Viviakay's Blog

Many, many smile-y other walkers, joggers, and cyclists.

Squirrels either playing a game called "how many leaves can I fit into my mouth at one time" or building their nests for winter.  I prefer to think it's the former, and I'm positive I saw the world champion squirrel.  (I was sorry I didn't have a camera.  It was laugh out loud funny.)

A dogwalker with 9 dogs, ranging in size from spaniel to great dane.  Only two of them had leashes on.  

 A puppy who was very, very happy to see me.   I don't think it was anything personal.  This puppy was obviously just very happy to see everything, and a funny contrast to the orderly dogwalker dogs.

Someone's lost keys, carefully suspended from a tree branch at eye level.  (again, I wish I had my camera for this.)

Leaves swirling around through the sunlight.

Now, I say all these things because I nearly stayed home.  My legs are sore from a weights workout on Tuesday, and I was sitting at my desk trying to rationalize another day off from exercise when the sun came out (it's been cloudy all day).  I took this as a sign from heaven that I needed to go for a walk rather than go to the gym and use the elliptical.  Halfway through my walk, I realized I hadn't exercised outside on this trail a block from my apartment for the entire summer.  I think the last time I used it was last September.  Wow.  I realized this because I felt incredibly blissed-out by the experience of walking outside among the birds and the squirrels and the dogs and the other people, and yet I had deprived myself of it for the entire spring/summer.

And, my legs are a lot less sore now.

When in doubt, workout.  Always, always, always.

I don't know how long it had been there, but it was behind the protein powder and extra almond milk, nearly forgotten, until the honey leaked. . .and I had to take everything out and clean the shelf, and then, I saw it .  .   .

(cue dramatic music here)

The jar of Nutella.

 For a few days, I tried to forget about it.  Then, I got PMS.  Badly.  And my husband started working a lot at the same time I got a cold.  And, I had pulled some muscles in my middle back, leading to a lot of pain, and a seriously reduced workout capacity.  I was sad, I was pouty, and I didn't feel like cooking.  So, I went to the store for cold medicine and mysteriously came home with graham crackers.  I got the nutella out.  I would just have a few, I told myself, then put it back in the cupboard and forget about it again.  I made a little plate with four squares of graham crackers with two tablespoons of nutella divided between them on it.  It was lovely, it was symmetrical, it was delicious.  It was full of sugar, chocolate and fat.  It was a trifecta of trigger foods.

It tasted, in the words of my brother as a child, "like more."  

So, I had another plate.  I'd been sick.  I was lonely.  My back hurt, and I couldn't work out the way I wanted to.  I "deserved" it.  I was supposed to be concentrating on "being kind to myself"  and "nurturing my inner child." (words of wisdom from my therapist).  My inner child wanted more.  My inner child had no control.  I stopped measuring.  I stopped putting the graham crackers on a plate.  I started eating the nutella out of the jar, with a side of graham crackers.  It went on for two days.  I went to the store and bought a second jar of nutella. It ended when I finally realized that the new jar,  purchased only  a day earlier, was empty. 

That's when I had a very, very important realization.

My inner child is a brat.

I had a weird, lonely childhood, full of poverty, and I'll spare you (and myself) the details.  But, the biggest takeaways I have from my childhood are 1. I don't matter, 2.  it's impossible to make myself heard, and 3. nothing is permanently available.  I know now, in my adulthood,  that none of these things is true.  But,  the brat doesn't.

I have no children of my own, but I have two beautiful grandchildren by marriage, and I would willingly walk through fire for them.  Last Christmas, when we went to visit, there were cookies in the house.  I watched my grandson eat two that his mother had given to him.  Then, we're pretty sure he snuck back into the kitchen and helped himself to more.  My well-behaved (normally) grandchild then insisted he wanted another cookie.  His mom said no.  He cried, and pouted and was certain that a great injustice had been done to him.  My inner child feels the same way.

But, what I've realized (or what I realized when I was on the couch, with what felt like the world's worst stomach-ache after what will now be referred to as "the nutella lack of portion control incident".)  is that my inner child doesn't need spoiling, she needs nurturing.  She needs, on some level, the parenting she feels she didn't have.  

