Fat and then

Paradise Found

2010-11-02T23:13:00.002-07:00

It's day one in Maui -- I'm on the island in the Pacific. Don't get me wrong -- it's a cool thing. I'm on the brink of relaxing. It's all good. My husband and I here for a wedding. His best friend is getting married. They've been close friends since they were 8.
Over the years, their friendship has gone through the normal roller coaster of a life long friendship -- but there was no way he was going to miss this event ... despite the fact it's wedding number three for the groom. Over the years, I've become good friends with the first two wives -- so this feels a little odd. Wife 2 (although they were technically never married) is one of my closest friends. Number 3 seems very nice. She's a tall, thin 30-something -- beautiful brown eyes, perfect teeth -- traffic stopping tits. She's been very welcoming too me -- and to her credit that's got to be hard -- as she knows wives 1 and 2 are my friends -- and close.
I came to the wedding with a bit of dread in my heart -- wondering what the hell I'd do while vacationing with the couple and 30 of their closest friends and relations. There are 5 bridesmaids and their boyfriends/spouses. They're young, tanned and tattooed. They call me sweetie and honey. This makes me a little crazy -- but all my city -friends seem to do this -- so apparently I'm missin' something. One of the bridesmaids apparently has decided I'm quite elderly and feeble. She hugs me around the shoulders and asks if she can bring me anything. When I wouldn't stand up for a drunken toast, she came over and as if I were suffering from an addled mind-- (Why else wouldn't I want to listen to drunk people try to make a toast? "You're my best fuckin' friend, dude." ) -- take my hand and try to walk me to the deck. I actually yelled at her. And you know what she did? She came over and hugged me for a dinner -- a meal which I did not prepare or pay for ... and included a kiss on the cheek. What is with city people? They're always calling me sweetie and kissing me.
I didn't do a damn thing today. It was freakin perfect. I sat on my ass all morning taking in the sunshine and ocean breeze. I finally got hungry and bored enough to go out in search of fish tacos and a quilt store. Found both. Got some yummy tacos and a couple of nice quilt kits and fabric. Plus, I signed up for a Hawaiian appliqué class. Conveniently it's at the same time as the reception and I think I can sneak away for a few minutes and perhaps avoid anymore "sweeties" and "kisses" .
The best part of being here is hanging out with the groom's family. Growing up, Clem became their fourth child. For him, being one of four was a whole lot easier, sometimes, than being one of 10. They are a close-knit and loving bunch - and have always gone out of their way to make me feel welcome.
While the young whipper-snappers and a few old-but-still-like-to partiers are downstairs fielding noise complaints -- the bulk of the family and I are snuggled into the upstairs condo watching Dancing With the Stars.
These are my kind of people -- and my kind of vacation.

Reality Check

2010-10-10T09:30:00.000-07:00

You know what I've been thinking about lately? Illusions, reality and the vast space that sometimes, no -- almost always falls between.
I know that at the heart of my eating disorder is the disconnect between who I thought I was supposed to and who I really am.
When I became a full-time "housewife", I tried to fit into this image I had in my head about what a "farm wife" was supposed to do. I tried working the irrigation crews -- so I would fit in better with the farm wives around here that actually worked on their farms. I about killed myself to keep house and a yard and do everything from scratch -- like I figured my grandmothers had done.
I didn't fit in here. I am liberal, educated and worked in a non-traditional career field -- well, at least non-traditional around here. I no longer had an identity as a reporter/editor, I was "Clem's wife". Although I was still free-lancing from home, more and more of my life spent cooking, keeping house (sort of -- not my strong suit) and helping around the farm.
It was hard. Very hard. But, we don't have the kind of farm where I'm needed with the daily duties of keeping the farm running. I couldn't handle working in the office. So, I was a "farm wife" but not like my friends who were partners and integral in their family's farm operations.
I have little in common with my in - laws, but I tried like hell to be more like them and made myself even more miserable.
There is also a disconnect between reality and the image of myself I carry in my head. This void started as a child. I was told I was chubby -- that I carried "baby fat". That was my identity. Not "she's a bright girl". Not "she's a smart girl" - "she's a chubby kid."
Later, I was constantly told I was fat. That I needed to "trim up" -- that I was never pretty.
Here's the thing. Photography is a beautiful thing. I look at the pictures of myself during that time and guess what, I'm not fat. I have big boobs -- occasionally a tummy. But at the time, none of that mattered. It was too late. Being fat was already part of my cellular structure, despite the fact that it wasn't reality.
What this image did for me -- well, it's an odd thing. I have these bizarre beliefs.
Instinctively, I believe that a skinny person is right and I am wrong. It makes no sense. The first time I realized this I was a sophomore in high school and I was out running for P.E. I was in the back of the pack, because I was fat and that is where I belonged. Inside me, I wanted to run. Finally, I left the pack and ran. It felt so good. My body felt strong and energized ... and free. But then I ran past a girl who was smaller and thinner. "This can't be right. I can't be passing her. She's skinny and I'm fat. Something must be wrong."
So I stopped. I walked with her. Despite the fact my body was screaming "run, run!" at me. I stopped because there was no way a fat girl like me would be able to run past a tiny little thing like her.
When my then boyfriend, now husband, told me to eat in a way that totally didn't work for my body, I did it anyway and starved and then gorged because obviously he knew better than me what I needed because I was fat and he wasn't.
I find myself at a cross roads here at 43 and in reality, overweight by pretty any scale.
I can continue to live under the assumption that I'm wrong -- not because of anything factual -- but because of numbers on the bathroom scale. I can continue to deny who I am -- and try to fit into everyone else' view of who I am or I can listen to my body, my voice and my instincts.
It seems like a simply choice, right?
Really, it is. And here's the odd thing -- I've been having dreams about running lately. Maybe I'm trying to tell myself something.....

Hearing the call

2010-10-04T09:20:00.002-07:00

For the past several months, I've been feeling the urge to write here again. First, I've been struggling with the eating disorder again and secondly, because I continue to hear from people who miss this site -- and could benefit from the shared experience.
I haven't written much of anything for the bulk of 2010. Mostly, I've been distracted with other things. I can always find other things to work on and do.
But it's apparent to me that the more I put aside things that bring me joy, the harder it is to combat the addictions that haunt me.
I know, I know. I've said this before. It takes me a while to catch on -- and I'm easily side tracked. Recently, I've been talking with someone close to me who also has an addiction. He didn't want to go to counseling or rehab or church, so he came to me. Go figure. The situation has forced me to look at myself, my own addictions and what is working for me and what isn't. The process has reminded me that I know more than I think I do. And just when I think I'm failing at everything, I only need to relax long enough to remember what I have all the tools I need.
I thought I'd share the suggestions I'm sharing with my friend in hopes of helping others -- and reminding myself of all the tools in my toolbox.

So for today the assignment is: Give yourself to do something you love today.
Try for an hour, but 15 minutes in the minimum. Maybe it's playing or listening to music. Try reading a book for pleasure. Maybe it's uncovering your sewing machine. Maybe it's taking your camera out for a walk and shooting some photos of the great fall colors. It doesn't matter. Do what brings you joy.

Now here's a danger: If you're like me, you'd like to say... do some scrapbooking but it would take you a day and a half to uncover all the stuff to get the job done. So, divide your time in half. If you're giving yourself an hour, spend no more than 30 minutes finding enough stuff do something simple. The time spent will bless you. Then spend the remainder of your time working on your project. Initially, it will be frustrating -- but if you give yourself a little bit of time each day -- quickly enough you'll be working on your scrapbooks -- or whatever project. If you're like me and it will take more than a few days to uncover the tools for your project -- Spend half your time working on that project -- then work on something else that blesses your soul -- like reading a book or walking or whatever.

To help your progress, find some music that makes you smile Today I'd suggest Bette Midler. This is the best version I could find on You Tube, but I highly recommend finding Bette's version.

Comment below to share how you're blessing your soul with others. Together we can reach our goals.

It's time for me to fly

2010-01-05T21:18:00.004-07:00

The other day I did a positive meditation with an emphasis on finding the thing that might feed my soul.
Part of the process was asking myself what area of my life needed the most attention.
The answer: Me.
I need attention. I've focused on my relationships, my weight, my professional life, my parenting life... well... pretty much anything and everything other than -- me. I need to feed my soul.
There was a time when this blog fed my soul. It's brought me friends and comfort and helped me sort through the issues in my life.
But for the last year or better it's become a chore. It's become redundant. It doesn't serve me or my readers much anymore.
More importantly, it keeps me trapped in a mindset of addiction. The reality is, as much as I believed I was fully recovered, I was really only in recovery. I have been, for the last several years clinging to the addiction...hiding in the folds of the my weight and wallowing in self pity. Really, it was just a different addiction.
I was, as I said in a previous post, standing at the top of the mountain, but afraid to leap into my life -- afraid to fly.
I'm done.
No more.
It's time for me to jump -- to move on and away from the issues and ideas that keep me living in fear.
There is no fear in what is real.
I know what to do. I have the tools I need to live freely, comfortable and in control.
I just need to do it.
So, I'm saying goodbye to Fat and Then. I'll leave it up for a few weeks to make sure people can find me, but from now on, I'll be at my new blog: http://karmafound.blogspot.com

Here I'll chronicle my life, my travels, my hopes and dreams. I'll continue to include posts about positive self esteem and the people and places that support unconditional love for all of us.
You all have been such and important part of my life these last few years and helped me become the grand woman I am today. I hope you'll continue to follow me in this journey.

Resolution

2009-12-28T23:36:00.002-07:00

I happened to be home this afternoon and had the tv on -- mostly as background noise.
I had forgotten what time of year we are in.
It's the time of year when we are blasted with weight loss and diet program ads. It's like they're being fired from a machine gun -- rapidly pelting us with more and more suggestions for losing weight in the new year.
At first, I bought in. I spent many precious minutes drinking the diet Koolaid. "This year, will be different. I'll start right now. I wonder how much I've gained this month..."
But then, I caught myself.
My health is not something to consider with a sweeping resolution this time each year. It's a daily responsibility. Further, the greatest success I have in maintaining a healthy attitude is when I conciously choose not to drink the Koolaid -- and worry not about what the scale says, but how I feel, what gives me joy and makes my soul sing.
I finally turned off the television.
I am far too susceptible to internalizing these diet ads and thinking, even for a moment, that I'm not good enough the way I am.
I am good and kind. I am intelligent and thoughtful. Generous to a fault. Talented. Creative.
I am also unorganized, scattered, moody and sarcastic.
None of these qualities have anything to do with my weight.
Perfect should be left to the professionals -- since I call myself a Christian, perfection can be left to Jesus. The rest of us are fucked up and fallable and that's the way we were designed.
And, I'm fine with you I am and what I look like.
It's too easy for me to get caught up in this message that I am ugly, unattractive, in need of repair and unworthy. As much as I'd like to blame others for making me feel this way, I am responsible for for allowing these messages to wrap themselves around my head and heart.
So my New Years Resolution for 2010 is this. I resolve to love myself as I am. To embrace my loves and my gifts and enjoy each second without ever once again wondering if I deserve it.
What are your resolutions?

Fear of flying

2009-12-26T19:45:00.007-07:00

Well, I think I'm slowly but surely pulling myself out of the most recent depression. This time of year is difficult anyway and the incident I mentioned in my last post has left me deep in thought.
I read a great book that made me think -- Good Bye Ed, Hello Me, by Jenni Schaefer (http://www.jennischaefer.com/). I read Jenni's first book Life Without Ed and loved it and the same is true with this book.
Schaefer discusses life after conquering the addiction--not only existing without the addiction, but LIVING free from the restraints. Asking yourself, if you're truly recovered, or just living in recovery.
I've talked about reaching my summit before...often. I've written about how, especially during the past year, I have felt like I'm nearly to the top of this mountain top I've been climbing. As I've overcome my food addiction and found a way to love myself for who I am and not what I look like it has felt like climbing a mountain. To be honest, I am not sure what I thought it would feel like when I got to the top -- I just figured I would know when I got there.
After my friend told me he thought I had a "horrid addiction" back in October, I took the time to really consider what he said. Was I still addicted? If not to huge amounts of food, then to what? If I didn't feel like I was addicted why did his comments bother me so much?
After a couple of months of soul searching I have had to come to grips that I'm truly NOT living outside the prison on my eating disorder. In her book Schaefer writes about reaching her summit, but never jumping. Her eating disorder was still in the background guiding her actions in one way or another.
Mine is too. I have brief moments when I have freedom, but all short lived. I've always been afraid to leap from the summit and fly..Soar away from bounds of gravity and live freely.
In order to fly though, I have to truly embrace all the thoughts I've been writing about for the last five years or so... I have to be honest with myself and acknowledge that while I've come a long, long way toward self acceptance I never truly made it 100 percent.
While I was writing and telling msyelf that I love myself and that I'm happier being healthy, the reality is, in the back of my head, I wasn't truly buying it. At my core, I was thinking,"You're beautiful, but...not enough." "You can motivate others to a point, but they'll never truly find inspiration because you're not really good enough."
Deep inside I kept telling myself I wasn't deserving of success...of the freedom to fly.
While I'd like to say I'm ready to fly, as I type this it occurs to me I'm terrified of making the leap into the air. I suspect that after feeling so confident just a few months ago, and then feeling like I backtracked so much in the last 90 days, I'm a little wary of trusting myself again.
I can feel the desire building in me though...with each letter typed it's growing. I want to leap from the summit and feel the rush of air as it takes my breath away. I want to live without wondering, questioning and doubting my true self and identity.
I know I've been here before. I'm getting quite proficient at climbing this mountain. Maybe the more often I climb it -- the more likely it is that I'll succeed in flight sometime soon.
What about you? Are you soaring above your boundaries or do you have a fear of flying?

Here's a blog I like

2009-12-26T19:44:00.000-07:00

Honesty, sometimes, hurts

2009-10-17T04:39:00.003-07:00

The other day, a dear friend gave me the "I'm worried about your weight" lecture.

I was devastated.

It's not like I haven't heard that lecture a million times before. Well meaning friends and family members have taken me aside for the "this is not good for your health" seminar many, many times.

"I picked up this brochure on gastric bypass, I think you should consider it."

In general, I have nodded my head politely and said, "thank you for thinking of me." Then, I go home and sob uncontrollably into my pillow. Occassionally, it triggers an all out binge. Sometimes, I just say, "fuck off. get off my back."

This time, I did all three.

I'm not sure why this lecture hurt so deeply. I can't stop thinking about it. I have been crying for days. In fact, I've been able to think about little else. I've allowed this conversation to haunt me...and ED (Eating Disorder) is rejoicing. He hasn't been this strong in years.

