With apologies to Elsa (that's a character from the Disney movie Frozen, in case you've -by some miracle - managed to avoid that movie AND that song, and no, you can't use the "I don't have kids" excuse. Neither do I, but *damn* that movie/song was EVERYwhere for a LONG while lol) for jacking her song lyrics, today's post is about letting go. Of the past, of dreams that are only making you sad, letting go of bitterness and anger and hatred - and letting go of that picture you have in your head of what your life "should" be. That's a big one for me. I'm going to be 38 this year (OUCH!), and I'm nowhere near where I "should" be. I'm not married. In fact, I've been single for so long that I'm not sure I'd know how to be in a relationship. I don't have kids, and it's looking more and more like that won't happen (and I know, there's still plenty of time, etc - but when you are staring down 40 and haven't even been on a *date* in years, it doesn't look good. And I'm entitled to my thoughts and feelings on the subject, anyway). I'm not working right now because of health issues. I'm just...I mean, from the outside looking in, I'm a total loser. (And, ok, from the inside looking out, some days I get overwhelmed with just how much of a loser I feel like I am.)
So that's where letting go comes in. Forgiveness. There is so much talk about forgiving people who have wronged you, not forgetting what they've done, not inviting them 'round for tea, necessarily, but forgiving them. Letting go of the anger and resentment that is only serving to hurt *you*. But you know what we don't talk nearly enough about? Forgiving *ourselves*. And while I've gotten much better at forgiving others - it seems to be a theme in my life these past couple of months - I'm not ABOUT to forgive myself. Oh, no. I hold myself to this ridiculously high standard where absolutely zero screw-ups will be tolerated. I don't get a break, or deserve one, ever. Then I screw up - as we do, because we're human - and the anger and guilt and shame seep right back in, higher than ever.
I've wasted my life to this point. No, really, I have. Since I was 13 years old, I've wasted my time and energy and youth on being fat. I've dedicated every thing I have to maintaining this body that lets me hide from people, from living life. It is miserably lonely and dull, but MAN have I perfected it, and it's so easy. I just glide through life with no expectations, no leaving my comfort zone, nothing that feels 'scary' or tough. And I'm content with that. I've been content with it, anyway. And I'm not *as* content with it as I was - sometimes I get these glimmers of "I don't want to be this way anymore" - but they get squashed by my certainty that it's too late for me to just now start living life. And I can't be talked out of that. Believe me, plenty of people have tried. "Oh, you're so young yet!" "Oh, you have plenty of time!" Yes, I suppose when you're 70, 38 seems young. But when you're 38 and haven't started the things you should've been doing at 18 and 20....well. (and besides - I can't deal in "maybe somedays". Yes, you have to have hope. You HAVE to. But there is a difference between hoping for a happy future and getting bogged down in pining for something that can never be.)
There is no going back. There is no way to relive my youth without letting my rapist win this time around. I can't go back to high school and be a normal teenage girl with friends and boys and parties. There is no way to redo college and be a normal 20-something. I have to live with the choices I made and all the things I missed. I have to live with knowing that if I just hadn't pissed my life away by hiding and being scared, I could be the person I want to be. I could have that job, that marriage, those babies. But I did this to myself. (and yes, I'm aware that there are no guarantees that I'd have those things if I'd been different. Let's just say my chances would've been DRAMATICALLY higher.) And even as my brain says "you can't change it", my heart says "...so let's drown you in guilt and shame and regret, forever".
It's a process, this forgiving myself. Some days - RARE days - I get it right, and I forget yesterday and just pick up today the best I can. Those are the days when I know that I can't dwell in coulda/shoulda/wouldas. That my life is what it is, and I need to make the best of THAT life, not waste more of it pining away for what might've been. Today is a perfect example of that. I'm fighting so hard to let go of the fact that I haven't walked for 4 days (working and travelling) and that this weekend, my food choices would indicate that I'd never heard the words Weight Watchers, let alone that I'm supposed to be following the program. I can't change what I did or didn't do, or what I ate. I can only watch what I eat today, and go get my sneakers on and walk. And I *will* go walk.
So if you feel like you're drowning under the weight of the past, unable to forgive yourself, think about this: your (my) prison door locks from the inside. All you have to do is turn the key and you're free to go! I'm not saying you won't wander back to your cell. I do -a lot. But I am saying it's worth the fight to have those moments of freedom, and when those moments start adding up and you find yourself with a whole day where you've LIVED instead of existed...it's the greatest thing.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
The blogger formerly known as Adventures of a Cornfed Farm Princess...
Some of you reading this blog have been around a long time - long enough to remember me when I was blogging/Facebooking as Adventures of a Cornfed Farm Princess. Some of you are new, and only know my page as Teapots and Tiaras. I'm equally glad ALL of you are here!
So for those of you who know a lot of my story, this will either be a refresher or old news, but since there seems to be a lot of new people, I thought I'd share how this page came to be, and a bit about myself and the mission I once again find myself taking on.