I do have to figure out how to be kind to myself.  If I was my own child, I would tell myself I loved me all the time.  I would lavish affection and praise on myself. (this translates to now seamlessly.  I can still do that for myself.)

But, if I was moping around the house pouting, I would encourage myself to go out and play.  (Get off the couch and go to the gym.)

If I wanted a cookie, I would give myself one and then stop myself.  (don't buy a whole box of, well, anything)

I would listen to how I was feeling, and try to come up with a logical solution to my current worry or problem. (this comes right now in the form of journaling, something I'm concentrating on.)

I would forgive myself when I did something wrong.  (it's OK that you ate the whole jar of Nutella, V.  I think you've learned your lesson from the miserable stomach-ache.)

 On the upside, I don't think I'll be craving nutella for a while.

From time to time, I find a new mantra. . .or thing I keep repeating to myself over and over.  (in my inside voice. . .so that the men in the white coats don't come for me.)

My new one is a fill-in-the-blank, finish-the-sentence sort of mantra.  It starts out with

"This body.  .  ."

I'm trying to love my body, right now, exactly as it is.  This is incredibly difficult, and something that I've talked about here numerous times.  The other day, I went to Bikram (Sunday).  Now, there are a lot of beautiful bodies of all types that go to Bikram, and with it being 40 degrees celcius (about 105 F) in there, we don't wear much, so I can see pretty much all of them.  I wear an outfit about the size of a bathing suit.  Almost instantly, instead of "focusing on my own two eyes in the mirror", I started to have wandering eyes.  I started to compare, and I started to feel fat, and I started to beat myself up.  About midway through the standing sequence, when sweat was puddling up underneath me, I did a pose (for just a half a second) that I'd never successfully done the full version of before.  Awesome.

Then, during the floor sequence, I started to think about my body.  All of a sudden, the words came to me "This body.  .  ."  Because I always think about what my body doesn't look like, what it doesn't/can't do, instead of what it does, day after day after day, occassionally despite great odds.  And, it hit me.  If I can't love my body 100% right now, I can respect it.  So, while I was supposed to be practicing stillness, I started to say in my head 

"This body.   .   .has carried me through hard times."

"This body.  .  .is a survivor of scarlet fever, pneumonia and fifth disease."

"This body.   .  .got out of bed this morning and dragged its ass to Bikram."

"This body.  .  .is strong and powerful."

"This body .  .  .exercises despite the pain it's in."

"This body.  .  .is stronger and smaller than it once was."

"This body.  .  .smiles at other people whenever possible."

"This body. . .can sing and dance and breathe."

"This body.  .  .is pretty damn cool."

So, lately, whenever I feel myself being critical, or comparing myself to someone else, I put a "This body.  .  ." in my head.

Try it, it's my gift to you.

I'm trying not to be whiney about this, but I'm frustrated.

I haven't blogged in a long while, because I don't feel very knowledgeable right now.  I've gained back seven pounds from my once super-fantasy goal weight.  My clothes still fit, but some of them are tight.  And, I'm pissed.

I lost my weight without (mostly) thinking about it.  I worked out hard, I ate when I was hungry and the weight slowly crept down.  Now that I hover within ten pounds of my ultimate dream goal weight (135, if you're keeping score) getting/staying there is proving quite difficult.  On maintenance calories, I've been gaining weight.  I've been to the doctor, and everything is "normal".  One of my doctors essentially accused me of lying to my food diary.  I never lie to my food diary.  Friend me and see.  Yesterday I ate a bag of potato chips for lunch, and logged it.  It's gross, but it's there.

I don't know how much wisdom I'll provide here, but this is more of a rant than anything else.  I've taken to thinking that maybe even my rants prove to someone that they're not alone.  

The smaller I get, the bigger I feel.  When I was big, I honestly never critiqued my body.  I never said "I wish x, y or z was smaller, tighter, firmer" I never worried what size I was (until I hit my ultimate bigness and just had a meltdown in the fitting room when I looked at a size tag).  Now that I'm close to my ideal, I critique everything.  Blergh.  I have to acknowledge on some level, that no matter what my body looks like, I need to love it right now.