"I'm very concerned about your weight."

"I think you have a horrid addiction."

I simply cannot get the words out of my head. I hear them when I get dressed. I see them when I look in the mirror. I have allowed the words to consume me -- and take away all the success of the summer -- a summer in which I just enjoyed being active. A summer in which I felt stronger than I had in years.

I had lost some ground due to illness and the confines of the back-to-school schedule. However in the three weeks since we had the conversation I've lost my footing and tumbled back down the mountain I'd been climbing at a point when I felt so very close to the summit.

I know they were just words. I know that my friend did not intend to hurt me or cause a relapse. I know that I am stronger than he is -- that I can and will conquer this again. But right now, my heart is writhing in pain.

"I think you have a horrid addiction."

I haven't even used the word addiction to describe my eating habits in about three years. Three years! That's a long time, but now every morsel that crosses my lips has "addiction" on it -- lit up in giant neon green.

I have fallen into a depression I haven't seen in a while. All because a well intentioned friend decided he had to say something.

I'm aware that my reaction is about me, really. It's not about him. This is about how I feel about me. It's just that I thought he was someone that understood -- understood that it wasn't about the food. We talk about everything -- have few secrets from each other. I told him about my insecurities. I thought he knew.... but then what? What could he have really known.

I think it hurt to think that despite all that he knew and all that we've shared, he couldn't get past my outward appearance.

But then, maybe I can't get past my outward appearance. Despite all the soul searching, and writing and research, the real issue is perhaps that I don't accept myself the way I am. That when I look in the mirror, at my core, I still see failure.

Honestly, I don't know why those words have seemingly managed to undo years and years of work. Months of taking charge of my health. Weeks of feeling like, at long last I could put an asterisk at the end of my addiction. As in *recovered.

I want to blame the depression, the anger and fright on him. In fact, I did. Spewing forth a profanity laced rant about how he'd betrayed my trust -- crossed a line -- thrown our friendship out of balance.

Why did he have to say anything? He knew what I looked like, he's read parts of the blog...we've talked about it... he knew I've been working on getting healthy.

In him, I'd found a pal that I thought understood how hard it is to get healthy after years of going the opposite direction. I thought he'd be aware of how sensitive the topic is... I thought he'd see past my weight and see the real me.

He apologized profusely. Practically begged forgiveness. I tried to forgive and let go -- knowing he said something because he cared. I've tried so hard to just count my blessings and relax in the comfort of a good and kind friend who only wants what's best for me.

I'm still devastated.

I told only my counselor about the conversation. My counselor reminded me that this was obviously a good friend who cared about me. He understood my reaction and we agreed it would be fodder for conversation for several more sessions -- especially since the whole episode triggered a binge -- though in relative terms a fairly minor one for me -- but I knew what it was and I didn't stop myself.

Telling other friends was risky -- as I knew there was a potential for yet another well intentioned lecture; "I love you honey, but he's right."

I finally broke down and told two of my friends. One offered a loving hug. The other pointed out something that I probably needed to hear.

"This isn't about him hurting your feelings. This is about you."

"No this IS about him," I replied.

He crossed the line. I trusted him to just be my friend without conditions and now how am I going to ever be comfortable with this man again? I won't be able to share a meal with him because I know he'll be judging every bite I take. I can't share my fitness accomplishments with him because it will never be enough. I can't say, "I just had a great steak," because in my head I'll hear him say, "you should have just had a salad". I won't be able to do anything now, because I'll always expect him to sit in judgement.

He is part of only a select handful of friends I have trusted enough to tell all my secrets to -- (OK probably not all, but enough). He's male and in general I don't trust men, but I trust him. Or at least I did.

I had this great pal -- a buddy-- and now it's gone.

Or is it?

"What if he criticized your writing," my girlfriend asked me.

"Well, oh well," I said. "His opinion would be his opinion. It wouldn't have been a big deal."

"Wait," she said. "He could criticize your writing, what you do best, and it wouldn't bother you?"

"Probably not."

"This isn't about him hurting your feelings. This is about you and your issues with your weight."

Fuck.

I just want to shout from the mountaintops and wear a sign:

"I'm working on it. I know it's not healthy. I see my doctor once a month.You should have seen me a year ago. I am who I am, why can't all of you just see me for me and not the...what does my medical chart say,'morbidly obese bright woman in her 40s'"

I rarely have a binge anymore. I exercise. I eat right 80 to 90 percent of the time. I don't know why I'm not thinner. I thought I would be, but I'm not. I do what I can. I just really work on keeping my head above water. I really just want to enjoy my life. If that means I want a dessert, I have dessert. I refuse to live like a pauper in a princess' world. I just try to listen to my body and serve it well.

I've about given up anyway. Apparently I've reset my metabolism to the point it's going to take an all out miracle to work again. I dont' really understand why I don't do all the things I know I'm supposed to to make it work again. I don't really understand why I hate taking the pills and following the doctors recommendations.

Maybe I'm scared. Maybe I have too many other things going on in my life to really give a shit right now. Maybe everyone should just leave me the fuck alone -- maybe, just maybe being in control of my body isn't as easy as it sounds. Maybe this extra weight protects me from something that scares me -- although I can't really see what -- despite the miles and miles I've written on it. Maybe, just maybe -- I want people to just love me the way I am.

The reality is, I'm probably the only person that doesn't love me the way I am. I'm the one who is holding back because I've found comfort in the defiance. I have found that shouting, "I'm working on it" gives me the "out" to work on it when it's convenient and not worry about it when it's hard.

Losing weight -- if that's the goal, here isn't so simple as the folks on tv make it. It's not just about working out to the point of exhaustion. It isn't about putting your life on hold to take off the weight. It's about figuring out why you gained that weight in the first place. It's about healing from the inside out -- not the outside in.

But as I write this, I know I've been drinking my happy Koolaid. I have every tool in place to heal from the inside -- but I've not taken the final step. Not really. Oh, it's there sometimes. I have felt the comfort of it.

I have lived outside that comfort for so long it's too hard to stay there for very long. I don't trust it and I'm not interested in getting hurt again. I don't take better care of myself because there are other people more important than me. I get sidetracked on my way to the medicine cabinet -- sidetracked by fatigue, anger, resentment, Facebook, e-mail, phone calls and the cat. When I do manage to take my vitamins and medication that would heal the parts of the body that are not working and then I start to feel them work, I panic.

What if I need to hide? If I'm not 150 pounds over weight, there will be no place to internally seek shelter from the pain of living my life.

None of this seems to make sense. I'm still hurting. I'm still trying to sort out feelings and wants and needs.

The thing is, I really thought I was doing well. I had fallen off the band wagon a little bit, but I have felt better physically this year than I had in a long time. I'm gaining confidence back ...slowly but surely find my way back to my core...and then this person that I appreciated and trusted so much reminded me I have a long, long, long way to go.

Family Peace, please

2009-10-13T19:41:00.002-07:00

Today I'm participating in a mass blogging! WOW! Women on Writing has gathered a group of blogging buddies to write about family relationships. Why family relationships? We're celebrating the release of Therese Walsh's debut novel today. The Last Will of Moira Leahy (Random House, October 13, 2009) is about a mysterious journey that helps a woman learn more about herself and her twin, whom she lost they were teenagers. Visit the Muffin www.wow-womenonwriting.com/blog.html to read what Therese has to say about family relationships and view the list of all my blogging buddies. And make sure you visit www.theresewalsh.com to find out more about the author.

I'm sitting here, starring at a blank screen. Family relationships, Family Relationships, FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS.
You'd think, with a family like mine, I could easily write a million words. There was a time when I could, without really trying. There will be, I'm sure, a time like that again.
But for now, I'm pretty much at peace with my family relationships. That peace has come at a price and with a great deal of prayer and tears -- but, for now, it's a good place.
I spent a good portion of life wishing my family was different. I wished Shirley Jones was my step mother. I wish my step father didn't drink. I wanted my mother not to cry. My father not to withdraw. I wanted my siblings to be a few years older instead of decades. I wanted my younger brother to be sober.
But they are none of the those things. And while I wasted a lot of time wishing things were different, I'm grateful the realities made me who I am. Blessed by the love lavished upon me, despite the circumstances.
I gave up trying to help. While occasionally write a check to someone who probably won't use the money for it's intended purpose, I actually try to stay out of the drama my family loves to create. I don't bend over backwards for anybody very often. I try to say Hello when I'm in town, but I don't rearrange my schedule to accommodate anybody else. These beloved souls with whom I share genetics are intelligent and funny, compassionate and kind -- and each carries enough baggage to fill a freight liner. For most, those suitcases loaded with shame, guilt, worry and the occasional addiction are too heavy for me to carry. They choose to pack it around...and I can't change their choices. All I can do is love these people for who they are...pray for them and offer unconditional love. I cannot make their world a better place. That's up to them.
I also have a large family of choice. The people I love with or without genetic markers. They hold me up when I falter and lift me even higher when I succeed. They don't question who I am or my intentions -- they wrap me in unconditional love and keep me warm and safe on a stormy night.
I'm not a saint. I carry my own set of proverbial luggage, but I know my family is who I choose it to be -- and my relationships with those people are a gift from God. I can spend time wishing away the problems or be blessed by what I have and find peace in our shared existence.
I choose peace.

Finding foregivenss

2009-09-21T17:56:00.002-07:00

Could you forgive the man who killed your daughter?
Can you forgive the one who molested you.... or your child?
Have you forgiven your former spouse for breaking your heart?
Can you forgive those who have hurt or betrayed you?
Before you answer that, let's define forgiveness. I have just finished the book, The Shack by Wm. Paul Young. http://www.theshackbook.com.
It's an amazing story about love, relationship, God .... and forgiveness.
Forgiveness is something I struggle with, sometimes. There are people and situations I forgive easily -- finding it best to accept people and situations for what they are and move on.
There are a few people, one in particular, whom I have trusted in the past and am feeling betrayed. In the book, the author asserts that forgiveness is not about passing judgement or forgetting the pain someone has caused. It's not about burying feelings. Forgiveness is about letting go of the other one's throat. It's about moving on -- letting God and the Universe take care of people and matters as they see fit. It's about removing that burden from your heart to make room for other, more loving, people and emotions.
This afternoon, I took a walk -- not a long one, mind you. I set forth with a mission to let go of the anchors of resentment I've been packing around for quite some time. With each step, I dropped the weight.
Fear.
Anger.
Shame.
Disappointment.
Betrayal.
Hurt.
Pain.
In a few short steps I felt like I was on my true path. The path that lead to the light and pure love.
I had hoped, in all honesty to feel lighter than air. That I was walking above the gravel below.
Instead, I have this overwhelming feeling that this walk was just a small part of the journey ahead. That the doors opening up to me will be filled with powerful visions -- the dreams that are coming true in each moment.
The other issue the book pointed out is that we as humans spend most of our time with our heads in the future or in the past -- I know I certainly do. But spending time in what has happened or what might happen takes us off our path and away from the Light of Love.
I find myself easily distracted -- by a thread on Facebook, or an email from a friend ... anything really -- as it doesn't take much to throw me off track.
But when I tune in -- when I focus on the needs of right now -- amazing things happen. With that in mind I've been trying to eliminate distractions. No easy task, let me assure you.
I end up, really, being quite confused as disconnection seems so lonely and connection, albeit electronic seems so.... not...lonely.
While I know it seems arrogant, I feel like I'm bound for some great destiny as yet unknown. Treasures untold. And I'm close... so very close... but there are more burdens to unload. Baggage to leave behind until what remains, is pure and solid ....open to the grand possibilities of the Universe and beyond.

True meaning of the word....

2009-09-19T11:13:00.002-07:00

After last week's 5K, I've been doing a lot of thinking about victories, goals and as usual, karmic destiny.
Thursay, I met with a friend and we talked about my personal victory last Saturday. He told me he'd heard a speaker once who described the original meaning of the word athlete. I don't remember exactly what he said, so I looked it up.
"One who contends for a prize" -- now no where in that does it say, "contends for the prize and wins" or "Must be skinny to be an athlete" or "must contend for a prize within a sporting event".
What if, really, we are all "athletes" in contention for the prize and that prize is: us.
Our own happiness, our own ... enlightenment. We're all athletes in a marathon and that marathon doesn't really end until we transition from this life to the next.
To really embrace this thought, I have to let go of the "athlete" stereotype created by modern definition. An athlete doesn't have to be the jocks who parked in the lot by the gym, with there confident walks and letterman jackets. The athlete doesn't to be the zero-body-fat runner who looks at you in disdain when she runs past you saying "on the left". The athlete doesn't have to be the face on the cereal box.
The athlete is ... me.
We're all trying to reach a finish line while over coming obstacles along the way. Those obstacles are not necessarily metal and wooden hurdles placed there by the coaching staff, although they're there. My obstacles are the voices of others (real or imagined) who tell me, "I can't" or "I'm not worthy" of finishing.
As I've written in the past, I named my negative voice Vicki Should. Naming her and giving her a structure has helped me deal with her...she's not some faceless voice in my head... she's a voice that I can talk to. I know she is just a part of me -- made up of negative messages I've picked up from family, media and other people who truly don't mean well -- but sometimes I just need to talk to her.
I have to remind her I'm in control, not her. That when I hear my voice instead of hers, I find Light and Joy ... I'm closer to God and the Universe and that I don't need her approval to do anything.
For a long time, I thought I'd have to kill Vicki Should in order to be free. But lately, several friends of mine have reminded me that sometimes you have to embrace your "shadow side" -- the side of you that is dark..not living in the Light. That is where Vicki Should lives in my life.
Perhaps Vicki Should is my sparring partner or the second string. She is the other athlete that makes me stronger, better than I was before. If I can beat her, drown out her voice -- then I should be able to silence the other voices (again, real or imagined) that hold me back.
My friend Bard described this as getting a sword ready for battle. The blacksmith takes the steel that is already strong -- already good -- and then puts it through the fire, pounds it straight and then puts it through the fire again and repeats the process until the sword is strong and ready for battle.
We have to have that shadow side. We have to have the dark to balance and recognize the light.
So rather than trying to kill off Vicki Should, I've decided to live in peace with her, to use her to my advantage. I now know I'm an athlete and stronger for each step in the race, so I won't allow her to control my life.
What I will do is continue steadily forth in my own marathon.