When I started my page on Facebook, I was a miserable ball of anger and assholey behavior. That isn't me being mean, that's me being honest. If the lovely women who took me under their wings at the time weren't too kind to be that brutal, they'd tell you the same thing. I was AWFUL. I somehow had the random, incredible good luck to stumble across two FB pages: I Want A Dumpster Baby (now I Got A Dumpster Family) and Tripping While Standing Still - and the amazing, strong, talented, funny, beyond kind women behind those pages were lovely and generous enough to take on the challenge of being my friend. I did not (and sometimes still do not) make it easy for them.
My page started because at that time (nearly 3 years ago now!), I weighed nearly 450 pounds, and I had just started swimming every day, and in telling a story from my pool time to Tripping, she graciously invited me to guest post that story on her blog. She and Dumpster Mama encouraged me to start a page of my own, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by and encouraged by and loved by this amazing community of people who accepted me as-is, even knowing all my flaws.
I wish I could say that I stuck to that and succeeded and am now living at a healthy weight - but the truth is I am still nearly 450 pounds, and I'm trying once again to do something about it. I started walking and doing Weight Watchers on August 2nd (not a Monday! lol) and I am trying my best to just take each day as it comes.
You may be thinking "Holy shit, she's huge" - and you'd be right. I have that reaction to myself in the mirror some days ;) Or you may be wondering "How does someone let themselves go that far? Why would someone let themselves stay that big?" - again, valid. Or you may be thinking "Well, you just need to eat less and move more" - and, again, yes - although for me, it's not *quite* that simple. To get this big and stay this big, there has to be a huge emotional disconnect, and getting to the bottom of that is the only way to even *start* to lose weight.
To understand why I am the size that I am - and please note that I didn't say "why I am *who* I am", that is one major change that I've made, understanding that how big I am and who I am are not the same things at all - anyway, to understand, we have to back up a little. Put our behinds in the past, as Pumbaa would say. :)
Until I was 5 years old, I was tiny. Scrawny. Wore small toddler clothes because I was too skinny for kids clothes. Then my dad left. And never came back. We had to move. My mom had major surgery, with complications that nearly killed her. When she recovered, she went back to college on a more-than-full-time schedule, meaning she was at school all day and doing homework all evening. My world was upside-down, and I retreated into books to avoid the turmoil in my real world. Reading is fantastic - but I gave up playing outdoors, sports, any and all hobbies besides reading and watching tv. And of course, what goes better with a book or a movie than a snack? So now I was sedentary and eating more. The weight began to creep on. I went on my first diet when I was 10. Low-fat, low-sodium, low-flavor, but high in kids making fun of my lunches at school. I hated it and would sneak treats.
When I was 12, my sister left home. This was not done in typical "growing up and moving out" fashion, but in a traumatic, "got thrown out for stealing and drug use" way. I was devastated. My sister was my idol. She was everything I wasn't. Charming, funny, thin, gorgeous, and much older than me. I would've called her glamorous. She'd also been a 2nd mom to me when my own mom was so sick. So to have her leave that way, with no further contact, was brutal. I retreated again. Food and books became my friends again. I am the classic, text-book definition of an emotional eater.
The following year, my mom's mom got very sick. We moved back to mom's hometown to be closer to grandma. I started weight watchers and lost 80 pounds and was at a healthy weight (and felt great!) for the first time in a long time. Then, within the space of 3 months, two things happened. My grandma passed away, and I was sexually assaulted. I was grieving the loss of my grandma, and the assault just broke me. It stole my soul. The light in my eyes was extinguished and I was just a shell. Somewhere, subconsciously, I knew that the only way to make things right was to retreat again. I gained back the 80 pounds easily - much more easily than I'd lost it, of course - and then kept right on going. It wasn't anything I ever consciously thought or verbalized, but I knew that if I just kept getting bigger, people would leave me alone. I wouldn't have to get close to anyone just to lose them, I wouldn't have to worry about a man wanting to touch me...nothing. This fat body has served as a better suit of armor than you'd think possible. It still does.
It isn't easy being this big, but it is familiar and comfortable. It has taken me until the past couple of years to get beyond my abject terror of men. To get beyond thinking who I am and how big I am were the same thing. To realize that being alone is easier, yes, but it is also lonely and miserable and joy-stealing. I have made a ton of forward progress, and I feel like this time I'm ready. Who knows if that's true? But I hope it is, and I'm operating under the assumption that it is.
Workouts (right now, that's 1/2 mile walk each day) are hard for me. Beyond hard. Besides being this big, I have two massive abdominal hernias (imagine two heavy bowling balls hanging, unsupported, off of your stomach), arthritis, and PCOS which causes chronic fatigue and pain. I'm fighting an uphill battle on roller skates that want to roll backwards, basically. Weight loss is hard enough, and then I add all these things on top. It sounds pathetic to me that all I can do is 1/2 mile before I'm DYING. But I keep telling myself that it will get better, easier, and I will get stronger.
Mostly, I want you to know that you can do it! Whatever IT is. You can fight back - and we're in this together.
So for those of you who know a lot of my story, this will either be a refresher or old news, but since there seems to be a lot of new people, I thought I'd share how this page came to be, and a bit about myself and the mission I once again find myself taking on.