This is going to sound flakey, but I think I'm holding on to something.  Some big release of past anger or regret that I keep postponing.  I've been having little emotional releases, but I honestly think that there is one giant well of tears that if I could just empty I wouldn't crave potato chips like a junky on the corner every time I got stressed or felt stupid or ashamed.  I feel right on the verge of having a major, life altering realization or mountaintop moment.  I think that if I could have this psychological breakthrough, then the physical breakthrough would come as well.  

The formula to lose the last ten (or five) pounds of body fat is different.  I looked back at a food log from two years ago (when I actually hit 135 for about a minute and a half) and I was seriously undereating.  Like 700 calories (net, after exercise) a day.  I was averaging two hours of working out every day.  I had very little protein in my diet, and for the record, I felt like crap.  But I was skinny, so going back to that is very seductive.

What maintenance is about is balance.  A balance between calories in and calories out.  But I think it's about a bigger balance, too.  Finding a goal weight that is healthy for your body (but not necessarily your vanity).  Finding a balance between letting go and letting yourself go.  When I was losing, I never missed a workout.  NEVER.  I would drag my ass to the gym if I had the stomach flu.  I remember one time I got on the elliptical, had to run to the locker room to vomit and then went out, got back on the elliptical and finished the workout.  At the time, I thought that made me super-hardcore.  Now I just think it made me sort of foolish.  There's a fine line between "don't wanna" and "can't" though, and that line is really difficult for me.  My chronic pain essentially makes me feel like every day is a good day to skip the gym.  I'm having to learn how to structure my days off with the same rigor as I structure my days working out.  My new rule is one day off is O.K, but two in a row is bad.  (unless I have the stomach flu. . .)

So, I'm struggling. 

The only wisdom I have for the day is that the struggle continues. . . 

There's so much information/misinformation about losing weight.  Here are the things nobody told me, that I wish I'd known when I started losing.

1.  Throw away your scale.  

         No, seriously.  Throw it away. 

For me (and I think for many people) , the scale was just a way to torture myself and continue my cycle of treating myself poorly.  Gain a pound?  I was  awful and should just stop eating at all. . .Lose a pound?  I'm great and I should celebrate by eating a pizza. The natural up/down fluctuation of our body weight shouldn't drive us crazy, but it can and for a lot of us, it will.

Still want to use the scale as a tool and not a crazymaker?  Use a scale at the gym, or that one at the supermarket.  Just don't keep one in your house.  It can be easily very addictive, and it's frankly a bad way to rate your progress.  I fluctuate up to seven pounds in a given day due to water/food, glycogen retention and a lot of other issues.  Weigh yourself at the same time of day in the same clothes and no more than once a week.  Buy a tape measure and measure every two weeks.  (taking pictures once a month is something I really wish I'd done)  Rejoice when your pants fall off (mine did it in the produce section. . .luckily I pulled them back up before anyone noticed . . .I think).  And, throw away your scale.

          You need to do cardio, weight training and flexibility training.  Just do cardio, and you're on your way to skinny-fat.  I see plenty of women who just do cardio, and they look alright in street clothes, but when they come into the spin room, they're just a jiggly as someone who could stand to lose a few.  Just do weights and don't incorporate flexibility training, and your on the way to bunchy-town.  Short, tight muscles that don't feel or look good.  Just do flexibility training, and you won't burn many calories.  I do cardio, yoga and weights.  This also goes along way in preventing workout burnout.  I shudder at the mere thought of just doing an hour on the treadmill everyday.  Boring.  Mix it up.  Your body and your sanity will be better for it.

3.  What you eat is really, really important.  

           You can lose weight eating packaged, processed food with little nutritional value.  But, yuck.  You'll be hungry in all the ways.  The portions won't be large, the nutrients will be lacking and you'll feel deprived.  Most nights for dinner, I have a salad in an enormous stainless steel bowl.  (It's comically large)  Ten cups of greens, a homemade dressing with olive oil and lemon juice (or balsamic) sometimes I throw in some chicken or flank steak, or nuts or an ounce of cheese.  I struggle to get that enormous bowl up to 450 calories.  It's huge.  One time, I got a frozen pad thai from the grocery (hey, I had a craving) .  There were five bites in it (after much profanity-saying when I saw the size of it, I actually counted).  400 calories later, I was still starving.  Eat your vegetables, eat your lean protein sources (and ocassionally not so lean. . .fat in moderation is a good thing).  Eat a handfull of nuts.  A teeny-tiny ounce of nuts takes the edge off my hunger for hours.  When I first started dieting, I would have never eaten them, because an ounce of nuts is nearly 200 calories.  Now I know that those nuts have it all going for them:  they're portable and they keep me full.  Keeping those nuts in my purse (I always have them) has saved me from many a low-blood sugar induced impulse eating frenzy.