It's all in my head

2009-09-14T10:31:00.002-07:00

Saturday morning, I walked in a 5K "fun run".
Let me back up. Over the summer I've been trying to get fit. Eating right, exercise. I have had some success and must admit that I was getting a little cocky. Plus, I had pneumonia (yes, again) in the begining of August, which set me back a ways)
I figured I was in good shape to keep up during the race. The last time I walked a 5K I was pushing stroller, my "friends" left me behind and the ambulance followed me in. I was humiliated and vowed never to walk in one of those wretched things again.
But this summer, I decided I needed a way to celebrate my new found fitness and attitude. I had planned on a hike somewhere, but the pneumonia put a quick stop to that. My lungs still aren't ready for much change in elevation.
Initially I signed up for the Womens Fitness Challenge in Boise. There will be a lot of people there and I'm walking with my girls, so it shouldn't be too bad, I figured. Then a friend mentioned this little fun run in Twin Falls to me. I figured, "What the hell?".
Surely, I was in good enough shape to not come in last. Again.
So Saturday morning I made my way down to Twin Falls, about a 30 mile drive. Two of my friends were running in it. My friend that was going to walk with me had just been laid off, so I figured she would't make it. I was going to walk by myself. There were 31 runners/walkers in teh 5K. I figured I'd come in the bottom five and that was ok. Just not last.
I don't know what it was important to me -- maybe I just expected everyone to assume I'd come in last and I wanted to prove them wrong.
Within a few feet of starting it was clear -- I was going to be last -- and last by a long way. I kept telling myself everyone else would get tired and I could probably take them on the back stretch. But I was fooling myself and I knew it.
I started to wimper, then cry, then sob.
I heard all the voices in my head: "You shouldn't have even started." "Just walk back to the car, drive away and don't look back" "Runners are mean, you don't belong here." "You are too fat to be out here, people are laughing at you. You're making a fool of yourself."
I couldn't breathe. I could barely walk.
In the background of the voices, I could hear my own voice. She was quiet at first--meekly trying to get above the fray. But with each step I took she, I, got a little stronger. I could hear her message: "It's not about where you place in the race, it's about finishing." "Just keep walking. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks." "Stand up straight, breathe! Get a hold of yourself. You're miles ahead of all those who did't even start the race."
By the half way point, I had successfully drowned out the other voices. I only heard my own voice, cheering me on. Soon, I could hear the voices of others I knew would be there, if not in person, spiritually, to support me--My friends, some members of my family. The negative tapes, that tend to play when I'm out of my comfort zone were dead--trampled by my own strength and the support of my personal cheering section.
I finished that walk. Two of my newest friends had stuck around to take pictures and cheer me through the tape. I did come in last with a time of 61.34.
I felt great that I'd finished the race. Great I'd taken a little bit of time off my usual walk. The greater victory was being able to hear my own voice and those of the people who truly love me instead of the voices that try to keep me from achieving my dreams.
Today, I challenge you to hear your own voice and to create your own cheering section. I'll be the one sitting in the front row waving your flag and reminding you that you can do anything!

Advice request

2009-09-04T23:11:00.002-07:00

I'm in the process of redefining my life...
I know what you're thinking: "Karma, you're always in the process of redefining your life"
Ok. True.
The difference is I always start, but never really finish...
I'm thinking this time might be different... feels that way anyway...
So I'm in the process of writing a business plan of sorts... what to do with my life professionally and personally.
I know that I love to write -- that I have a couple of books in my head. I really love this blog, but perpetually put it to the back burner...I think it deserves more attention...
I would like, however, your input.
How would you feel if there were ads on this page? Should I try to join one of the bigger blog networks, like Blogher?
What would you like to see more of on this page? Should I change the name?
How can I best serve you on this site?
I'd love to get your input...please comment or contact me privately.

Advertising

2009-08-25T17:58:00.002-07:00

If you see words within my text that are unlined, please do not feel obligated to click on them. They for are advertising I DID NOT authorize and in most cases, the advertsing is for businesses which contradict my intended message....I have contacted Ad Sense etc and they should be stopped soon...

The high cost of looking outward

2009-08-25T16:29:00.003-07:00

I just got a text from a friend telling me she's lost 20 pounds.
My first response was, "At what cost?"
She's barely two weeks out from gastric bypass. She can't eat solid food. She's been back to the emergency room once for unusual pain.
I know that surgery offers hope to many and salvation to some, but I've just never felt it was an option for me. There are far too many risks, far too many restrictions to my lifestyle...I have never overeaten because I was hungry. I make unhealthy meal choices because I'm happy, sad, depressed, rejected, joyful.... anything but hungry. How then, would having a smaller stomach help me lose weight?
For my friend, I believe she sees the surgery as a path to happiness and that she's sold her soul for the surgery and it's intended results. I pray that it answers her prayers and does not damage any elements of her general health.
Though she denies it, my instinct is that my friend really thought she'd wake up from surgery and weigh 130 pounds and, then, of course, her life would be perfect. I see a lot of people living in this prison. Though there are not bars in the cells, the imprisonment comes from believing that self worth is tied to our outward appearance. That unless we fit some media supported ideal, we are not worthy of love, happiness or peace.
When I got the text message this morning, I wanted to scream! At one point will we start loving ourselves and others not for our outward appearance but for our inner value? Sure this woman has lost 20 pounds and she wants to celebrate. I would prefer to celebrate her kindness, her ability to create or grow a garden. I would prefer to celebrate her ability to make people smile.
The thing is, it's not really all her fault. We've all been taught by the media, entertainment, fashion and society in general that if you're thin and pleasant to look at , then your life should be perfect and your actions of merit. If you're fat, then, clearly, something is wrong with you. Likely, you're lazy, dishonest and invaluable.
Here's the thing -- I'd rather be fat than dead because of some surgery or weight loss drug. I'd rather carry extra weight than worry about every morsel of food I put in my mouth. I'd rather live in joy than worry about how I look in a swimsuit, what numbers are on the tag in the back of my pants or what others think or say about me. I've come to this honestly. I've tried a myriad of drugs, watched as other took a bite of cake when I thought I couldn't and hidden in the car while my children and friends played at the pool.
At the beginning of the summer I vowed to not worry about my weight until Sept. 1. It's been entirely difficult. I have thought about it constantly. I have bragged about my weight loss in hopes of winning approval from judgemental friends and family members -- but in watching my friend deal with her struggles I've become acutely aware of the futility in all of that. I eat the food I enjoy, that blesses my body. I participate in activities that bring me strength and energy - again that bless my body. I celebrate my family, my friends my world....
The reality is if your life sucks at 300 lbs., it's going to suck at 130. True happiness comes not from numbers on a scale, but from inner peace. Happiness comes from feeling like you're in control of the things you can control and giving the rest to God. Joy is from knowing we are DIVINE, WE ARE GOOD ENOUGH, not because of our weight on a scale, but simply because WE EXIST.
Until all of us embrace that truth, we will always be trapped in a prison of self doubt and fear.

Planning for control

2009-07-27T09:39:00.002-07:00

It's almost comical how easy it is for me to get off track. I look through the entries on this blog and am always surprised at what I've written. I sat down today to write something about gaining control and eliminating clutter only to find I did that the last time.
I've written often about water and it's meaning in my life. I wish I knew more about boating to make this anology work -- but stick with me, I think you'll see what I mean. (And if any of you know about boating and see the need to correct something, please comment!)
When I first started coming out of the eating disorder, I wrote about floating along with the current. Just allowing it to take me where it wanted. All the while, holding desparately to this log that gave me the perception of staying afloat. In reality, the water is not very deep -- it never was. I just needed to stand up and walk to the river's edge, choosing to follow my own path instead of the current.
Today, I feel like I'm yet again adrift. This time, the river has led me to a beautiful lake filled with opportunity. The wind has filled my sails and I'm moving rapidly between destinations, never staying long enough to put down anchor -- just visiting until the wind blows me another direction. Perhaps it's time to put down my sails and just use my rutter. From the helm of my ship, I can determine and control my own destiny.
My problem is, I've been bouncing between ports so long I'm confused. I don't know where or who I am anymore. Every destination I can think of is ripe with risk -- there is a potential for pain everywhere.
I know somewhere on this site, I've written about just embracing the pain as part of revolution. Just going through it without fear and moving forward. Maybe that's, indeed, the direction I need to go.
A long lost, but now found, friend told me I needed to stop living for everyone else and start living for myself. He sees me as having a conflicted heart. I know he's right, but I also know that might be the most difficult thing I could do. As a mother, am I not supposed to live for my children? Aren't I being selfish? And here's the clencher: DO I DESERVE TO DO THAT?!
Now if I were offering counsel to a friend, I was say the following:
"You're not being selfish or neglecting your children, you are taking care of yourself so that you can take better care of their children and allowing them the empowerment to do the same. OF COURSE you deserve this. Remember that old saying, 'God/the Universe only answers yes?' Do you deserve this? Well yes! It's only your voice saying no. No one else is preventing you from reaching your divine destiny. You're just caught up in fear to the point you cannot see the answers are right in front of you."
I'm not very good at taking my own advice, but seeing it here in print, it makes perfect sense.
So again, let's go back to what it means to be me?
I love to write and I'm good at it, yet I spend very little time on it because I'm too busy, guess what? Serving other peoples needs.
I love to create art and sew but I don't do much because guess what ? I'm too busy serving other peoples needs!
I have created a space for both that doesn't even come close to allowing me the freedom to create or write because I've shoved too much other stuff into it. It's a metaphor for my life.
Holy crap -- I can't be me because I'm too busy shoving, stuffind and dumping to be able to!
While it may be getting repetitive, I have to do this again. Today I vow to eliminate the clutter; physical, emotional and other from my life.
I vow to find time each day to do something I love -- beyond working out, beyond physically taking care of myself as that is a necessary thing each day. I will find an hour or more each day to bless my soul as well as my body.
Ok -- I can bless my body with good quality food and exercise each day
I bless my soul with allowing it the time and energy to create art and words that I love
I can bless my mind by.... surrounding myself with my posse of angels that inspire, endure and unwaveringly care about my well being.
This all sounds so easy until I look around the room and see the massive amouns of clutter -- and I worry I'll get off track.
We know how to eat elephants, right? One bite at a time.
So perhaps the fourth spoke on my wheel of control is allowing myself time to do general maintance. Even 15 minutes a day working on clutter of the physical, mental and spirtual kind could make a huge difference to my and my attitude.
To review: 1) Bless my body 2)bless my soul 3)bless my mind and 4) eliminate the things that don't bless me a little every day until they're gone.
In doing so, only then, can I break free from this prison of indecision.

A funny thing happened on the way to me...

2009-07-09T23:07:00.006-07:00

All summer long, I have been walking and working out. I've been taking water aerobics classes and most recently doing EA Active on my Wii (which I love!).
The strangest things are happening.
First, I'm to the point now that if I don't get some sort of workout in -- I'm cranky. Who knew? I really love the way I feel. My face looks better -- at least I think it does. When I get dressed for the day, I take more care in what I'm wearing. I haven't lost any inches -- although I'd swear my swim shorts, which are normally pretty tight, went on just a bit easier tonight. I could be hallucinating.
I'm hungry for healthy things. Here's a crazy thing: I can go to a Mexican restaurant and not eat a basket full of chips -- and LIVE. I can eat a healthy choice from a menu and I don't starve to death. Can you believe that? I didn't even feel deprived. I'm still here. I'm still OK. I can eat healthier foods and not feel like I missed out on something. Can you believe that? I'm stunned.
Here's another odd thing -- the chaos is starting to bother me more.
For the last 13-15 years, I've been adding to my collection of....everything. I've spent thousands of dollars on craft supplies, books, sewing stuff -- well, just everything. I start projects I don't finish. Like the food I was stuffing in my mouth, I was stuffing my home with possessions -- all in hopes of filling a void. The void of what I perceived as a lack of love and appreciation -- two things I figured I could get from shopping and eating.
First, I noticed my table. Really, shouldn't tables be sacred? In theory, we're supposed to sit with our loved ones and break bread. Right? We should sit as a family at the table and eat nourishing food and bless our spirits with companionship -- like Jesus at the last supper. My end of the table was piled a foot high -(maybe more, I'm NOT joking)-with magazines and mail and 4-H stuff and books. It's ridiculous.
My truck is filled with clutter. My office is piled with crap. You can't get into my closet. The list goes on and on.
Here's the clencher: The other day I sat down on my daughter's bed and looked up. I saw my reflection in the mirror. I don't spend a lot of time looking into a full length mirror. In my head I'm fit and athletic and I sort of assume that how I look in my head is how I look in real life. But I'll be damned.
I looked at this woman in the mirror -- she looked used up. Exhausted. She looked like someone who had taken a lot of blows. Who was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and her breast and her abdomen and her thighs.
The clutter and the extra weight are just the outward expression of the smothered, overwhelmed, frustrated, angry, abused person I've become.
The more I exercise, the more I feel stronger on the inside, the less comfortable the clutter -- both spiritual and physical -- feels. Again -- go figure.
So I have started this process of cleaning out my physical life and I'm expecting my emotional clutter and my physical clutter to get dumped along with the piles of papers and magazines and other crap I've consumed both spiritually and physically. It's going to take a while, but I'll get it done.
It's really tempting for me to blame the person in my life who has made me feel unloved, unattractive and unappealing in any way. The reality is that it is my choice to allow him to make me feel that way. In order to really come in contact with my true self I need to regain control of my heart and life. This is the way to do it -- blessing my body and soul with activities and foods that nourish and strengthen my body and then, get away from the clutter that blocks my energy. Only then will have the emotional strength to break free of the emotional hold he seems to have over me.
I know I'm on the right path. I know this is what I need to do gain control and make my dreams come true.
Change is on the horizon. Every horoscope, psychic, gut feeling and internal guidance tells me so. The challenge for me will be to get ready for it without getting trapped in self sabotaging patterns.
With angels like each of you, I'll make it.