When I started my page on Facebook, I was a miserable ball of anger and assholey behavior. That isn't me being mean, that's me being honest. If the lovely women who took me under their wings at the time weren't too kind to be that brutal, they'd tell you the same thing. I was AWFUL. I somehow had the random, incredible good luck to stumble across two FB pages: I Want A Dumpster Baby (now I Got A Dumpster Family) and Tripping While Standing Still - and the amazing, strong, talented, funny, beyond kind women behind those pages were lovely and generous enough to take on the challenge of being my friend. I did not (and sometimes still do not) make it easy for them.
My page started because at that time (nearly 3 years ago now!), I weighed nearly 450 pounds, and I had just started swimming every day, and in telling a story from my pool time to Tripping, she graciously invited me to guest post that story on her blog. She and Dumpster Mama encouraged me to start a page of my own, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by and encouraged by and loved by this amazing community of people who accepted me as-is, even knowing all my flaws.
I wish I could say that I stuck to that and succeeded and am now living at a healthy weight - but the truth is I am still nearly 450 pounds, and I'm trying once again to do something about it. I started walking and doing Weight Watchers on August 2nd (not a Monday! lol) and I am trying my best to just take each day as it comes.
You may be thinking "Holy shit, she's huge" - and you'd be right. I have that reaction to myself in the mirror some days ;) Or you may be wondering "How does someone let themselves go that far? Why would someone let themselves stay that big?" - again, valid. Or you may be thinking "Well, you just need to eat less and move more" - and, again, yes - although for me, it's not *quite* that simple. To get this big and stay this big, there has to be a huge emotional disconnect, and getting to the bottom of that is the only way to even *start* to lose weight.
To understand why I am the size that I am - and please note that I didn't say "why I am *who* I am", that is one major change that I've made, understanding that how big I am and who I am are not the same things at all - anyway, to understand, we have to back up a little. Put our behinds in the past, as Pumbaa would say. :)
Until I was 5 years old, I was tiny. Scrawny. Wore small toddler clothes because I was too skinny for kids clothes. Then my dad left. And never came back. We had to move. My mom had major surgery, with complications that nearly killed her. When she recovered, she went back to college on a more-than-full-time schedule, meaning she was at school all day and doing homework all evening. My world was upside-down, and I retreated into books to avoid the turmoil in my real world. Reading is fantastic - but I gave up playing outdoors, sports, any and all hobbies besides reading and watching tv. And of course, what goes better with a book or a movie than a snack? So now I was sedentary and eating more. The weight began to creep on. I went on my first diet when I was 10. Low-fat, low-sodium, low-flavor, but high in kids making fun of my lunches at school. I hated it and would sneak treats.
When I was 12, my sister left home. This was not done in typical "growing up and moving out" fashion, but in a traumatic, "got thrown out for stealing and drug use" way. I was devastated. My sister was my idol. She was everything I wasn't. Charming, funny, thin, gorgeous, and much older than me. I would've called her glamorous. She'd also been a 2nd mom to me when my own mom was so sick. So to have her leave that way, with no further contact, was brutal. I retreated again. Food and books became my friends again. I am the classic, text-book definition of an emotional eater.
The following year, my mom's mom got very sick. We moved back to mom's hometown to be closer to grandma. I started weight watchers and lost 80 pounds and was at a healthy weight (and felt great!) for the first time in a long time. Then, within the space of 3 months, two things happened. My grandma passed away, and I was sexually assaulted. I was grieving the loss of my grandma, and the assault just broke me. It stole my soul. The light in my eyes was extinguished and I was just a shell. Somewhere, subconsciously, I knew that the only way to make things right was to retreat again. I gained back the 80 pounds easily - much more easily than I'd lost it, of course - and then kept right on going. It wasn't anything I ever consciously thought or verbalized, but I knew that if I just kept getting bigger, people would leave me alone. I wouldn't have to get close to anyone just to lose them, I wouldn't have to worry about a man wanting to touch me...nothing. This fat body has served as a better suit of armor than you'd think possible. It still does.
It isn't easy being this big, but it is familiar and comfortable. It has taken me until the past couple of years to get beyond my abject terror of men. To get beyond thinking who I am and how big I am were the same thing. To realize that being alone is easier, yes, but it is also lonely and miserable and joy-stealing. I have made a ton of forward progress, and I feel like this time I'm ready. Who knows if that's true? But I hope it is, and I'm operating under the assumption that it is.
Workouts (right now, that's 1/2 mile walk each day) are hard for me. Beyond hard. Besides being this big, I have two massive abdominal hernias (imagine two heavy bowling balls hanging, unsupported, off of your stomach), arthritis, and PCOS which causes chronic fatigue and pain. I'm fighting an uphill battle on roller skates that want to roll backwards, basically. Weight loss is hard enough, and then I add all these things on top. It sounds pathetic to me that all I can do is 1/2 mile before I'm DYING. But I keep telling myself that it will get better, easier, and I will get stronger.
Mostly, I want you to know that you can do it! Whatever IT is. You can fight back - and we're in this together.
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