there are Facebook friends out there who are ready for me to shut the hell up.  It's even more proof that I need to continue, even if all those people need to "hide" me until January 1st.  But what do you do when, after seven days, you run out of things to feel beautiful about?  Maybe you make lemonade from lemons.  Or in this case from cankles.

It's time to start choosing some body parts that I'm less fond of and make the most of them.  After all, it's not much of a challenge if I only give a shout out to the things that I've actually always loved about my appearance, right?  I mean "hair"?  Really? Hair was my first entry.  Hair is the one talent I have.  Lame answer.

You know what is not my talent?  My legs.  And this is largely due to my cankles. Did you know that the word "cankles" was the July 26, 2009 Word of the Day according to Urban Dictionary?  I didn't either.  But if you are one of the two people on this earth who do not yet know what a cankle is, I will give you the official Urban Dictionary definition:

The area in affected female legs where the calf meets the foot in an abrupt, nontapering terminus; medical cause: adipose tissue surrounding the soleus tendon, probably congenital, worsened by weight gain and improved in appearance only by boots. From the English "calf" meaning wide portion of the lower leg, and "ankle" meaning slender joint of leg with foot.

Call them what you want, but I have them.  My leg is pretty thick all the way down but my cankles are why I don't wear dresses often. They are not my best asset so I cover them up.  But they come with a lot of history.

I'm an only child and my mother had me very young.  She raised me on her own but there were times when she needed help and because of that we lived with my grandmother for awhile.  My mother's younger siblings that were still at home were more like brothers and sisters to me than anything else.  In fact, I have one uncle who is actually twelve days younger than me.  Try explaining that on the school bus.

As much as I was exposed to the "big family" experience, I never quite felt like part of the family.  I was never entirely included.  I viewed them as my closest of siblings but in reality I was never more than a niece to them.  I was devastated when my grandmother got remarried and moved the remaining younger kids out of state. I felt like I lost my whole family. And then again about eight years ago when the two aunts that I cared for so deeply completely cut me off after telling me in no uncertain terms that I was never actually one of them.  It took me a long time to recover and I still find myself struggling to get really close to people at times.

It didn't help that while growing up I didn't look like anyone in the family.  I really don't even look like my mother.  I've only seen a few pictures of my father here and there so I can't even comment as to whether I look like him.  Do you remember that Sesame Street sketch with the song, "One of these things is not like the other...".  That was me.  "Belonging" is not a feeling I ever remember growing up.

Oh, but I digress. Back to cankles. In addition to this huge extended family was my great-grandmother, Pauline.  I can't remember a time when she wasn't around while I was growing up.  I remember going to her apartment when I was little and she would give us circus peanuts (um, worst candy ever) and tell us not to rock in the kitchen chair or we may "upset something".  She saved all bacon fat in a can by the stove and she made the best cinnamon rolls in the entire universe, a recipe she took with her when she passed away.

Pauline was born in 1909 and later was pretty much raised by a single father, unheard of at that time, after her mother left, taking only one of the kids with her.  From what I've been told, she adored her father, Hamilton.  She married a little late, too.  I believe she was in her late twenties when she married and had four daughters.

There were days she would open up the mysterious trunk in her room and show me pictures from when she was in her twenties and the one thing I always noticed were her cankles.  She had them in the most literal sense.  There was no difference in her leg circumference starting just above the knee and going all the way down to her foot.  It was actually pretty amazing.

Pauline moved in with my mother and me after my grandma moved away with the other kids. (Ok, by now I'm sure you are confused.  In my world my grandmother was "Grammy" and my great-grandmother was "Grandma". Does that help?)  I'm sure it worked out well sometimes for my mom because Grandma Pauline could always be there for me before and after school but I know she was hard to handle sometimes. You couldn't appear to be looking for anything in the house without her asking, "Whatcha huntin?"  She couldn't sleep much at night and would wake us up with the sounds of shuffling cards on a glass table so she could play solitaire. She started nearly every story with, "When I worked at the state school..." (She worked at a state mental hospital in her youth and the stories, though I'm sure she held some back from me as a kid, were amazing.) She also worked at a hatchery and I'll never forget the time she told me about the three legged chick that was born with it's third leg coming out of where it's butt should be.  It would run around like crazy and then sit back on that middle leg, the other two "normal" legs sticking out straight in front.  Of course it died because, you know, it couldn't go to the bathroom.  But I still wanted a three legged chick for my own.

Grandma crocheted while she watched her "programs" and she even taught me how to crochet a little.  I still have a couple of zig-zag afghans that she made for me in that Charlie Brown pattern that she preferred.  I can still hear the way she said afghan.  Af-a-gan.  