Sole searching

2009-07-05T08:50:00.004-07:00

Perhaps, as a Capricorn, I'm finally coming into my natural Earth Mother self.
It happened last week, after a particularly long and emotionally frustrating day. I had found a lump in my left breast and the trip to the doctor and the subsequent mammogram were irritating. I knew the lump was likely nothing, but it scared me. On top of it, my husband was, well, less than supportive.
I was mad, scared and frustrated at the direction my life was taking. I needed to work in my garden. I had just been watered and parts of it were muddy. I was getting more and more frustrated with losing my shoes in the mad and I had this nagging voice in my head. "Take off your shoes." Connect with the mud, the earth the dirt. Find your core in the mud."
At first, I was not in the mood to hear this. So in my frustration, I answered back. Sweat starting to sting my eyes and all, this is what I said:
"I don't want to step on a sticker. I don't want to get poked by a rock. I don't want mud between my toes. I want my husband to be a man. I want this lump to go away. I want my days to go as I plan and not keep getting interrupted. And you, you stupid voice, need to shut the fuck up."
But the voice was still there. With each weed I bent over to pull, it got louder.
Finally, I threw my shoes off and let my feet sink into the mud.
It felt great. Really great.
And very, very peaceful.
Now, with every step into the dirt and mud, I started to relax.
I felt centered.
It occurred to me that I not felt like this in a very long time.
So it started down a path of deep soul -- or sole :-) -- searching. I rarely feel like I fit in anywhere. I am not happy in my personal life and I want to make some big changes. Right now there seems so much to do. However, before I can make any changes. I need to break some old patterns. Self destructive, self pitying road blocks that I have consistently allowed to stop me. I think I'm afraid of success. Though I'm not entirely sure why.
There is comfort in the chaos I have created in my life. Excuses.
It's sooooooo much easier to blame the situation or others for not meeting my goals.
But before I can expect change in others, I have to change myself. And somewhere, somehow (and with the help of all of you) I have to find the courage to move past the obstacles that have, in the past, stopped me.
I have to unleash my inner Diva. The person without fear, without concern of what others think. The person who speaks and walks confidently toward any chosen destination. I've lost her -- buried her under disappointment and loss and disillusion. I have slowly uncovered her from time to time in recent years -- but swallowed her again when times got too difficult.
It will, take every ounce of courage I have -- and likely the courage of my friends -- as I'm not sure I have enough to take all this on myself.
First on the list: removing the clutter, both physical and emotional.
And again, that voice, is in my head.
"Live simply so that others may simply live."
I'm not exactly sure where the voice is leading me -- but she was right about the gardening barefoot thing. So, I'm betting she's on to something again.

First an explanation

2009-07-05T07:40:00.001-07:00

I'm sorry I haven't been posting more often! I'm having computer problems... I'm working on it!
K

And the scale calls my name...

2009-06-21T21:19:00.003-07:00

There are so many things to catch all of you up on -- not sure where to even start.
My daughter and I spent a week in Puerto Rico (with a school tour group) and it was amazing. Spending time with her was such a treat and it was fascinating to see her reaction to the sights and sounds of another culture.
For the first time in her life she was approached by a beggar and saw homeless in the streets. She is such a kind hearted and deep soul, these events made a significant impact and I think she's still processing everything. I tried to use it as a reason to count her blessings and I think she'll do that.
We had an opportunity to snorkel in the Carribean and float with bioluminescent plankton. For a while we floated hand in hand and I hope I never ever lose that connection with her. She's at such an amazing age right now -- just coming into her own -- developing opinions and personality. As we floated with our ears in the water listening to dolphins click and watching the stars on a moonless night I couldn't help but hope the moment would never end -- that she would always be willing to hold my hand in the dark. But I know in a matter of months she will grow beyond needing her mother. I know it's the goal; make our children indepedent -- but there will be always a part of me that wants to feel of her small hand in mine.
----more on Puerto Rico later ---
The thing I love about snorkeling and am loving more and more about swimming is that size doesn't matter. A few years ago, I would have never had the guts to swim, much less snorkel, because I was under the impression I was too fat to exist.
(I can't believe I was that silly)
Once my kids started to get more active I couldn't stand the thought to being a sideline mom -- I never wanted to be the mom sitting next to the pool not wanting to get her hair wet -- or not wanting to be seen in my swimming suit. I will not be putting my life on hold not now -- not ever.
So a few years ago I conquer my fear of water and getting my head wet to snorkel for the first time. It was amazing.
When you're floating in the ocean with a snorkel mask on your face, you have to relax. You have to breathe. You have to be in balance with your surrounding. My weight didn't matter, my ability to stay calm and peaceful matters. It was incredibly freeing.
Last week, while floating in the Carribean, I had to again remind myself to relax, believe in myself and allow my body to float in the salty water. I saw amazing and beautiful fish and plant life. When I allowed my self to be free it allowed me to enjoy an experience that I would never have had.
It was, however, in contrast to how I felt the rest of the week. The humidity of Puerto Rico took a huge toll on my energy levels. On our first full day on the island, we hiked through a rain forest. I had thought that my morning walks had prepared me for the walk as it was only about a mile or so -- (at least that's what they said) --but the humidity and more of an incline than I'm used to about did me in! While I completed the hike, I kept beating myself up for being so out of shape. I didn't give myself any credit for jet lag, the humidity or the fact I hung back just a little to help a friend. From about that point on, everytime, I looked in the mirror I only saw my enlarged tummy. I only saw puffy feet -- swollen to the size they were when I was 8 months pregnant. I didn't give myself any credit for being on my feet the majority of the day, the long bus rides, the humidity or the salty food we were consuming regularly.
Before I'd left home, I was feeling pretty good about myself. My strike against obsessing about my weight was working pretty well. I bought new skorts and I'd swear they felt more comfortable than the last time I bought clothes. For some reason, while in Puerto Rico, I fell back into old patterns of obsessing about how I looked and why I looked that way.
Back at home, those feeling have subsided. I have to admit, however, that each time I enter the bathroom the scale seems to call my name. Here's what it says:
"Just step on and check in. You've been working very hard and it would be good to check in to see if you really should feel better. We won't know until we see the numbers. Just step on and find out if you are doing as well as you think."
Now why on earth do we do this to ourselves?! Why do the numbers on the scale mean anything? Why do I and countless people like me judge health on numbers on a stupid little machine instead of what's in our heart, how we feel or the choices we make each day?
When I started my strike a few weeks ago, I really thought it would be easy, but I've found its very difficult. What I do know, is that in those moments when I do allow myself to be free are some of the greatest moments. The trick, as the strike continues, it to turn those moments into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into days.
I'd really like to hear how other strikes are going -- please comment and let me know if you're struggling or thriving? (or a little bit of both)

Moving on?

2009-05-28T09:22:00.003-07:00

Just right this minute I made a decision.
As I was opening this window to write, it came to me.
I'm going on strike. Taking a stand. Hanging my head out the door and shouting, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore."
From June 1 to Sept. 1, I'm not going to worry about my weight. I'm just not going to do it anymore. I can feel weight lifting from my shoulders as I type these words.
You know, if people spent as much time trying to -- oh I don't know -- end world hunger as they do worrying about their weight and appearance, there just wouldn't be any world hunger. We'd probably have peace and and end to poverty.
I'm going to challenge everyone in my life to take 90 days off. Spend the time you would normally spend worrying about how "fat" you are (even though you're probably not fat) and do something else. Read a book. Volunteer at the local library. Find something, anything that brings you joy and do it.
Here's the catch: you have to check in with me weekly and tell me what you've been up to. Leave it as a comment or something or send me an e-mail and I'll post it here.
Feel the freedom. Wow --
Ok -- Now having paranoid thoughts. Can I really do this? I've tried it before, but always fall back into old destructive patterns. It's going to take a team effort folks. We must keep reminding each other to stay on the freedom path.
Oooh! Let's make it a movement -- let's spread the word to our friends and families. For 90 days don't worry about your weight. Stop comparing yourself to other people -- especially their appearance. Just be who you are and be comfortable with it. Bless you body by doing something that you enjoy that is physical, if you can. Don't put anything in your mouth unless it really blesses you. If that piece of chocolate makes you happy, and you're hungry, enjoy it. Allow yourself to live in joyful peace with your body and food.
This is not forever -- you can back to judging yourself by what it says on the scale in September.
In the meantime, how cool would it be if we all judged our self by what we DID instead of how we looked? What if your self worth was connected to our true spirit instead of our pants size?
Dang -- this might be fun.
Let me know what you think!

Memories of me

2009-05-25T20:17:00.002-07:00

It's Memorial Day.
We've spent the day with family. Very nice. Very blessed.

As the "unofficial start" of summer, I often spend this weekend contemplating the summer's activities. How can I work as much fun into the summer as possible? Can I get all the projects done I'd like to get done? How can I use this unstructured time to its highest potential?

I might spend an hour or a day planning, fussing, contemplating -- but is it worth it all?

Would it be better to just take each day as it comes and not get over planned?

Is there a balance?

The last couple of summers have been difficult at best. I have a good feeling about the coming season and don't want to get any more overcommitted than I normally am. There's so many things I want to do -- projects to finish, adventures to share and as usual I'm having a hard time controlling my ADD. I want to do it all. Do it well. Do it now.

So I spent the better part of the weekend nestled on the deck of our cabin in the woods and lost myself in a book. I decided distraction would be the best way to avoid over planning.

I am aware that I can set myself for disappointment -- usually by trying to get more done in a day than most people get done in a week. Then, wondering why I'm not getting all the items on my "to do" list done.

If I could just relax this summer -- do the things that bring me joy -- wouldn't that allow me to get the best of my "to do" items done? Wouldn't that allow me to do so without killing myself and making those around me crazy?

Here's the problem -- I suck at that.

I thrive on chaos. I keep reminding myself about my "Opposite Day" plan. Surley, somewhere inside me is the ability to embrace the "now" to do the things that bless me and not those which only feed my ego and the chaos!

Here's what I know -- in those moments when I have, in fact, allowed myself to pursue joy and follow my bliss -- great things have happened. I've felt great -- doors opened to new opportunity -- and then -- I can't really put my finger on what happens... I stop.

It's as though I have a fear of success.

I used to think the fear came being afraid I'd raise expectations -- and then not be able to live up to those expectations -- but these days I'm not so sure.

After all of this time -- all the things I've been through in the last few years -- could it be I'm still not comfortable enough in my own skin to allow myself to just ...be ... me?

Sometimes I wonder if it's my marriage -- which is never very stable. My husband does, indeed, make me crazy.

But I keep thinking I can rise above that discomfort -- I want to exist outside of his expectations or anyone elses for that matter.

Are my own expectations too high -- is it me self sabbatoging?

What would be so wrong - what's there to fear about being me?

Terra Therapy

2009-05-17T21:08:00.001-07:00

Hello all --

I've been working a project for http://www.swap-bot.com -- actually several. As part of one swap, I'm keeping a journal which I will send to a swap partner next month.

Thought I'd share it with you... just for fun.

Saturday May 16, 2009

I got hurdled by a lamb this morning.

Thus began a crazy, busy day.

I got up early to put the finishing touches on some petit fours I made for a Girl Scout tea party. I’d always seen them in magazines, but I’ve never actually made them. I was quite impressed with myself.

The kids had to load up their 4-H animals. My oldest daughter has a dairy calf project, my other daughter has two lambs. They’ll raise them until late July, when they’ll be sold at the county fair and the records and books they are keeping will be judged in competition with other kids. The calf is fairly tame and easy to maneuver on a halter. The same holds true for one of the lambs – named Hailey. The other lamb is smart and ornery. For the last ten days this lamb, named Janel, has managed her way out of harnesses, escaped capture at all turns and in general tried my patience at every level.

This morning, the lamb and I were going to come to terms. My daughter and I developed a plan. She would walk the lamb into the barn, I would corner it, and get a new harness on her. The plan worked pretty well, at first. My daughter walked Hailey the lamb into the barn. Janel knew something was up. She kept bleating and willingly followed my daughter into the barn. I thought we had her. I hunched down to catch her. The lamb took one look at me and leapt over me.

Only I would get hurdled by a lamb.

Eventually, I did catch her and she along with the calf and other lamb got hauled down to the fairgrounds for a preliminary weigh-in.

Then, off to the Girl Scout Tea Party. Last year, I expected 30 people and 100 people showed up. This year, I prepared for 100 and 30 people showed up. Go figure.

In general, though I think it was a nice event. I think I’m going to create a board of directors for the Girl Scout troop. I don’t think the adult women in this community feel like there’s enough opportunities to mentor young women. The willingness is there, but no formal structure. Will work on that over the summer.

Left the party in a mad dash to pick up my son from Farm Safety Camp. Thankfully my sister met me part of the way. Turned around to drive the 35 minutes home to meet my sister-in-law and her family. She was dropping of her son for the week. My husband decided to go to some stupid Extreme Fighting event early. He stayed until I got home – must have got the message I wasn’t impressed with his decision to leave before I got home and while his sister was visiting. Perhaps it was when I screamed into the phone and hung up.

Took the kids out for Mexican food, then back home for a movie. I chatted on line with friends till the weeee hours of the morning. I’m so thankful for old friends… and for facebook … the comfort of cherished friends is such a tremendous blessing.

May 17.

Woke up without power. When the power goes out I have no water. I can cook because I have a gas stovetop. But you can’t wash your hands, flush the toilet – it’s like camping.

The power stayed off until 11 so we passed the time by working in the garden and yard. I came to the conclusion that gardening must be a lot like raising children.

You work the soil – adding positive elements like fertilizer and additional soil when needed. You til and til and til until it’s ready for planting. Then you carefully plant seeds and water and care for those seeds until they’re ready for harvest.

I’m not anywhere near done raising my kids – but I find I’m in the improving the soil phase. I’m adding things here and there to improve my seedlings chance for survival. Books I think they’d love. Family vacations. Meals around the table.

The garden provides a quicker return. Just as I’m fascinated by the evolution of the plants from seed to table – I’m so enjoying watching my children as their personalities really start to take shape.

This year has been pretty incredible so far – I feel like I’m closer and closer to being comfortable in my own skin. I think the garden’s going to play a role in that – if I let it. I’m calling it Terra Therapy and hoping that when each shovel full of soil turned over I’ll find a part of myself. Something hidden beneath a crust that has been allowed to build over too many years of neglect and stain.

So far I’ve managed to till most of it – taking care to protect the onions which grew voluntarily – they were already there. In the morning I’ll rake a few more weeds away and begin planting. I’m nervous. Each year I try to garden and each year I fail.

Something about this year is different though. I’m not sure I could name the difference – but I feel it. I’m not secure in this thing yet – but it’s there.

In the same way, I’m feeling stronger about myself and where I belong. I’ve seen glimpses of this here and there along my journey, but have always returned to the safety of the known – the chaos that has ruled my life. But I can see growth on the horizon and anticipate a bountiful harvest.

Back in the saddle again

2009-05-10T05:30:00.002-07:00

Ok -- so I fell off the Opposite Day wagon.

It's seems I leaped off the Opposite Day wagon and jumped right on the self sabotage express.

Uggh.