           Calories=energy. That's their definition.  Use ones that are full of energy, not full of chemicals and crap.  Anything that's marketed as "good for you" (I'm talking to you, 100 calorie packs) most likely isn't.  If it needs marketing (when was the last time you saw a TV commercial for an apple?) it needs to be sold.  Don't believe me?  Just google around and find some cigarette ads from the 1940s, when those were marketed as healthy and natural.  The 100 calorie pack is the low-tar cigarette of our generation.  Be smarter than the food industry.  Eat foods with one ingredient.  That's my best diet/health advice in one sentence.

4.  The diet and fast food industry want you to stay fat.

           Any "get thin quick" scheme is just that.  They want you to "get results" and then pack the pounds back on and come back because "it worked so great the last time."  Any diet that you can't be on the rest of your life is a bad one.  You can't repent for a month and suddenly never gain weight again.  

             Any industry depends on repeat business to keep afloat.  The diet industry is no different.  If diets worked, everyone would go on one, lose weight and keep it off and never have to shell out any money ever again.

            The same holds true for the processed/fast food/chain restaurant food industry.  They want you addicted to their food, craving more and coming back.  They don't care that what they're selling can make you fat and kill you.  They just want your money.

            Now, I'm not perfect.  From time to time, I indulge in junk food.  But it's rare, and it's an indulgence.  I hardly ever want it anymore, though. . .because it makes me feel awful.  I can't believe sometimes that it used to be the cornerstone of my diet.  I was McDonald's prize demographic, and every aspect of my health suffered.

             In order to lose weight and keep it off, you need to change how you eat.  Forever.

5.  You will go into mourning for the old you.

           I've saved this for last, because it was the most shocking to me.  I lost 85 pounds, became a fit and healthy person and then got really, really depressed and didn't know why.  On some level, I finally realized, I missed my old life.  I missed going out and not caring what I put into my body (hey, it was fun at the moment) I missed feeling bad about something and knowing that as soon as I got that ice cream home it would all go away.  I missed being invisible once I started getting more attention (especially opposite sex attention).

           After I lost the weight, my life as I knew it was over.  I got divorced from food as a coping mechanism.  Food was, for a period in my life, my best friend.  I had to mourn that loss.  I had to spend time figuring out who this new person who would rather go for a walk than for pizza was.  I lost friends in the process (I made new ones after a while).  I had to re-learn how to cope with emotions.  I had to learn that it was OK to cry rather than eat.  I had to learn that it was OK to say I was upset about something out loud, using words rather than eat.  I had to learn that it was OK to stand up for myself rather than eat.  I had to learn how to do a lot of things rather than eat.  If your change is true and lifelong, you will most likely go through this process, too.  Accept it as part of the journey you're taking.

Hope this helps someone.  

A few people have asked me how I treat my fibromyalgia, so here goes. . .

First a disclaimer:  this is what works for me.  Fibromyalgia is a highly individualized disorder.  Having said  that, I have tried a lot of different things, including alternative and traditional medicine, accupuncture, essentially you name it, I've tried it.

First and most importantly, keep moving.  Even if it's just a short walk or a little bit of stretching, don't let pain keep you sedentary.  It's very easy to get trapped in a downward spiral of inactivity, which leads to more pain, which leads to inactivity, which leads to more pain.  I find that one day off from movement is all I can take.  After three days, I feel terrible.  I  got very sick this winter, and was forced to be immobile.  After about three weeks, I could barely move.  It was awful.

Also, don't think that fibromyalgia will always keep you from strenuous exercise.  If you are patient, you can work up to a pretty strenuous workout regimen.  I started with five minutes on a treadmill at the Y, followed by a nap.  Now, I work out five-six times a week.  I do spin classes, I do Bikram Yoga, I lift weights and I am very fit.  Keep moving.