Pauline had the thickest, strongest fingernails and she would file them to nearly a point.  It's really no wonder the babies would never come to her when she waggled her fingers at them to get their attention.  Unfortunately her thick fingernails meant she also had thick toenails.  Literally, it took two hands squeezing on the clipper to get through them. Guess who got asked to trim them for her?  Have I told you how I don't like feet?  Yeah, I don't.  Perhaps this is why.  I also used to roll her hair in curlers for her.  She had the softest, whitest hair that I've ever seen.

I got the call that Grandma passed away at about 6:30am one morning, literally moments after peeing on a stick and finding out that I was pregnant with Ethan.  There was a lot of emotion that day.  I was so sad that my children would never meet the grandmother that I had spent the most time with.  They would never hear her crazy stories.  I wanted to do something to give her some kind of tribute but I just couldn't think of naming my child Pauline. (Actually her name was Mattie Pauline but she hated the name Mattie.)  And if we were to have a boy the name was already chosen anyway.

We drove out to Missouri to go to the funeral and while there we went through all of my Grandma Pauline's old photos.  So many pictures of her with her dark hair and cankles.  One picture in that box stopped me short.  There was a picture of her father, Hamilton, whom she loved so much.  Only it was my face staring back.  Here was the missing link.  Finally, I had proof that I did actually belong in this big, dysfunctional family.

We decided to name our second son Sean Hamilton in honor of my grandmother and her father whom she loved so dearly and whose face I share.  I had no clue that he would grow to have the same face, further solidifying our place here in this world.  We do belong and we do have history.

I can't wear heels with ankle straps and the whole ankle bracelet fad of my youth was frustrating as hell.  But today I am grateful for my cankles and the connection it gives me to my family history.  And there is always extra-wide calf boots so life isn't so bad.

I still want a three-legged chick, though.

Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough...

I haven't written in a few weeks.  Frankly, I wasn't sure what I wanted to say next and honestly I had my hands full with the one goal I had given myself which was posting 30 days of gratitude statuses on Facebook for the month of November.  As hokey as it may sound, I thought this was a good project for me because being full of love and gratitude and all kinds of hand-holding, kumbaya feelings is not my strong suit.  But I gave it my best shot and I think I did ok.  Some were half-assed on my least gracious days, I'm not going to lie.  And some were genuinely full of feeling.  But the final post of the month is probably my favorite.  I wrote:

Gratitude Day 30: This one is difficult to write because I have a real hard time believing it most days. In fact it seems like total self-absorbed BS to even write it and if you think it's obnoxious, trust me when I tell you that fact is not lost on me. But today and every day from now on I'm going to try and be really grateful for myself. This body, mind and heart have put up with a lot of abuse, physical and emotional, for 38 years and yet they continue on. This imperfect shell I'm living in has had the opportunity to create two beautiful boys that, for right now and hopefully forever, seem to authentically love and take pride in themselves. I've done lots of things wrong but I've done a few things really right, too, and I'm thankful for all of those experiences.

My goal for the New Year is to improve and grow internally, reducing the "weight" of my own self-criticism until, with constant practice, my internal dialogue is one of love and thankfulness for myself and my body. We all deserve to care for ourselves as much as we care for all those whom we hold precious.

I'm also thankful that this is the last gratitude that I'm obligated to write as, I'm sure, are you. Bring on December!"

The very next day the body that I was trying to be so eternally grateful for decided to gift me with a stomach virus, leaving me laid up in bed (I'm actually still there), giving me plenty of time to think on my new blog subject. I have a lofty goal mentioned in that gratitude post but no clear path on how to get there.  I've been reading body-accepting blogs and curvy-loving Facebook pages and sadly, a lot of those still end with people debating via comments, nastily mind you, the difference between beautiful and just plain fat.  Sigh.  Not helping.

I've also read a memoir by successful "anti-diet, pro-body acceptance" blogger Kim Brittingham called Read My Hips.  While I have found her thought provoking, hilarious, entertaining and compelling, I still don't agree with her 100% on some topics. However, here was a passage that struck me early on.  She was remembering a frumpy, chubby, awkward classmate who, after one mysterious Summer break, came back to school transformed into someone sophisticated, stylish, graceful and outgoing.  Kim tried to coax the secret from this friend who seemed altogether ignorant of this miracle that had happened, one that Kim wanted for herself.  Finally, Kim decides, "Maybe all that happened was that someone told her she was beautiful, and maybe for once she believed it."

Hmmm... A place to start perhaps?  But as I've already explained I don't receive compliments well so it doesn't matter what anyone says if I don't believe it.  So it has to come from me.  And there you have it.  Affirmations.