Don't you ever wish that you'd wake up one morning and you'd just get "it". That colossal "IT" -- the goal -- the you can take care of yourself and stop putting yourself on the backburner and do all the things you intended to do before some stupid switch clicked off in your brain and you -- oh, I don't know -- shoved copious amounts of food in your mouth or forgot to pay the bills (again) or forgot to pick up your son -- or whatever.

I have great ideas and pretty good intentions most of the time -- and then I get lost somewhere in the must do's and wannabe's of my life and I don't accomplish the simplest of goals.

"Write every morning" -- I oversleep, get sidetracked on Facebook, or realize I forgot something that "just has to be done right now" and I don't write, journal, blog or anything.

"Cut back on sugar" -- Are you kidding? Like a moth to a flame I can see and smell sugar at a distance and then can east huge portions -- even though I instantly have a headache and gut-ache and I KNOW I feel so much better when I eat sweets in moderation.

"Stop identifying myself as old and fat" -- It's a great excuse for not being myself right? If I comically complain that I'm old and fat -- then people don't assume I don't know what I look like. I make fun of myself before anyone else ever gets a chance, right? I can read your mind -- I know what you're thinking. You think I can't climb the stairs because I'm too fat to carry my carcass. It has nothing to do with the arthritis in my knees -- I probably got that because I'm fat anyway.

I don't know what it is sometimes -- what it is that causes me to act in a way I know doesn't work -- It's like I'm stuck in this victim role and I create situations in which I can be the victim of.... whatever....

But again -- if I can embrace my "opposite action philosophy" I know what that victim role feels like -- so, it would seem I could switch directions without too much confusion.

It's Mother's Day, so I got up early to write and the purging of the words in my head has lifted a bit of the pressure. So for today, I'm not going to be a victim of my thoughts.

I'll head the other direction and find a new path ... who wants to join me?

Happy Opposite Day!

2009-04-23T21:36:00.003-07:00

When my kids were little, there were times they couldn't find matching shoes. So, we created Opposite Day. Normally you would wear matching shoes so on Opposite Day, you'd wear shoes that didn't match. (This aided us in actually getting out the door instead of continuing to look for missing shoes. It did generate strange looks for people in stores -- but so what? The kids thought it was great) Eventually we all got better at keeping track of our shoes, but every so often, Opposite Day sounds pretty good.

I've been thinking of celebrating Opposite Day more and more. This time, however, it won't be about shoes. It's about action.

If my normal activity would be to say -- leave a mess in the kitchen thinking I'll get back to it -- then to celebrate Opposite Day, I'll put everything away.

If I usually would eat something loaded with preservatives and grease and salt and anything else that doesn't bless my body, I'll do the opposite.

It was my friend and guide Bard who gave me this idea. We were talking the other day and he suggested I embrace and feel the chaos my life normally is. Then, do the opposite. I know what the lack of control and dysfunction feels like --so it would seem simple to do the opposite, right?

Well -- it's more difficult than it sounds -- but I've been trying it off and on today and it's pretty powerful.

If I can feel how my life isn't working, I should be able to visualize what my life would feel like if I did the exact opposite.

So -- I've been taking babysteps. Normally, I would leave my purse and bags in the car, thinking I would know where all my stuff is and not bring it into the house to create another pile in there. But my pick-up eventually becomes this shit pile -- full of all the things I didn't bring into the house. Then those things get stepped on or blown out the door or I eventually shove everything into a box and then I can't find it.

So in honor of Opposite Day, I'm cleaning out the truck.

Here's the other thing I want to do today. I really need to get some work done in my flower beds. Normally, I'd stand out there and look at the amount of work that needs to be done, get overwhelmed and go find something else to do. So in honor of Opposite Day, I'm going to call a friend who recently lost her job. I'll see if she wants to work for pay or barter -- I bet she could use some beef or cheese, of which I have plenty. So we'll work together, making it more fun and more efficient. It doesn't have to take all day -- just a few hours together would get a bed or two done.

Then we'll probably have to have lunch in honor of Opposite Day!

I figure if I celebrate Opposite Day for one day, it might build into a week, or a month-- even a lifetime!

Looking for answers within

2009-04-19T20:59:00.003-07:00

Imagine for just one moment that you already had everything you already needed.

Seriously -- take a minute right now, close your eyes and think about this:

Everything you need is already within you.

Embrace this notion. Make it yours.

This is my challenge for the coming weeks. Has been for a long while -- but am feeling the need to return to this center piece. Let's hear it again:

Everything you need is already within you.

Pretty freeing, eh?

Here's another one:

There is no fear in what is real.

Think about that -- if something is truly "real" -- and I'll define "real" as something that is "of God" or "Divine".

If you can get your head... and heart wrapped around this... wow! Think about the freedom it would bring -- especially -- at least in my case: freedom from guilt. Guilt is a fear based emotion so if I know there is no fear in what is real -- when I'm feeling guilty about something (which is 90 percent of my life) I can ask myself: What is truly real here? What's bothering me, really?

I've had these thoughts rattling around in my head for the last few weeks as I continue my search for balance and good health. I was talking to my spiritual guide, Bard.

I've always had a problem with puting myself first -- I spend way too much time taking care of anything and everyone but me. And guess what? I tend to do that out of guilt. (see above)

I feel guilty taking care of something only for me when there seems to be so many other people and projects that need my attetnion. I keep thinking I have to earn joy -- but really, joy is a divine right. Being joyful, to me, means living in the light -- in the Love that is "natural law" -- that of God's own making....

The other day, Bard challenged me to to create the "Karma hour" -- the time in which Itake care of me. The past couple of weeks have been a little intense (more on that later) --so tomorrow my plan is to spend an hour starting at 9 a.m. focused on me -- and I've chose to go for a walk or create something or write -- something I love and need and something that blesses my soul.

Maybe it doesn't even need to be a full hour -- but in the big scope of things 60 minutes isn't that much time. It just sounds like a lot. But if you add up all the time I spend taking care of everything but me -- it's not even a drop in the bucket.

And here's the clencher....I deserve it....and so Do YOU!

Speaking My Truth

2009-04-02T12:28:00.003-07:00

This blog started as a way to find my way through self acceptance, overcoming an eating disorder -- improve my relationship with the scale and food.

I have had moments when I think I've conquered it all and moments when I have felt that I have done nothing but move backward. Today, in many ways, is one of those moments. In the last six months, I've gained 15 pounds. In the last month, maybe two, I've been consistently in the 300s.

I've deleted that statement three times -- but it is my truth and all of you must know. I must say it, own it. It is real.

I try to down play it. But my heart is pumping like I've run a marathon. I'm filled with emotion. But here's why I'm doing this -- again -- because I deserve to be honest without shame. My readers, most of whom are my dear, sweet friends deserve to know the my truth as well.

I know this is not supposed to be about the numbers. The numbers on the scale, the numbers on the tag -- but the numbers are imprinted on my head and speaking my truth is the ONLY way to erase those numbers.

I know that my struggle with self acceptance is tied deeply into filling that void--Everyone has a void inside them. How you fill that void is, really, what defines who you are and what you do with yourself -- yourlife.

While other people are addicted to drugs and alcohol -- food. I am addicted to volunteering -- to event planning -- to staying so involved in things outside of my life, I don't have time to look in the mirror and answer that defining question: Who am I? and then, Am I ok?

In reality, I either don't know the answers to those questions or I'm afraid I'll have to answer no.

Even now as I write this, I'm fighting the urge to check my e-mail or Facebook -- distraction away from material that I find incredibly painful.

At times in my life I've filled that void with alcohol, food -- perhaps even sex. These days I have filled it with busy-ness. Part of me likes to believe that I'm using my God-given talents to make the world a better place and often I'm lost in that. This serves a higher purpose, I tell myself and others -- I'm doing a good work -- give me a break. I'm too busy to walk or eat right -- I'm doing good work -- I'm giving back -- I'm make a difference in someone's life. It doesn't really matter how I feel or what I look like, for Pete's sake -- I'm an activist, a leader in my community.

The reality is that activism starts at home and home is defined by its first meaning -- home is me -- my soul.

I have spent the bulk of my adulthood nuturing, feeding and caring for every one and everything but me - anything but my soul -- my heart -- my home.

So lately, I've been thinking about what it is that truly nutures and feeds my soul. I know, from experience that it's certainly not food, or self pity. It's not volunteering for every committee, every role I can play other than the reflection in my mirror -- the star of my own show.

I know that my truth lies in creativity -- in writing -- sharing my truth with others as a way to heal both myself and others. I know I must create to live. I run from this so very often -- thinking that it's not worthy. That I must produce something to be worthy. That I must achieve and accomplish in order to be deserving of love and happiness.

My truth is, that it works in reverse. I am deserving of love and happiness because I exist. I must create art and write as a means of feeding my soul what it craves the most.

My error in thinking all these years is that I must produce and achieve in order to deserve the time it take it takes to create -- to do the things that bring me joy.

Of all the obstacles I've had to overcome in the last few years, this is the myth that is hardest to erase from my mind.

Myth: I don't deserve joy until I've earned it by achieving something measured outside of myself.

Truth: By pursuing joy and filling my senses with the love of creativity and writing -- achievement will follow in it's place -- and also bring me peace and joy.

Imagine the freedom in that thought.

So today I give myself permission to pursue joy first -- and welcome the rest to follow.

My true calling

2009-03-23T20:24:00.002-07:00

I had the most interesting conversation this morning.

Remember the accupuncturist I saw last fall? The one who looks like a combination of Chris Isack and Lyle Lovett?

Well -- he's on sabatical in Hawaii right now, but I managed to get in touch with him. Here's why. I've been looking back on the last six months -- analyzing what when wrong and right. I felt great when I was getting his treatments -- or so I thought.

He's now practicing evolutionary astrology -- a way of using your astrological signs as a tool to find your true calling in life.

I've never paid a lot of attention to astrology. It's fun, but I take it with a grain of salt. But, I really like this guy and he really helped me in the past. So -- what the hell?

Any -- to make a long story short, he said that according to my signs I need to focus on communication... that writing is my true destiny and calling... In fact -- that all of the drama and trials I've had in my life are designed to provide me with a story to tell -- and that other will be healed ...

We've talked about this before in this space -- So he didn't tell me anything I didn't really know. But here's the thing -- I kept thinking he was the reason I felt so good last fall -- but after going through the notes of my conversation, I think the reason I felt so good was that I was writing for myself more than at any other time in my life. I was working on the book. I was speaking my truth --honestly and openly.

He says there is a whole in my soul -- my communication is leaking out -- because things are out of balance at home. I need to communicate more honestly with my husband -- but I'm afraid. In the past, when I've been honest with him, he's reacted in rage -- so I'm afraid to talk to him. But because communication is such a big part of who I am, the inability to talk safely is draining me all my energy and my power.

Makes sense when you put it that way. So I'm going to go with Clem to the next counseling session -- and in the meantime, try to be more forthright with him. I'm scared to death on some levels -- but as he pointed out -- it takes more energy to withhold my truth that it does to deal with the potential reaction. It's like that country song: "When you're going through hell, just keep on going..."

I was headed down the right path last fall and got off track -- with good reason. But now I need to find the strength within me to get back on my true path. Here's the kicker -- there's a part of me that doesn't want to work on the book -- or even this blog -- because somewhere in my head is this voice that says, "Who do you think you are? You have nothing to offer anyone else? You're just writing self serving dribbles."

On some level, I understand that it only have to heal me -- that my writing doesn't need to help anyone else, really. But there's also a part of me that has an overwhelming desire to help someone else. The catch is to find balance between helping others -- I need to nourish myself, physically, mentally and spiritually, as much or more than I do everyone else.

I suck at that!

My instincts are to disconnect -- and like I said in an earlier post -- reconnect with my soul and my roots in the land and animals of this farm.... The catch will be allowing myself the freedom to do that...

Still trying to think of a new name for the blog.... let me know if you have ideas...

How lucky am I?

2009-03-06T17:20:00.003-07:00

First of all -- I think I need a new name for the blog. I need to stop referring to myself as "fat." I'm so much more than that -- it's really the least of all the things I am.

But change the name to what? That's a mission for you my readers -- help me think of a good name...

Anyway -- back to my life.

The other day I got so hang out on the farm -- for the first time in a long time -- all I had to do was stuff for me... errands, chores -- it was great!

So I stopped by the dairy office to pick up a couple of things and ended up with a bag full of fresh potatoes: one of the farmers we work with had dropped them off. I got a bucket full of oysters -- since my brother-in-law had just returned from the coast. Then I tootled off to my barn where I picked up some fresh eggs and grabbed a whole chicken out of the freezer. It's one I'd raised and butchered myself (with the help of some friends). I came home and put the chicken in the 'fridge to defrost and then cooked up a nice fresh wilted spinach with some shrimp and pasta. Yummy!

The thing is -- it's such a joy to eat fresh whole food. It's even better if it's home grown.

The greatest part is that I have a great relationship with food now. I can eat without guilt most of the time and revel in the joy of cooking and then eating great food.

This country has demonized food -- to the point very few people can truly eat without guilt. What's more, very few people truly understand where their food comes from. Too many consumers seem to think it comes from the grocery store -- and that's where the process stops.

I think the times are changing -- there are some upsides to the economic downturn -- more and more people are taking a closer look at where their food comes from, growing it themselves and buying locally.

With luck -- people will become better informed. Here's a great example I found the other day.

I am always disappointed to see anything labeled "made from cows that haven't had rbst." - First of all bst has been illegal for a while now, so no milk has "rbst" in it. Then there's that nasty little point that it's a naturally occuring hormone anyway... Futhermore, what gets labeled organic is often misleading. How organic is defined varies within the industry and with consumers. Here's my opinion: if something like milk is labeled "organic" -- but is ultra pastuerized and shelf safe -- well that's just not really organic to me... Something organic should be able to sit out for a day or two without spoiling. But -- that's just me.

I found this article the other day in a farm industry magazine. It's by Trent Loos (http://www.loostales.com) I knew this but didn't have the specific numbers.

"It is important to recognize that many common foods naturally contain estrogen (or phyto estrogen in plants) at levels hundreds or thousands of times higher than the levels in dairy or beef products that come from animals given estrogen hormones. In addition, estrogen levels in dairy and beef products from treated animals are essentially the same as products from untreated animals.