What you eat is important.  I have discovered that a sure-fire way to stiffness and pain is refined anything.  White flour, refined sugar, anything like that makes me feel yucky.  Both physically and emotionally.  I find I can have a small serving every once in a while, but if I start making a habit of it, I'm done for.  I've decided that my body is more sensitive to crap and crap food is bad for me.  It's bad for everybody, and I have pondered the link between the decline of the American diet and the rise of fibromyalgia/chronic fatigue cases.  

Pain management doesn't mean a lack of pain.  I don't currently take any medications.  I used to take up to twenty prescriptions pills a day.  I do take a few supplements.  I take CoQ10, which has been shown to be linked to increased energy and athletic performance (so much so that the Olympic comittee is considering banning it) 5HTP to help my sleep patterns, a solid multivitamin and an Omega 3 supplement.  My GP also has me on high doses of niacin because I have high cholesterol (damn genetics).  Ocassionally, I take an over-the-counter pain medication.  Mostly, I live with the pain.  That's how I think about it.  I don't suffer with the pain, I live with the pain.  I've come to think of it as white noise I have to tune out.  Once I start to focus, really focus on the pain.  .  .it gets worse.  Again, it's a downward spiral.  Thinking about the pain = depression about the pain = more pain = thinking about the pain. . .Lots of people live with chronic pain.  Ballet dancers, for example, or any other high body-stress lifestyle.  Pushing through pain is a part of my life.  To quote Nike, I just do it.  I take a lot of hot baths, I get massages (thank god my insurance mostly covers this) and I live with it.  I manage my pain, but I don't eliminate it. 

The disease doesn't define who you are or what you can do.  Just in the past little bit, I've started to gently introduce the idea that I am disabled, and I've "come out" about this to a few people around me.  This doesn't mean, however, that I need to lock myself in my house and never leave.  It just means that I have to recognize that I need to conduct myself with care.  If I get off my sleep pattern, I need to schedule in a few days of recovery, for example.  I need to manage my life around my condition, but I don't need to change my life until it's unrecognizable.  

Stay positive.  This is a huge cliche, I know. . .but in my researched opinion, fibromyalgia and depression are intrinsically linked.  When I let anger and negativity creep in, it feeds the pain.  I'm not going to say I never have a bad day or get angry or feel sorry for myself.  But. . .I don't get stuck there.  I give myself a few minutes (or a day) to mope and then I suck it up and get back in the game.  Because, well, I don't want to live there.  I have been told by numerous health-care professionals that I "don't fit the profile" for a fibromyalgia patient.  There's a profile:  it's angry, negative and defeated.  Try not to fit the profile.  

Educate and defend yourself.  I probably don't need to tell you that this is a controversial diagnosis, and you're going to run into a lot of a-holes in the medical profession who will not believe that you are suffering.  Be assertive enough to change doctors, to read books, medical journal studies and seek out alternatives.  I have a friend who gets accupuncture treatments (which didn't work for me) and they have changed her life.  Educate yourself, and try something other than a pill.  There are plenty of specialists who deal with fibro patients.  Demand to be referred to one.  If you find yourself under the "care" of a physician who doesn't believe in your illness, find another one.  I think within the next five years, there will be a clinical test for fibro.  When that happens, I think that many people will have been mis-diagnosed, and many more will finally have a picture of something wrong with them.  The picture is, for me, the holy grail of fibro. treatment.  Every time I see a new doctor, I have to defend my diagnosis.  I was diagnosed by two separate rheumatologists (I got what's called a "blind" second opinion, where the second specialist saw neither my GP's nor the previous rheumatoligists report).  And, every single time, I have to explain myself and defend myself.  I have photocopies (about twenty pages worth) that I take to every single doctor's appointment. I know the answers to all the questions.  I am prepared, and I will complain to medical boards.  In any medical environment, you are your own best advocate, if you are informed.

So, here's what I do:

I sleep.  I sleep when I am tired, and try to schedule extra rest time when I have a stressful or long day.  I try to get 8-9 hours of sleep every night.  If I'm having a high pain time period, I go to the doctor and ask for sleep medication.  I do not mess with sleep.  It's my most important treatment.

