Monthly Archives: February 2013

Stay Here

I don’t believe in coincidence. I think everything happens for a reason. Now I often don’t know or understand the reason, but I know there is one. That there is some lesson for me within every circumstance. So to my curent circumstances:

Losing weight is bringing up all sorts of issues. And it isn’t the losing weight – yet – as much as actually trying to deal with the things that have kept me fat (because I still have 123 lbs to go, so for all intents and purposes, I’m still fat – for kids following along at home, I started at 298 and I am trying to get to 145, the last time I was 145 I was 10 years old). I am learning to let go of anger. This is a BIG one. It is hard. I want to be right. ALL THE TIME. I want other people to admit I’m right ALL THE TIME. This is because, I was never the pretty girl, but always the smart one. Always praised for my intelligence, so it’s my point of pride, and if I am wrong then what do I have? You can’t be dumb AND ugly. I must say though, that I am pretty cute. Perhaps one of those “oh you have such a pretty face” type of cutes, but cute none-the-less. The truth is, I am wrong a lot. A lot. Clearly. I didn’t get fat exercising sound judgement. More than anything I have been wrong about myself.

I thought I was low maintenance, didn’t care about my appearance, that I didn’t like wearing dresses, that I was unattractive, that I wasn’t good enough, that I was just meant to be fat…the list really can go on. So as I set out on this journey for the umpteenth time, I am committed to making it the last time. This means I gotta dig a little deeper…so

So I’ve been feeling very emotionally raw lately. Trying to understand, why and how my self-esteem got so low, and how I can have it back without the need for external validation. I am starting to understand the tremendous need for human contact that I have ignored and completely lied to myself about. See when I’m home I can hug my daughter a bazillion times a day. We cuddle and snuggle and it’s great because I am getting affection all the time. Unsolicited. Unconditional. And in large amounts. But right now, I am on my own away from home. I am craving touch. I realize how my body issues (and they are MINE) keep me from human contact. And I’m talking a hug here…don’t even get me started on good ole fashioned S…E…X…

So here I am working hard to have the body I want but also wanting to feel good about the body I have, because 123lbs is a loooong way aways and I don’t want to feel untouchable for one day more. It’s such a conundrum. So on to everything happening for a reason and being in the exact right place at the exact right time in one’s life – here I am working as part of a team developing a new musical. A musical about people dealing with addictions and abnormalities and trying to survive their worse nightmares. And it is all hitting a little to close to home. I feel like a character in this play. One of The Unfortunates:

“I’ve been unfolding, hoping and pleading.

Baring my soul but barely believing

I could be whole”

It’s been eye opening. Therapeutic. And confusing as shit. There is joy and heartache. And I am confronting my own issues on the daily. The Universe knows me so well, because despite all my fears and doubts, the one thing I am sure of is that like the protagonist of our play “I’m done dyin … Lord says he’s got a new skin for me. Gonna fill it up with brand new wine.”

Thanks for reading

The I’m feelin some kinda way blog post…

On falling in love while fat…

So I’m a serial crusher. Like I’m always swooning over some gorgeous human being who probably got caught in my web because he/she/it/they kindly smiled in my direction. The math there is simple, if you’re nice to me I’ll probably fall in love with you.

NBD right? Well here’s the problem – the first problem – why do I think so low of myself that I’m gawking over someone because of their show of basic human kindness. A smile is nice, a friendly greeting, etc. but am I so unaccustomed to decency that when I encountered, I dive head first into attraction? I must be. That is just awful. That my expectation is that people will shun me, walk past without a greeting, or silently judge me because I take up more than my share of the sidewalk. And poor fellas that are just being nice guys can’t just be nice to me w/o me going gaga. Well I hope to change this.

Here’s how I am going to do that: I will not put my head down as I take up more than half of the sidewalk, because, well damn it, go around. I side step for your toy size puppies and untethered children. We’ll just have to negotiate the walk way together. I will also smile more, even if it means I’ll look like I have 7 chins. I am working daily on my jaw line exercises, and guess what? I have to do so many reps & sets of smiling. Mine as well throw it in someone’s direction.

Here is problem number two. Though I get all school girl crushy, I never have any expectation that my crush will reciprocate because I don’t didn’t think I was attractive. Now don’t get me wrong, I think I’m cool af. I would totally hang out with me. But I’m pretty sure I’d keep me in the friend zone cause, well, I’m not attracted to fat people.

I think I’ve been ashamed of my body for so long that I just assume no one finds me attractive because, here is the obvious, I don’t. So what am I to do? Wicked crush after wicked crush that only reaffirm my negative self talk. Oy vey.

And worse yet, I don’t know how to be thin. What if after I lose 113lbs (well less the 25 I’ve already loss, but medically I’ll still need to lose 40 more fuck it, back on topic), I resent people who find me attractive who wouldn’t look my way when I was fat?

What if the guiltiest of those is me?

So you see why the songs in my last blog aren’t helping.

Well here is the proposed solution…get over myself and get out the damn way. I’m cute! And yes I’m fat (today). But I am a whole host of other things too. I would hope that any deterrent my fat presents, my charm and wit, and loyalty, and passion, and bad taste in movies and music and trashy novels can overcome.

And so say I don’t find love until I’ve lost a bunch of weight…it is what it is…and I’ll take it.

Thanks for reading

I’ve lost 25 lbs, but that’s not what this blog post is about

So what is it about? Music and self esteem. So I’m real big into pop music, as in popular, as in R&B, hip-hop, bubble gum, boy band, American Idol winners type stuff etc etc.