4 oz. beef from steer given hormones: 1.6 nanograms of estrogen
4 oz. beef from untreated steer: 1.2 nanograms of estrogen
4 oz. beef from non-pregnant heifer: 1.5 nanograms of estrogen
4 oz. raw cabbage: 2700 ng estrogen
4 oz. raw peas: 454 ng estrogen.
3 oz. soy oil: 168,000 nanograms of estrogen
3.5 oz. of soy protein concentrate: 102,000 nanograms of estrogen.
3 oz. of milk from cow given rBST: 11 nanograms of estrogen
3 oz. of milk from untreated (non-BST) cow: 11 nanograms of estrogen

Average level in a woman of childbearing age: 480,000 nanograms/day of estrogen

Average level in a pre-pubertal girl: 54,000 nanograms/day of estrogen

Average soy latte (one cup of soymilk): 30,000 nanograms of estrogen

Interesting huh?

Let me know what you think.

My life in an egg shell

2009-02-25T22:44:00.003-07:00

Spring is certainly on the way on the farm. The animals are getting frisky.

I have 3 ducks and a goose. Three of the four are males. One poor little gray duck, named Stormy is apparenlty the lone female. I actually thought all 3 of the ducks were females, since I can never find the bird book to explain anything. Anywhooo, I found out the goose was male because I caught him in the "act" last summer. Yikes. There are some things I don't need to know about my birds.

I watched the goings on yesterday morning. One big white duck, named Sunshine, was trying to "get it on" with Stormy. She wasn't in the mood. Not at all.

The little thing would let him get close and just as he was about in position, she'd dodge him. If was incredibly funny. The wierd thing is the goose, Taloose, was hanging out -- as if supervising. He's sort of taken on this whole Big Brother role. He keeps an eye on all the goings-on around the barnyard.

During the summer, when I let them out each morning. He's the first bird out of the coop and he immediately does the "fly over". He makes a low flying trip down the side walk. Then he patrols the perimeter of the house. If anyone but me comes in the yard, he hisses and chases them away. I think he thinks he's a dog. So I have a goose that thinks he's a dog and a cat that thinks she's a dog, but no actual dog.

Things that make you go "hmmmm."

Just outside the gate I have two roosters. I call them my watch roosters. Both of them were kicked out of the coop and have managed to survive. I call one Henry. He's white with cool black tail feathers. He charged my calf muscle with his talons. This always pisses me off, so I caught him and threw him outside the coop. I figured if he could survive the racoons, coyotes and cats -- then he deserved to live, but I wasn't going to provide him with shelter. The other one a large Buff Orpington-- a large golden bird. The females are great layers. This guy also hit my calves with a set of talons. Butt head. So he too got caught and thrown into the river bed. But I managed to land him in a larger snow drift. I spent nearly two weeks feeling guilty that I'd wasted the bird -- he would have been good in a stew pot or one of my neighbors could have used him because she likes to hatch her own eggs and you need a rooster for that.

I felt horrible, I'd wasted the life, food etc.

Then one day I pulled into the driveway and there he was. I'll be damned. So he hangs out with Henry and they watch over the yard. Out in the coop, I gather in a couple dozen eggs each week. The warmer weather has increased egg production somewhat, which is cool because then I usually have an extra dozen to sell if I want.

I have heat lamps in the coop this time of year. They're plugged into the coop ceiling.Twice this winter, I've walked in to find the lights broken off at the collar. I have no idea what those birds are doing in there, but I hope they're having fun. I'm guessing the roosters get to goin' at it and fly up and break the lights. The two roosters I have in the coop are miniatures -- I can't imagine they have enough body weight to do much -- but they're certainly up to something.

This time of year, as the snow is melting and the frost is coming out of the ground, it's a mucky muddy mess out there. I hate it, but am always thankful for the change of seasons. I'll be glad, though,when I can walk across the driveway without fear of falling on the ice. However, I'm not looking foward to the amount of work that awaits me when the weather clears. After last summer's remodel etc. everything got neglected and it's not like I'm great in the yard anyway.

But in light of all the recent stress in my life I'm feeling compelled to focus on the yard and chickens. It seems like a return to center -- to my roots. Maybe a little dirt under my nails will fill up the voids I'm always trying to fill with activities outside my home and away from the farm. Maybe my grandmothers and my mom are trying to guide me back to what is natural and real -- where I can make a difference in my own world without worrying about making a difference in anyone elses.

Maybe, just maybe, the garden and farm is the place to be silent enough to hear my own voice -- instead of those who don't have my best intentions at heart.

More than anything, it's a piece of land offering peace of mind.

If not me, who will save ... me?

2009-02-22T23:02:00.002-07:00

For most of my life, I've been told to slow down. That I had too many projects, committees and plans. Too many things, people and places in my life.

Every so often, I've quit everything and vowed to slow down. Take time to smell the proverbial flowers. And without fail, I'd find my way back into the fast lane with even more activities.

It's just who I am. I've always wished everyone would just leave me alone about it. I want people to just appreciate me for who I am.

I see myself as a leader and community activist. I feel that God has given me this wide range of talents and that I'd be wasting God's gifts if I didn't do all that I can to do good -- to help, to serve...But, I love what I do. I love organizing events, running a meeting, teaching a class. It's not like I do these things just because I can. I do them because I enjoy every minute of it.

However, as predicted by so many people in my life, I'm burning out. Emotionally -- well, that's been coming and going for years. But now, physically.

I've been diagnosed with adrenal fatigue syndrome. I've blown out my adrenal glands -- from spending too much time, doing too many things under the extreme stress I have often lived.

I'll get into adrenal fatigue in a future post -- for it's been fascinating.

So, I quit my job to "take better care of myself," to "focus on health issues" -- but as my daughter pointed out this morning. It's opened up free time that I have already begun to fill in with other things.

I've often said that while other people are addicted to alcohol or drugs, I am addicted to volunteering. There doesn't appear to be a good support group for this. But I understand addiction and I understand the reality is that I'm trying to feel a void by volunteering for everything -- by trying to save the world one committee at a time.

Could it be that I feel like I don't exist unless my name is on a committee phone list somewhere. Does this mean that somewhere inside me, I think I don't matter unless I'm doing something outside this home and family? That I have no worth unless I'm accomplishing something???

What would happen if I really did check out -- even just for the summer? What would happen if I only created peace and quality in my own home? What would happen if I actually kept a garden alive or followed through on one of the 100s of projects I want to do with my children? What if I actually unpacked the boxes we moved into the shed 4 years ago? Would would happen if I actually moved all of my stuff out of the old house? What would happen if I actually did stuff with my kids without saying, "hang on, I just have to finish this."?

Would I still exist? Would my friends still call? Would my friends still think I was fun to hang around? Would I be worthy of love, trust and respect?

I hear the voices in my head in their usual debate. My voice saying YES!! but she's drowned out by the others saying things like "Comitment!" "But who will take care of this stuff?" "I can't believe you bailed out on us!"

I have no idea how to slow down. How to tune out. It just seems completely out of character. But if I'm truly going to return to center, it would seem I have to disconnect at some level. I keep having these visions of my self working out in the yard -- with a garden that actually survives and thrives in my care. I see myself talking long walks and going camping with my children. I have dreams of just going to a meeting to support my children -- and not volunteering for a darn thing.

It sounds like a fantasy -- a really it's possible. But in my world it would be like letting go of the life raft I've been clinging too for survival. All this time I've keep clinging to it -- just letting the current carry me down stream. As these words come flowing out it occurs to me that I no longer need the raft. That if I just stand up, the water is shallow. I'm in control --

Wow! I'm in control.

Someone else will have to save the world. I'll save my world first.

A sign of things to come?

2009-02-21T00:21:00.002-07:00

I was in downtown Hailey the other day and I saw a robin.

Yep. A red breasted robin.

She was hardly visible -- camoflauged in some sort of tree with lots of little red berries.

Oddly enough, the tree was in front of the Nature Conservancy offices.

I watched her a while --every so often she'd snatch a frozen berry off the tree. She was lightning quick in her theft...as if she was hoping no one would notice.

She, like the rest of us was soaking up the sun. Perhaps like me, the sun made her feel feisty and in the mood for a treat -- a reward for a winter survived.

So I quit my job -- for the most part -- I'm done Monday night. I'll be on call until they hire my replacement. I quit because I need to focus on some health issues and let's face it, I suck at grown up jobs. I'm wayyyy too ADD for a straight job. The full time job took a huge toll on my family and my health and cramped my creativity in a big way. I have the luxury of being able to quit without too much of a financial burden and figured since I was so freakin' exhausted all the time, I should take the opportunity to cut my losses and get out.

I loved the job, but couldn't handle the constant pressure of it all -- waking up in the middle of the night worried about what did or didn't get done...it's just not worth it anymore...

The most difficult thing is trying to not volunteer for a bunch of other stuff... I just need to sit on my hands... but dang -- there are so many cool things going on -- work that's that needs to be done... I just can't help myself!

Back by popular demand

2009-02-16T20:17:00.002-07:00

I'm back. Again.

Every time I stop writing, someone or something compells me back. My friend Nancy always says when you get off God's path for you, He'll bring right back around to where you're supposed to be -- and that's been proven to me time and time again in recent months.

I've been thinking a great deal about this lately. Figured I might as well share these thoughts with you.

More and more these days it seems I'm supposed to write. Not just for a living or hobby, but because it's my mission.

In the last few weeks, three different people have said "Voice for the Voiceless." -- Heavy.

But in fact, maybe it's true.

It's an art and calling, a passion and mission and job and obligation. It is, it seems, what I do.

If you look at the things I've gone through in my life -- from eating disorders to hormone problems to life and loss and love -- these are stores everyone goes through -- but often think they're going through alone.

In this day and age, there's simply no reason to go through anything all alone -- we're much too connected.

Lately, the writing is just of several activities in my life that I keep getting drawn to -- writing, returning to center -- to what is real -- While I love texting and e-mail and am a Facebook addict, it is not always real -- that sort of thing that you feel in your soul. Writing, when it is at is best can make miracles happen -- can plant a seed in your soul that grows into something remarkable and inspiring.

I look around me and I see overwhelming poverty -- poverty in all its forms; financial, time, love, hope... there are stories there to tell -- of the people living in poverty that merely need a voice to reach out of their worlds and into sustainability.

I see the greed and disrespect (of which I'm guilty) that has driven us to the economic situation we are in -- and see people that have moved too far away from center -- away from what is real -- there is no fear in what is real -- we eat processed food in our cars while driving down the road to another obligation away from home -- away from our hearts and souls -- and then wonder why we're sick and bloated and depressed. We are two generations away from people who understand where their food comes from -- two generations from being to fix our own cars -- from being able to take care of ourselves... there is a story here -- somewhere...

I see people like me who have become so busy and therefore so exhausted that we rely on others to tell us whats wrong -- instead of taking control of our own health care, our own destinies, our own thoughts.... again -- there's a story here.

Perhaps I'm living in some egotistical world -- maybe I think I'm cooler than I really am -- but maybe, just maybe I'm finally hearing what the Universe and God have been trying to tell me for years and years -- that its my voice that needs to be heard -- somewhere and some time...

Show Me Missouri

2008-10-28T20:27:00.002-07:00

I'm sitting in a hotel room in Springfield, Missouri. It's flat here.

My question is how do you know which way you're going when there are no mountains to guide you.

Hmmmm.

I'm here for a friend's graduation from basic training. I'm traveling with his mother, Judy. They're my neighbors.

I've decided after a day of ready Janet Evanovich that I need to write the western version of Stephanie Plum. Stephanie is of course Janet's bounty hunter heroine. I love this character because she's comfortable in her own skin. She makes no apologies for who she is -- and she's always in the middle of a disaster.

I haven't come up with a good name for my Stephanie yet. Stephanie lives in a suburb of Trenton, NJ. In Idaho terms, she is from Lewiston.

Maybe I can create a western persona for her. Have to think about that...... hmmmm

So, not only do I get to see the neighbor kid graduate, I get to hang out with my friend Will. Will and I got hired at the Times News at the same time. At the time, our supervisors kept saying things like, "You two will either hate each other or be best friends, because you're just alike."

I was a little nervous to meet him. When I first met him, he was pretty scruffy after having spent two days in a car with his two dogs.

But sure enough, we are good friends -- and yes, we are a lot alike. He's the editor of a weekly newspaper in Sullivan, Missouri. He runs on adrenalin. He's always in movement. He's funny and kind. I enjoy chatting with him.

Well, damn. I've been looking forward to writing all day. Now I'm sitting here with the laptop on my legs and I can't remember anything I was going to say. The real tragedy here is that in my head waiting for the plane to land, I was very witty. Iwas crackin' myself up.

Those words apparently got lost in the middle of the gigantic Bass Pro shop mall a block away from the hotel.

I'm trying to not pick up Stephanie Plum number 9 as I have a book club book: The Book Thief to read before the next meeting....

I'll give you a full update tomorrow...

Oh my -- a job

2008-10-20T22:19:00.002-07:00

Holy cow.

Oh, my, gawd.

I got a job. A grown up 9-5 sort of job -- ok -- not really, but as close as I've had in a very long time.

I'm now the 4H cooridinator for Lincoln County. It's a job that has my name written all over it. Youth and community development -- leadership development -- working with volunteers.

Essentially it's stuff I do for free all the time, but I actually get paid.

I'm scared to death.

Why am I here? I applied so I would have financial independence. But right now while things are stable it seems weird. I have so many things to do at home, but it was such a perfect job I couldn't resist. I interviewed and I got the job.

Heavy sigh.

It's overwhelming. The former coordinator was a friend and she did great things in the position that I'll be able to build on -- but her idea of office organization and mine appear to be a little different. I have to be in training quite a bit in the next week or so -- leaving my children for several days on end between scheduled trips and these new business trips. That makes me nervous.

But strangely -- even though I'm a little overwhelmed -- I'm pretty calm for the moment.

This is a job I can do well and in which I can make a difference. I seem to function a little better with more structure in my world -- and I'm already always tired so that won't make a big difference...

If God gives you what you need when you need it -- it seems sensible to follow this through.

More later --

2008-10-15T22:03:00.004-07:00

I was tagged the other day by my friend Sally at http://www.sallyacious.com.

How very nice. Sally always has this amazing ability to contact me when I need to hear -- or in this case, read -- her voice. I've been thinking lately that I needed to do more blogging. I actually think about that all the time. After about a month or so of feeling invincible I thought I ran into a wall the other day. My doctor pointed out to me today that it was really more of a mud puddle.

Somehow I fell back into my old routine -- being too tired and overwhelmed to take care of the things and people -- namely me -- who really need my attention. Now, I know -- because I've tried this a number of different ways -- that when I take care of myself first -- when I do things that bring me joy FIRST -- that everything else really falls into place. As usual, I can pinpoint the moment I stepped into the mud puddle -- I did something I didn't really want to do, but felt obligated to do. So instead of setting realistic boundaries, I jumped head first into this puddle of slime and now I'm feeling sorry for myself.