I take the following supplements:

CoQ10 100 mg a day

5-HTP 50 mg twice a day (you have to take a break every few weeks)

Omega-3 supplement 1000mg, 3 times a day

and a multivitamin

I exercise.  I move a little every single day, and I do structured exercise five times a week.  I do cardio three days and bikram yoga twice a week.  For me, Bikram (which is done in a hot room) has been very therapuetic on my joint and muscle pain, nothing short of miraculous.  

I meditate.  I downloaded some podcasts, and I have one meditation for releasing pain.  It works wonders.  I more or less schedule time to focus on the pain and let it go.  

So, that's what I do. 

it's really good that you let me know how heavy the weights you lifting were by screaming on every rep.  That was nice of you, seriously. 

Because, with my iPod in at nearly full volume I would have honestly never paid attention to you without all that hollering.  

I don't mean to judge you, but was all that noise really necessary?  I mean, really really?

And, I'm sorry that it started making me laugh.  Out loud.  On the elliptical.  It was just really funny after a while. 

Hey, it was either laugh or get annoyed.  And, lately, when given the option.  .  .

I always choose laughing.

Oh, and P.S.  if you have a medical condition that caused you to do this, I take it all back, I'm a horrible person and I'm sorry.

OK, rant ahead:

I see so many posts that are essentially variations of "I am a failure."  "I cannot control myself."  "I am an awful person."  "I cheated/ate a forbidden food/sinned against nature and deserve to be punished."  

I can't take it anymore.  It breaks my heart.  And, here is the honest-to-God truth.  That kind of self-talk  will perpetuate the self-destructive cycle that I believe overeating is part of.  Whenever I hear people say "I hate myself because I'm overweight and inactive." I want to say "No, you're overweight and inactive because you hate yourself."  Depression is not caused by obesity (or other addictive/self-destructive behavior) obesity is a symptom of depression.  

Imagine that you have been given a really, really beautiful car.  For me, it would be a meticulously restored 1967 Mustang Shelby Fastback.  Now, if somebody handed me the keys to that car, I would treat it like a museum piece.  I would never eat or drink in that car.  I would wash it, vacuum it, give it the highest octane gas I could find, have it serviced regularly.  I would read everything I could find and learn how to work on that car myself, so that it would last forever and maintain its beauty and strength.  I would love that machine.

You.  are. that. car.  

If you love something, and think it is beautiful and worth more than money to you, you will take care of it.  Here's the truth.  You (everyone) has been gifted with a beautiful machine.  Think about it, every day, you wake up.  Your machine has managed to survive the night.  Every day, you can accomplish all or most of your tasks.  And, your body does a lot of other things you don't even think about  it breathes, it digests food, it heals itself, your heart beats and moves blood around literally hundreds of miles of veins, arteries and capillaries.  In order to talk, a sophisticated machine moves air over another tiny machine that vibrates and undulates hundreds of times a second.  Your brain processes information faster than a computer.  Without getting overtly spiritual here, your body is a beautiful, well crafted temple.  

And, if it's carrying extra weight, or you don't like your hair, or you think you're ugly. . .it is still a beautiful, well crafted temple.  

The trick is, when you're given a gift. . . it's your choice as to how you take care of it.  

Imagine that I took that gift of my dream-fantasy car and ate barbecued ribs in it without a napkin, spilled countless lattes all over the inside of it, never washed it, crashed it into stationary objects at any given opportunity, and called it a p.o.s.  Pretty soon, that's what it would look like to others, and that's how I'd start to think about it, too.  But, all the while, underneath the rust and the clanky engine. . .I still had a beautiful, well crafted machine.  That, if I loved it enough to put time and energy and some money into it. . .could return to it's beautiful self.