Now my teenage sister and tween daughter have recently introduced me to One Direction, and thanks to a YouTube cover by my favorite actor on SMASH (Leslie Odom Jr. who plays Sam), I’ve now discovered Bruno Mars. So as I’m getting familiar with my new guys, and keeping my new, Christmas present to myself, Ne-Yo album on heavy iPod rotation I make a little discovery.

Someone thinks writing songs about low self esteem women is a good idea. Now I don’t wanna hate on my boys, but with lyrics that literally go “let me love you until you learn to love yourself,” “you don’t know you’re beautiful and that’s what makes you beautiful,” and “when I compliment her she won’t believe me…it’s so, sad to think that she don’t see what I see.” How can I not raise my brows in question. Yes, OF COURSE, I’ve rocked (popped?) out to these songs, doing red light aerobics like the best of them (you know dancing in the car like you’re on Solid Gold, and no one is watching). But here’s the truth, a woman with no or low self esteem is easy prey.

People treat us the way we allow them too. We set the standard for how we want to talked to, respected, held, loved. I don’t want someone else to decide that. I want to set the example. I want to demand excellence for myself same as I wish for my friends or demand of my students and colleagues. Why would I leave that decision to any other living being? Like Cleopatra in that Shakespeare play says, “I’ll set a bourn how far to be belov’d.” And while its nice to get a compliment, be told I’m pretty or amazing or super super cool and talented, especially on a day when I’m feeling like even the fat jeans are too snug, it’s more important to me that I be respected. That I be treated well, with kindness and compassion.

I know from experience, this can only happen if I treat myself that way first. So to all my low self esteemees, I wish I could “love you til you learn to love yourself,” but it just ain’t gonna happen. Like Sweet Brown say, “ain’t nobody got time for that.” It’s mildly complicated, I know, I’m in the struggle. But seriously, make the choice to love yourself, and each day give yourself a little bit more. Confidence is sexy. A woman on a mission is sexy. I offer you encouragement and positive vibes. Better yet I’ll try and lead by example.

Thanks for reading.

Moment of truth

Ok right to the point. While with my ex, I developed some pretty bad habits. The obvious, I packed on the pounds. This happens in a lot of relationships. But for me it wasn’t about “we’re comfortable” or “I eat to keep up with him.” Nope. Not at all. I ate & ate & ate to make myself unattractive to him & anyone else that might’ve been lookin’. Why? you ask. Well because I didn’t want him to touch me. I subconsciously yet intentionally (can you even do that?) wanted to be unattractive to keep him away. But guess what, he didn’t care about the weight.

I stopped focusing on my appearance at all. Proclaimed “I’m low maintenance.” But anyone who knows me knows I’m pretty uptight about a fair number of things. I’m the only person on earth who thinks I’m low maintenance. So no makeup, no nice clothes, I stopped wearing skirts and dresses altogether. I became a jeans and t-shirt gal, wearing pajama bottoms like it was my job, and became queen of all things elastic waistband. I tried to render myself as undesirable as possible.

The end result.

I convinced MYSELF of all those lies. Now I’m stuck trying to undue all the damage I did to my own self esteem. It’s almost humiliating except for it is kinda karmically perfect. I made myself unpretty and then believed it. So here’s hoping that it works in reverse. That I can let down the walls and not hide behind fat. I might even buy a dress & put on some lipstick & mascara.

Woah…did I say lipstick…that has been a long time.

Here’s to bringing sexy back.

Thanks for reading.

The story of last Saturday night

Saturday night was the worst night of this “weight loss journey” so far. It’s had been 50 days of relative ease. Not easy, but I’m focused & determined so I brooked no compromise. Then Saturday night happened and I belly flopped right in to a land mind of triggers.

This one might be a buzz kill so I’ll try to keep it witty!  I also will disclose that I’m doing weight watchers which operates on a point system.

On Friday night I went out on the town with friends. We had a fabulous dinner and an evening of theatre. I planned for this and indulged just a tad but didn’t really go “off program” in a points/calories allowance sort of way. What I did do was wake up Saturday with the attitude that I was in the red. So even though according to the points, I started the day fresh with plenty still chillin in the weekly reserve, I back stepped into my attitude of lack which is what started this whole hoard food in the body problem umpteen years ago. So that was my first mistake.

Onward with my tale. I ate fine all day, even had my daily hot chocolate (something I imagine will be too point rich down the line but for now I can afford it). Then late evening rolled around and Shakespeare triggered me. Now Shakespeare has always been a force for good in my life. Soothing, like a baby’s pacifier or like the calm of rushing water to others. As I watched the MARVELLOUS PBS special Shakespeare Uncovered I, obviously, started to focus on my career momentum or lack (oooh there’s that word again) thereof. And so the self ambush began. And we all know what happens then…I wanted a hit. I wanted to stuff myself full. I wanted cheese melted on anything, a pizza, or grilled cheese, or cheesy baked potato. You get the idea. Feeling behind career wise, I also felt empty, inadequate, and frustrated cause there’s certainly nothing I can do about it at 8 on a Saturday night.

Here’s the thing though. I didn’t eat. I was done for the day, I wasn’t hungry. So I yelled at twitter, adopted a passive aggressive vague-book approach and got over myself. It was hard, but clear that I’d avoided dealing with my shit like fear and doubt and insecurity and boredom by shoveling food in. And I’d keep doing it til that pleasure sensor was triggered and the euphoria of the food high set in. I don’t wanna be that person. I don’t want to live in denial. I want Shakespeare to be my high, not pizza.

I want to confront what I’m feeling, give myself permission to have those feelings and then move on. I hope the next time is easier but even if it isn’t, I know it’s possible. That’s really the best part – the possibility of it all. Shakespeare said that first right…or something like it…

Thanks for reading.