Well! Enough of that. Back to being me without apology.

So here's how this game works:

The rules of the game are:

1) Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog
2) Share 7 facts about yourself, some random, some weird
3) Tag 7 more people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs
4) Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs

SEVEN Facts About Me

1) In real life, I'm a night owl. This whole being an adult parent really cramps my style. I should be in bed right now, but I feel great sitting here in the dark, listening to my husband snore and playing here and on facebook. It will truly suck at 6 when I have to be responsible. Someday, I'll work on my schedule. My husband things it's all a matter of training. I think he's wrong. By nature, I like this time of day better.

2)So last month, I told my husband to essentially either get help or get out. I didn't use those words exactly, but that was the message. His violent rage thing was sooooo very old. I, after all these years, was ready to leave. But here's what happened. The man actually took responsibility, admitted he had a problem and got help. Well hell. Now I'm not sure what to do. I spent all that time being mad and hurt and finally made up my mind -- and now he's well, like, nice to be around. Actually helps me. Doesn't yell. It's the damnedest thing -- and I'm a little disappointed....

3)I love hands. Hands are the cools parts of the human body. I love looking at other people's hands. I love studying hands attached to Idaho women -- they're unlike anyone else's hands I think. I love art that involves hands and have purchased a bunch of student art -- just because there were hands in the picture. Someday, I'm going to write a book about hands and the people attached to the coolest ones...

4)Someday I'm going to talk about my book on Oprah. No really. I can feel it. Maybe I'll be the next Oprah.

Karma. That sounds good, eh?

5)I think in my past lives I was a 1) star or celebrity of some sort and b) a pioneer farm woman

6)I think that I'm willing to buy into the whole 2012 thing -- but it's not the end of the world -- it's a change in consciousness. My acupuncturists says I'll be on the forefront of that. I believe him. He's a Shakespearean actor named Bard who looks like Chris Isaak and Lyle Lovett ... how can he be wrong?

7)I am becoming a food Nazi. We have demonized food. This must stop.

So -- I don't actually follow 7 blogs. I might have to post a few of them later.

1) www.sallyacious.com -- Because Sally is just fun to hang out with.

2)www.mimimimi-word.livejournal.com

3)Ok -- I'll have to finish this later ... those are the two I pay attention to the most... I have to find links to the others I check out less frequently...

This has actually been rather fun.....

It's done. Now what?

2008-10-04T20:50:00.002-07:00

Those of you who check my facebook page alreayd know I finally finished the first draft of my book: Fat and Then: A Journey to Self Acceptance.

It felt great to wrap it up -- It will go through several versions before it's done. It was an incredible catharsis. Everyone who has read it so far has liked it -- so that made me feel good.

I'm tired today -- my knee is starting to hurt again. Damn. I think I'll go ahead and get another cortizone shot -- after everything I've been through with the knee and my health -- I guess it won't hurt to do it one more time....

I'm trying to come up with a way to check my progress without checking the scale. After everything that's been said and done it's still really easy to fall into the old numbers game. I'm down ten pounds since we got the thyroid problem diagnosed. I'm starting to get compliments on my figure again...but it's essential to focus on the inner changes instead of the external.

I'm thinking there could be some sort of check list -- similar to the one I used when I was learning to eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full.

Instead of getting on the scale -- I could -- I don't know take some sort of inventory... how I felt, how much sleep.... whatever.... any ideas?

What a difference a day makes

2008-09-12T23:10:00.002-07:00

And a little bit of sleep.
After last night's purge of my latest drama, I must say I feel tremendously better.
I got up and went to jazzercise -- which I love. Then I came home and flopped on the couch and watched a Ginger Rogers/Fred Astaire movie and cat napped. Then I puttered around the house and talked to my god daughter on the phone for an hour and did laundry and cleaned the girls' wing.
Then I went to dinner with my friend Marcella in Hailey. I just needed to dress up like a girl and have a night out. We had a nice meal at the Sun Valley Brewery and then went to this new place which probably would have been great as there was live music -- and I love that -- but the wait staff was wearing flip flops. This is a trend that just grosses me out -- so we didn't stick around long.
So we went to the Silver Dollar Bar in Bellevue -- I was sort of dreading this because I'm just not a bar-goer anymore. So we bellied up to the bar -- and Marcella proceeded to figure out how to steal a plastic monkey. In the process this guy came up and started talking to us.
You know what? He flirted with me.
No one ever flirts with me, they always flirt with my cute friends. I didn't even realize it at first, but Marcella pointed it out to me. Anyway we danced and played pool with this guy and another guy at the bar and it was great fun.
This guy ended up walking me to my pick up and he told me I was beautiful and that he wanted to make out with me. A million years ago when I weighed a lot less and was a whole lot more available, this kind of thing NEVER happened to me.
I, of course said, I'm sorry, but .... and he was entirely a gentleman. OMG -- this kind of thing never happens to me. It was so nice -- so very nice.
I know he was drunk and won't remember a thing come Monday morning, but the whole thing made my day -- my week -- my year, really.
The Universe continues to confuse and delight me -- and in spite of everything I truly feel like I'm on the right path -- and wow, what a ride....!!!

How I spent my summer vacation

2008-09-11T22:16:00.002-07:00

Warning: The following contains a great deal of whining.
So let's recap: All of this has happended since May 1.
Since the last solstice, I have been diagnosed with plantar facitus (sp?fallen arches/bone spurs). This made it painful to walk, to do Jazzercise or circuit training -- all of which I love. I have been in the middle of a nightmare of a remodel, in which I gave the opportunity to a friend I figured I could trust. While I can trust him as a friend, the project has been filled with mistakes and hassles. One stress after another.
I healed up from the foot problem only to have my knee start hurting within 24 hours. Could it be a sprain? Bruise? Don't know, but it hurts so bad I can't get a damn thing done. Yard work, gardening, playing with my kids -- all of it painful. Great.
Then, I start feeling weird. Start shivering. End up in the emergency room, thinking I had pneumonia (Again)only to find out I just had some mystery infection that no one could freakin' explain.
I started feeling better and went about my usual routines only to find I am able to express alien green goo out of my left breast. That's fabulous, eh?
Later than same day, I went to a doctor about my knee pain. I have arthritis. It's going to hurt. Maybe I should swim more. Or bike more. But it's just always going to hurt. Great. Just great.
Next I got to spend ten days on vacation. If, that is, you call spending ten days in a double wide trailer with 17 other people, mostly teenage boys, vacation.
So I come home with about ten days to get my kids ready for school in the middle of the chaos of the remodel -- which at this point is just under a week behind, because "someone" forgot to call for the inspection, so the dry wallers couldn't come in, which meant the painter couldn't come in, which meant the floor people couldn't get in, which meant my children would start school living out of boxes and sleeping on couches. Stupidly irritating, but liveable. In the meantime, my husband is grouchy because he can't handle the chaos of the construction.
I go to the doctor, where I fall apart because I'm just a tiny bit stressed out. She comforts and medicates me and then drops this bomb shell:
"You have every sign of being an abused woman."
OK. So I think: "Yes, I know that. People have been telling me that for years. My husband is verbally abusive. I don't, obviously, know what to do about it. But when your doctor says it, that's a whole 'nother level of reality."
I then go to the hospital to get a mammogram. (The hospital is an hour away, so a simple trip is really an ordeal). I wait patiently only to find out they won't take me because the hospital where I got my last mammogram send my x-rays to the wrong hospital. While waiting for nothing, my perpetually painful right leg developed a charley horse which lasted 3 days. (But remember, there's nothing I can do about it, except for lose weight -- duh -- they say that as if I didn't a) know that, b) wasn't trying to do anything about it and c) like the pain is my own fault for my stupidity and lack of personal control. )I leave a message for the doctor -- no one calls me back for two days (four counting the weekend) Only to tell me I have all the signs of the a blood clot. That makes for peaceful sleeping. The muscle cramp goes away.
The green ooze turns out to be nothing serious. A bright spot in a depressing series of events.
I meet my funky acupuncturist. Another cool deal, but while he's helped eliminate most of the pain -- I still hurt. A lot.
So I go to another doctor. He is clearly convinced that I'm a fat stupid woman. He does however inform me after looking at an MRI, than not only do I have a mean case of arthritis, my knee cap is out of alignment and I have a tear in my meniscus. Great.
He, out of the kindness of his heart he tells me, does remove 52 ccs of fluid off my knee and gives me a steroid. (But it won't last he reminds me)Oh! there is a brace that would help, but, of course, my legs are too big to wear it.
As the summer progresses -- Clem continues to be cranky and yes, verbally abusive to the children and me. I talk to friends. I talk to a new counselor.
You know -- I really do try to do all the right things.
I watch my children demonstrate all the signs of living in a verbally abusive home.
So yesterday I tell my husband he needs to move out. He needs to give me a break. He is sick. He has problems and needs to get help.
He admits he has a problem. Agrees to go to counseling. But he refuseds to leave.
So I pick up my kids after school Wednesday and I drive away from the house I love and every material possession I own except a change of clothes and my pickup. I explain to my children what's happening. My two little ones handle it really well. My son is practically giddy. My oldest daughter falls apart. Kicking and sobbing.
We talk. We decide we'll go see my family in Buhl. We'll probably stay in a hotel. Everything will be ok.
My daughter calls her dad, crying. She wants to go home. I talk to him. I tell him I'm not coming home because I'm not going to get yelled at any more. More importantly, my children will not get screamed at anymore.
I'm crazy.
I exaggerate.
I always run away from my problems. Married people fight. This is just a bump. Everything is always about me. I never want to change, I always expect him to change. If I want to leave, I should leave the kids at home and go.
Are you kidding me? 12 years of getting yelled at, left out, humiliated, over looked and verbally bashed. Yep, you're right, I am a bitch.
So I go have a lovely dinner with my sister. My kids decide they want to sleep in Shoshone on the farm but at their aunt and uncles house.
Ok.
We sleep late. I take the kids to school. I have to go back into town to get my oldest because she can't stop crying.
I find out from the counselor that my husband has made a commitment to weekly sessions and further mental health testing. He is contrite. He admits there is a problem, but the counselor warns me my husband's health problems are complicating things and that it will take a while to get a full assessment of where he really is.
I figure that's progress. Maybe I'll just move into another house on the farm. My husband suggests we just sleep in separate rooms. I have one child who wants to leave, one child who wants to stay and one child that could go either way. Upon pressing them, they don't want to stay in the other house because there's no tv. Great.
So I contemplate my situation. He's admitted he has a problem -- huge deal. My kids have been in their brand new bedrooms for one entire week. That's it. I'm exhausted. I'm whatever it is beyond exhausted. I can't think. There is food here. Beds made. I can stay in the extra room for a few days until the final two pieces of carpet come in and then I can fix up the guest room and Clem can stay in there and I will stay in the Master Bedroom and that will be the safety zone for the kids and I. If he starts to yell the kids can stay in there until I can get them out of the house and moved elsewhere.
I've applied for a couple of jobs. I have my name on a waiting list for a rental in town. I think I've been planning and thinking about this for years but my children and husband have been brought into this reality for 24 hours. Take time. Get help. Be prepared. I will be ok.
So I just start to relax. I will point out, however, that my husband starts to watch tv in MY living room. We have gone through this hellish remodel to build him, among other things, a giant DEN -- with surround sound and a big screen and a huge reclining sofa thing and he won't go in there because it's too big and not comfortable for him yet.
Are you kidding?
I sit down in the big "his"comfy couch in the DEN and I watch tv and it's quiet and I'm just about ready to go to sleep and I decide I should check in with my sister who reminds me that I should have left completely and I'm just going back in the snake pit.
So I have failed. Again?
I've had it. I'm doing everything I know how to do. I've jumped through one hoop after another.
When I couldn't lose weight I admitted that I had a compulsive eating disorder and I worked through hours upon hours of therapy to overcome it and I did. And just as I'm starting to get a handle on things my body starts falling apart on me, but I don't give up and every single freaking time I fix one problem another one crops up.
I planned and talked to doctors and counselors to make sure I am indeed being verbally abused and I pray and pray and pray that I'm doing the right things for my children and I really just thought that a good night's sleep in my house that I love might do me some good and then I talk to my sister and as much as I keep reminding myself that I'm in control of my own destiny and I have to do what is right and that no one else matters, all I can hear is that voice in my head telling me I have to get out and then the other part of me shouting that I just need to follow my instincts and take this process one moment at a time and between the two freaking voices I can't freakin' sleep.
I just want to crawl into a hole and sleep and while I'm in there I want the stupid divorce attorney to return my calls because she's in Hailey which is just under an hour away instead of having to call the divorce attorney in Boise which is two hours a way. Then, I want my husband to get a kick in the head and move out before I have to file for divorce to force him to get out. Also while I'm asleep I want this construction to get done -- correctly -- so I can come home to my own house and not hear the sounds of hammers or backhoes or anything else.
I truly don't think that's too much to ask, considering the circumstances.
And, furthermore, I know what you're thinking. Yes Karma you have to get out and then maybe you can take a vacation. I have thought about that, but exactly whom would I leave my children with? Their dad? And if I want to leave I need money so I can't really justify spending money on a vacation, now can I.
So instead I'm going to write because it's what I do and then even though I probably shouldn't I'm going to publish this and then my friends and readers will either think I'm crazy or that they're tired of listening to me whine or they'll be worried about me and try to call and I'll probably be asleep for the first time in months when they call and I'll be so touched when someone calls and it will be a great deal to me and then I'll still be exhausted.
I just really want to know it's all worth it. That all of this has some great divine motivation and I'm getting a big fucking reward -- and I'm really not so self absorbed I'm alienating my friends and family and screwing up my children.
The only thing I do know that when the solstice comes in a few days I'm going to celebrate the end of this wretched summer and pray that autumn, my most favorite season, will bring great renewal.
I think I deserve it, damn it.