Now imagine that all I ever did was hate that car.  "it's ugly."  "it will never run right."  "it's stupid."  "I can't even steer the thing. . .it's completely out of control. . .all over the place."  That's what's happening when you (or anybody) say to yourself "I can't control myself around food."  (this may be really, really hard  . . .I for one think that the food industry has active conspiracies to get the general public to eat crap food, and a lot of it. . .but that's for another post.)  "I am stupid, lazy, or a bad person because I ate the wrong thing."  Wrong!  Wrong!  Wrong!  You just ate something that wasn't the best choice.  You have your reasons (it's good to know what they are. . .were you just starving and hadn't planned ahead?  Did you have a bad day, and think that the answer to life's mysteries was at the bottom of the bag of cookies?  Were you medicating a bad feeling (tired, angry, lonely, sad, grieving) with food?)

You've got to love the machine.  You are the machine.  If you love something, you can learn to take care of it.  If you hate something, you never will.  And hating something gives you zero motivation to take care of something.  If I hate something, I'll try to actively destroy it.  (tah-dah:  my confession. . .that's why I was heavy, was a binger, used food to try to solve (or at least hide) all my worries.)

The revelation that changed my life was that I was worth loving.  And I said it to myself, every day, until I started to believe it.  I still say it, everyday, whenever the old dialogue of self-hatred and anger show up.  If you don't believe it, try just saying it to yourself:  "I am worth loving."  I am.

So are you.

So, I think for about the past year(or maybe two)  my brain has been catching up to my body. 

I think the first step on that particular journey was when I went into a store I had always shopped at, and went directly to "my side" of the store.  It's one of those stores where the plus size clothes are kept on one side and the other sizes (what are they, minus sizes?) are on the other side.  The sales girl came up to me and said "you're on the wrong side of the store.  Your clothes are over there." Now mind you, this was after being a person whose clothes are "over there" for nearly a year.  But, my mind hadn't caught up yet.

Then there was the time I saw myself in the mirror, and had to remind myself "that's you."

Then there was the time I went to meet my mother at the airport, and she walked right by me because she didn't recognize me.

And, the time someone said to me when I said I was big "what?  you're a mouse."

I could go on and on.  But, long story short. . .I still haven't realized that I'm small.  I'm still not a teeny-tiny person, I'm sturdy, owing to my Viking ancestors.  But, even more importantly, I haven't realized that after three years, I'm liable to stay this size.  Because, I've been really fearful emotionally that I could literally wake up and weigh 220 again if I missed a single workout or ate too much food in a day.  Now, I'm a mostly sane individual and intellectually I know that's not possible but emotionally. . .ah emotionally is another story.

I've been working lately on expressing or choosing to let go of some very old emotions, in the hope that this will kill the last of the big girl binge-tastic impulses.  It may not.  But, my theory is that if I take care of myself, there will be less of a need (imagined on my part) to punish myself.  

When I was big, I was hiding.  I know to most people that sounds weird, that by taking up more space I was taking up less, but it's absolutely true.  Big people are invisible.  I didn't get attention from sales clerks or from people attracted to me, or smiled at by random people at the street.  I was hiding.  Now, the challenge is to come out of hiding.

I had a "yoga therapy" session yesterday, and it was hard.  {I didn't know what it was either, but it's essentially assisted/supported yoga poses (and some poses that felt brand new) and stretches, where you're asked to take inventory of whatever pops into your head (be it a physical sensation, or an emotion or a thought. . .and to go with your gut instinct.  One time it was "orange".  I'm not kidding.)}  One of the challenges of it was that the therapist kept asking "how does that feel in your body?"  What I discovered  was that most of the time, I didn't know how it felt in my body, because even with all the time I try to spend in it, I don't feel connected to it a lot of the time.  I had to "notice" my legs at one point and they felt like I was balancing on top of them, like I wasn't my legs.  It sounds weird (or maybe it doesn't and you know just what I'm talking about.) but I didn't have words to talk about my body.  The other thing that popped up is I didn't like feeling long and stretched out, and had this mental reflex to scrunch back up (hello, chronic pain and muscle tension).  It was like I still have the urge to hide, but now I want to be as small as possible, curl up like a little baby or a threatened animal. I also cried.  A lot.  Now, I am usually a pretty emotional person, but this new crying (it's happened in my regular yoga practice as well) is different from any other crying I've ever done.  I've made the (actually quite apt) statement that I'm "emptying out a reservoir."  That's what it feels like, I'm not actually sad/mad/frustrated/anything, it just feels like somebody turned the release valve, and I spill over.  It's actually quite pleasant, but yesterday it was particularly plentiful.  My old priest used to say that this was "the gift of tears.", because I used to only get it while praying (one of the few places in my life I feel complete trust and safety).  What I think the real gift now is, I'm experiencing it when I trust my self and my body.