No offense, Senator Franken, but you will always be Stuart Smalley to me.

My first exposure to affirmations came from my Grammy. My mother and I moved back in with my Grandmother and all my mother's siblings when I was around 5 or 6 and on occasion I slept in Grammy's room with her.  She didn't mind because I slept like the dead with no moving or sounds at all.  My Grammy was one of those people obsessed with the newest in holistic type medicines and concepts. (That's not a bad thing - I prefer holistic and homepathic paths myself)  However, she didn't do anything in less than it's extreme. She was a mini-trampoline using (hysterical if you had the pleasure of knowing her bra size), Neo-Life vitamin selling, protein powder consuming Bible beater. And she read every self-help book known to man.

One morning after staying in her room I woke up to her talking to herself.  She would spread her arms wide and bring them together to a centering point, touching her nose with both tips of her index fingers while saying her daily affirmations in a low, monotone voice. "I am smaaaarrrttt"  "I am successssful" "I am callllm" "I am beauuuuuutiful".  At this point, I cracked one eye open and in my most snarky, dead pan, 6 year old voice said, "I wouldn't go that far".  She laughed and laughed at my quick wit, which probably wasn't the best idea.  It only encouraged my ongoing habit to say what ever sarcastic, dry humored thought came to my head just to get a laugh.  But sarcasm was a language of love in our family.  I was fluent at a very young age.

I didn't give much thought to affirmations for awhile.  And when Stuart Smalley came on the scene I was mostly just reminded of my kooky grandmother. The idea of positive internal dialogue was pretty much lost on me seeing how I eventually became fluent in self-deprecation in addition to sarcasm.

During my years online in the Weight Watchers community my friend, Marylyn, would surprise us with a post out of the blue saying, "Quick! Name something you love about yourself!".  I loved those posts and the idea still sticks with me today.  How wonderful it was to see a hundred women or more post something positive about themselves or their bodies. It wasn't always easy to add to the thread but almost everyone did so.

We are coming up on the New Year soon.  Time for resolutions and new gym memberships.  For "This time I'm going to actually do it!" and "Wait till you see me next Summer"  This is a very profitable time for weight loss companies and fitness centers to capitalize on your big plans.  January is the cash-cow (I promise this is not a fat joke) for the industry.  But it's all a bunch of bullshit and I'll tell you why.

I was a certified personal trainer and group fitness instructor. I had lost 130 lbs. with no medical intervention. I had a pretty decent knowledge of nutrition and a pretty flexible schedule to get in all my workouts. I worked in a gym, for God's sake. And I still managed to gain back nearly 50 lbs in 4 years knowing all that I know and having the time to prevent it.  The answer doesn't lie with a specific eating plan, exercise class, bootcamp, personal trainer, or corporate weight loss center telling you when to eat and how much.  Those are all tools and very good ones.  But if you don't fix what's in your head, if you don't find a way to love yourself and tell yourself that you are beautiful and worthy and actually BELIEVE it, you won't succeed.  Maybe for a while you will. Maybe for a while you'll think you have it beat and you'll think you can help others beat it but it will come back around to you.  I promise you that.

I'm going to try something harder for me than my 30 Days of Gratitude in November.  Leading up to this New Year's Resolution time I'm going to attempt 30 Days of Body Gratitude.  I'm going to try and post something positive specifically about my body or my appearance every day with the final post on January 1st. I could post about all the other things I believe about my character and my personality but those are not where I'm lacking.  I like myself in those categories.  But, like most other women, I cluster most of my thoughts of self-worth with my physical appearance and I do so in a negative way.  Time to change that.

Will this fix everything? No.  I'm a long way off from that.  But I'm going to baby step into 2013 focusing on changing the one thing I really have control over, how I view myself, instead of that stupid number on the scale.  I will post something every day for 30 days and I will attempt to do so without any self-deprecation.  I hope you will join me.  If you are my Facebook friend, post what you are grateful about your body right on my status. "Quick! Name something you love about yourself!". (Please, please comment with your own gratitude on my status or I'll look like that asshole who can't stop talking about how hot she is.) If we aren't friends yet, post something in your own status or post something here, even if you have to do it every day on this one blog post.  This is what it's here for.

I'm hoping to enter 2013 with a new thought process.  I want each of you to wake up and have your first thought (before you think of your specific body gratitude of course) be, "I'm beauuuuutiful"  Touch your nose if you  have to, I don't care.  And don't ever say to yourself, "I wouldn't go that far".

I'm hoping that soon each of us can say "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and, doggone it, I like me."