I haven't decided if I'll go back for another session, but I think I'm on to something.  Now, I've had a lot of therapy (traditional talk therapy) in my life and I can count the times I cried in a session on one hand, and it was never the release that this  was.  Maybe the key to healing my body is . . .my body.

So, I did it.

I successfully did some form of yoga, every day, for 32 days straight.  Some days I managed to do vigorous Bikram practices, and 3 days out of those 32 I just did a guided meditation in savasana or child's pose.  

It was hard, because it's difficult to convince me that even a little something every day A: counts.  and B: is important. In the past, I've had a lot of days where I'll look at my food diary and say "I'll just eat less and skip a workout."  or worse, in my opinion "I will workout more so that I can eat more."

I didn't reach enlightenment or nirvana in those thirty days, nor did I completely let go of old anger/resentment and pain that I long to put down.  (I'm putting it down in small handfuls instead of all at once, I think)  I've compared these old wounds, memories, coping mechanisms and ocassional self-hatred to the feeling you get when you run into the drugstore for two things. . .so you don't get a little shopping basket, but then you see ten things that you need/want. . .and you're trying to carry them all at once.  It's overwhelming, and awkward. . .and you have this fear that at any minute, you'll lose all of it.  That's what chronic anxiety feels like.  So, I've been trying to just put down one little emotional shampoo bottle, or box of tissues at a time.  It's hard. . .but every little release is pleasant and scary.

I did have one body breakthrough, though.  I realized that movement for movement's sake is important.  Yoga, with the exception of Bikram, doesn't burn many calories so with that out of the equation, I had to focus instead on how moving would make me feel.  I don't think it's shocking to say that the body likes to move.  Even if sometimes the spirit is weak but the flesh is willing (or vice versa) the body likes to move.

Now, my project is discovering what my "new normal" is.  It includes more yoga, with a focus on three Bikram sessions a week  as my "hardcore" workouts, and a minimal amount of cardio (one day of spinning and one day of circuit training (it just seems to stress my body too much if I do it too often and too hardcore).   Also, I'm scheduling two days a week that I'm calling "activity" days. . .where I don't have an actual planned workout. . .but find time for myself to take a walk, do a light restorative yoga practice, or a guided meditation.  But, I think it's important to take the time to do something for my body every day.  One day off, for me can easily turn into two, which can turn into three, which (well you get the idea.)  Also, without a moment (or an hour) to focus just on myself everday, I get stressed out.  And, when I get stressed out, my go-to coping skill is the wrong food, and too much of it.  Here I am, a "success story" having dropped (and kept off) over eighty pounds of excess weight, yet it's still a struggle almost every single day.  I still have the old urges, and the old demons.   I have dealt with an enormous amount of emotional baggage, but the old scars are still there, and every once in a while, I want to use the old medicine (food) on them.  My new medicines: movement and self-care take a lot more awareness and effort.  Turning to food for comfort is reflexive.  I don't even think about it. . .or I didn't used to.  Now I know that the desire to binge is a symptom that I'm feeling out of control.  

I'll also say that my at-home yoga retreat has calmed me down.  In all the ways possible.  When you're doing pretty cool fancy things with your body, you tend to love it more.  In Bikram, you check all your own poses in a mirror.  So, three times a week, I'm looking at my body.  This is a really valuable thing.  When I was heavier, I didn't own a full-length mirror.  When I went back to exercising, I never looked in the mirror at the gym.  Now, I spend an hour three times a week staring at myself in the equivalent of a bathing suit (it's hot in there.)  And, instead of judging my body, I just look at it.  So, I'm making more of a peace with my body in the state it's in right now. (Still squishy in the belly, but pretty tight everywhere else.  .  .)   And, I do feel a lot more grounded and loving by focusing on yoga.  I'm trying to keep that feeling (I'm not perfect. . .I still get pissed off and cranky and annoyed.  .  .but I'm trying to go to my happy place more easily and more often.)

Namaste.

V.