Hitting rock bottom

2008-08-25T21:38:00.002-07:00

As I mentioned earlier this month, I've been under a great deal of pressure on almost every front in my life.
By mid-month, I was ready to throw in the towel. I was done. Flat out done.
But, God sends angels to you and if you're paying attention, the people in your life are there not only for companionship, but to offer you something you need.
Last week, in constant pain, I went to a new acupuncturist. I was filled with dread. I was braced for the lecture on the benefits on vegan lifestyle -- something I think is ridiculous. I was prepared to hear how American farmers are polluting the universe. Then, I expected the sales pitch on $500 worth of supplements that will make my life all better. When he called to confirm the appointment, I told him I didn't want to hear those things. I was there because I hurt and expected him to fix it. That's it. Nothing more. He agreed that he wouldn't lecture me etc.
I arrived to find a cross between Lyle Lovett and Chris Isack. A tall barefoot guy wearing a western style shirt made out of Hawaiian print fabric. In his spare time, he makes the shirts and he has a big ol fury cat named Godfrey. Oh and he's a Shakespearean actor named, Bard. He has the Ramones collection in his cd stack.This is someone I can totally hang with.
To make a long story short he said the pain in my knee probably started somewhere else -- like maybe I was carrying too much spiritual weight. My thyroid problem might have something to do with the fact I wasn't speaking my truth to those who need to hear it. "You know what you need to do," he said.
Those words echoed in my head all weekend long.
"You know what you need to do." --
I do and did. So I started standing up for myself more around here and felt an usual sense of strength. Then I did what I really needed to do. I prayed. I prayed to God and the Universe and to anyone else that would listen.
When I pray I often write -- as it's easier for me to think at that level. Following is an excerpt of what I wrote/prayed.
Aug. 23,2008
This is my prayer today :
Dear Lord – I surrender. I give in – You can have it all – I can no longer live with this weight upon me – I can no longer carry the responsibilities of so much upon my shoulders my heart my knees…
My voice has been cut off by my own devise and it must it simply must come back to me – If not I will continue to die each day – die a little as my soul continues to darken.
I give to you the anger and resentment that hardens my arteries and weakens my knees….
My light is gone…
But I can get it back..
These are my truths –
I know that I was put here on this earth to do something special – to make a difference to someone – I don’t know yet what that thing is, but I know that I have a divine destiny.
I know that I am capable of a lot of things…that I can do many things, that I can stand out and that while it’s overwhelming to me and intimidating to others – it is who I am – but I must use these gifts with grace and good judgment.
I know that there is a little bit more work to be done – before my dreams come true. I know that I must get my proverbial act together… I know that I must get organized… allow my true self to do the work necessary without getting overwhelmed -- that there is indeed a higher purpose… that if I just allow my true instincts to be my guide that if I don’t get caught up in pity
I know that I have a gift of vision beyond my eyes – that I must not be afraid….. to listen to what I see there
I know that I am a good mother but I can’t allow my fear to interfere with my instincts… I have to set reasonable boundaries…. I cannot blow up anymore – I am in control… the power is mine…. I know that I am beautiful – stunning even… that the only person who doesn’t see it is me.
I know that I have a gift with words and that I can change the world – but I have to write the truth….
I know that I must do the things I love – I must create art. Photography cards, anything – but it must come first.
I know that I am a good enough just the way I am and that I never wrote another word or lost another pound I would still be fabulous.
Really fabulous.
So today when I feel so very tired, I should let myself rest without guilt. Everything else will fall into place. Honor my body, honor my instincts. I am in control. I have the power and this is my time to enjoy all that it means.

Is it over? Really over?

2008-08-25T21:13:00.001-07:00

I had a rough day last week. The people that were supposed to put in my new flooring had screwed up. The construction project was behind, again. I had a ton of things to do and no time in which to do it. I was mad, frustrated, overwhelmed and just plain cranky. On the verge of tears, I disappeared into my office and asked my sister to keep an eye on the kids. Then the cravings started. I heard the voices in my head telling me what would make me feel better. The action that would take my mind off the frustrations.
Eating? Diving into the refrigerator and staying there until I could eat no more?
Nope. I wanted to take a walk.
That's all I really wanted to do. Walk.
Isn't that cool? When I realized that's what I wanted I about stopped breathing. Recovery. Control. Damn it was weird and wonderful all at the same time.
Not a year ago and I would have polished off a couple of boxes of Girl Scout cookies. But that day, I just took a deep breath and since my arthritis is making it all but impossible to walk without pain, I played with some photography on my computer. Fifteen minutes later, I was calm and ready to take on my next project.
I've noticed a number of new things in the week since. Things I'd been doing for a while, but hadn't really noticed. I don't feel obligated to eat --even if everyone else is eating. If I'm not hungry, I don't eat. When I'm upset, I walk away or write or find something else to do. Here's the clincher: when I'm full, I stop eating.
Novel eh?
While it's all wonderful, it's still a new experience. There are times when I stand in the kitchen and I don't know what to do with myself. When you can eat anything, and don't feel obligated to feel guilty, it's a new experience -- at least for me. I have been tempted to call my doctor and beg her to put me on a diet. It feels like it would be easier if I had to follow a plan, rather than rely on my own instincts. I keep thinking "what if I'm wrong?"
But when I can relax and know that my body will tell me what it needs, when it needs it, I can hang out in the kitchen without fear. The key is trusting myself enough to drown out the voices of Vicki and Ed (see posts starting at Dec. 11, 2006).
Is this recovery? Or, more accurately, is this recoverED? Man, oh, man, if it is, it sure feels great!

Returning to the roots

2008-08-25T21:04:00.002-07:00

I started this blog to chronicle my journey in recovery from an eating disorder. I've gotten away from that on occassion -- either not writing at all or writing about my daily life. Sometimes, I feel like I should write something else because my readers will get bored with my story. However, it occurs to me that the people who read this do so because my struggle was familiar to them -- either because you've watched me from a personal level or because you found comfort in these words for some reason.
I'm going to return to my purpose her because I've been hearing from a few of you that you want more about my journey and because I think there are more people to help.
Please feel free to forward the address to others who might find something familiar on these pages.

Apricots and motherhood

2008-08-16T11:29:00.002-07:00

I had to walk away.
Just take a breath and walk out of the canning kitchen.
I'm trying to can apricots. Something I would normally enjoy. But my kids were sitting on their butts. Now, this is something for which I have no patience. There is plenty of work for them to do be doing. But they're just sitting there mindlessly watching tv while I was sweating over a hot stove.
So I told the girls they had to pick apricots. CJ didn't show up. So I sent the girls back down to the house to get CJ under the threat if he didn't help he wouldn't be going to the birthday party set for this afternoon. All they had to do initially was pick apricots.
I looked out. CJ is sitting down. Katy is laying down. I can't even see Patti. I told CJ to come in the house and help me.
"But, Mommmm, all I want to do is pick apricots."
He could put apricots in the jars. So he did this to two jar. Then he was hungry. He didn't eat breakfast. Even though I told him to do so at least twice.
Then Clem calls from the main house. The tile guy was there to finish the backsplash. Was there a pattern to this? How far to the left do the tiles go?
Well, let's see. Does it look like there's a pattern? No. Not even close. Wouldn't it make sense that the tile goes all the way to the end of the cupboard? Do I really have to drop what I was doing and come down there to repeat this to the tile guy?
Apparently.
So I put the kids to work. Katy can split and seed the apricots, CJ can fill the jars and Patti can get another batch of syrup ready.
I repeated myself to the tile guy and came back down to my canning kitchen. They had smashed too many 'cots into the jars and managed to get water all over the floor, which was now mud, thanks to their dirty feet. I looked at the bucket they should have filled after more than an hour of at least two of them picking. Half full. Green apricots.
Heavy sigh.
Really heavy sigh.
I told them they had to clean up the kitchen before we could start the next project; a batch of apricot surprise jam. (The suprise is there's no apricots, just zucchini and apricot jello) The girls started cleaning. CJ disappeared. This is a common occurence. If there going gets tough, my son gets going. He was hiding in the pickup. Katy had swept the floor then walked away. Patti was moppping, but the counters were still sticky.
"Mom can we have gum?"
"No. You can't have gum. You need to go back to the house and find something else to do. (I didn't add, but thought: you need to get out of my site before my head explodes)"
"But CJ got gum."
CJ got gum because he stole it out of the pickup while he was hiding there to avoid doing work.
I called the main house and told Clem they were his problem.
I'm sure Dr. Phil would be telling me there was some other way of handling this. But Holy Cow! Clem and I work hard. It's not like either of us disappear when there's chores to be done. Somehow we've raised three kids with no work ethic.
Maybe I'm just not in the mood to be patient and supportive. I just don't want to make this a "teaching opportunity". I want them to use their brilliant little minds and pay attention.
Now this job that should have taken about 90 minutes is pushing 3 hours.
Is this normal? Will they still grow up to be productive citizens or will they be slackers? I know they can work, I've seen them do it.
Sometimes, though, it's easier to walk away now and go back and complete the job later without interruption. But then they don't learn anything. Holy cow. There's got to be an easier way to be a parent.

Back in the saddle again

2008-08-12T21:49:00.002-07:00

Wow -- Home feels good! That trip was miserable and if there is any justice in the world, it will be the last time I'm miserable on a family vacation.
No rest for the weary though -- Holy Cow!! We got home late Sunday and hit the ground running Monday morning. The construction in the house is, of course, five days behind. But I had to get some stuff out of what is now the garage so the dry wall people can turn it into the new den.
I also caught up on my chores. My young chickens are almost full grown. We should start seeing eggs from them in the next month or so. Something apparently tried to take out Taloose the Guard Goose as his wing feather look like they've been scraped off.
Today got off to a rocky start as well. Clem got a call at 4 a.m. telling him there was a fire on the dairy. A huge straw and feed pile was on fire and jeopardizing corrals and employee housing. He finally came home about 7 tonight smelling of smoke and purely exhausted.
The kids and I went to Twin about 10 and also got home around 7. We got ALL of the back-to-school shopping done, almost all of the shopping done for the remodel (like door knobs and drawer pulls) and made a pass through Costco. Keep in mind I try a 4-door pickup. I could not have put one more thing in that vehicle. Thankfully, my two little ones went home with my sister. If they hadn't, I would have had to strap stuff to the top!
Katy and I are watching How to Look Good Naked on Lifetime Network. http://www.mylifetime.com/on-tv/shows/how-look-good-naked. This is one of my most favorite shows. Host Carson Kressley teaches women how to dress and carry themselves in such a way that they forget all their body hatred and be who they are. He talks about perception -- how so often we think we're so much bigger than we are. Attitude is everything. I wish sometimes, he'd deal with even heavier women, like me, but the show has really cemented some things I'd already started doing. I've been showing off my chest more -- even bought good bras! I dress the way I feel, not the way I think I should dress. It's rather difficult sometimes I still hear ED (see posts from 2006 and 07 about ED and Vicki) telling me that I shouldn't wear anything low cut because "fat isn't sexy". Then there's things like my sister-in-law that keeps telling me I wear ugly shoes. I caught myself scrutinizing the shoes I took with me on vacation because I knew she'd be there and wanted to make sure she didn't say anything about my shoes.
Earlier this summer, my friend and I made a pledge to swim each morning. I don't really like to swim, but I've been having so many problems with my feet and knees, it's about my only option. My friend, the night before our first "date", called to say she wouldn't go because she didn't want to be seen in hear swim suit -- especially by the zero-body-fat-hard-body pool manager.
I was crushed. Not just for myself, but because she's still trapped by that body shame weirdness.
My kids and husband and I have been going every night when he gets off work. It's not the aerobic workout I had planned, but it's a nice time with my kids -- and WAYYY better than sitting in front of the TV for three hours before I go to bed.
The rest of the week will be hectic -- I have a doctor's appointment in the morning to check on several factors as I seem to falling apart. Mammogram on Thursday. In the meantime, the contractors are coming to finish texturing the new part of the house and the tile guy is coming to do the back splash in the kitchen. Painting gets rolling on Friday and Saturday and carpet and flooring next week. That and my babies start school Aug. 21. All three in school all day. (More on that in another post)
As if all that weren't enough, the apricots are on in a big way and a tree blew into my brand new chicken coop, so I'll have to figure how to deal with all of that hassle. Arggh...
Love to you all -

And we're back...

2008-08-07T10:59:00.002-07:00

Sometimes you just have to listen to your inner voices. OK -- you always have to listen to your inner voices. Especially when they're screaming at you.
I need to write. I need to write because it's what I do and it's what keeps me sane even though I avoid it sometimes as it's just one more thing on a very long list of obligations. But my "voices" are telling me I have to do this -- to myself and others (hopefully) along the way.
I'm on vacation and I'm miserable. It's that annual vacation with my husband where it's, as always, all about him. I've spent a week in a pity party -- just wanting to go home, but can't. Just wanting to cry for a variety of reasons -- I'll get into them later.
So today I scheduled a massage. On the way into the spa, I seeped with tears -- just being overwhelmed with everything.
But I forced myself to turn off my head and turn inward -- to be in the moment (which I totally suck at) and I walked out feeling like I just might make it -- but I can't do it alone.
I've been reading a lot of Kris Radish lately (http://www.krisradish.com) and her books are always about women and friendship and taking care of each other.
I realize only about 4 people read this and you're all people I love and cherish and since you're scattered all over the country this site seems to make the most sense. I need to get back to chronicling my life -- and spending virtual time with you.
At this moment, in this bookstore/coffee shop, all I know is that after years of talk, nothing really has changed and it's more than time to step into my power and truly embrace all that is me. I know, you've heard this all before, but I think I've truly hit that proverbial rock bottom -- it's time.
So today, I allowed the massage therapist to massage my belly. The part of my body I detest the most right now. You know what -- it has served it's purpose for me and it felt good to allow someone to touch it in a healing way.
Typically I would have just hidden beneath the sheets. But I really needed the healing touch and I did it.
My challenge to the world today is to do the same: Find that place, either within or without, and touch it. Find a way to accept whatever it is and embrace it. (OK you sick minds, I know where you're going -- and that's OK too)
I'm going to where we're staying now to watch my kids play in the water -- and know that you're there with me -- so when things get weird I won't have to curl up in the fetal position. You're like a giant beach floatie...
I promise this will all make more sense later -- but I'm running out of time on the computer.
I love you all,

Eggs in my bra

2007-11-12T22:47:00.000-07:00

There are eggs in my bra.
No really.
Six.
It's late and I came straight to my office, which is near the chicken coop and didn't stop at home to pick up an egg carton or anything. The best place to keep eggs from getting crushed at the moment is my bra.
So, indeed, there are eggs in my bra.
I had to hurry down here because when I pulled in the driveway there was a large fox headed toward the coop. When he saw me, he ran, but it's only a matter of time before he finds the coop. I'm hoping our security guard finds him first.
Actually, I should clarify. I'm hoping our human security guard finds him first. The kind that comes armed with a shot gun. Now don't go gettin' all animal rights on me. The fox isn't native here. He costs me money. If he stays out of my way, I'll stay out of his. But the security guard? Well, he gets paid to shoot first and ask questions later. I don't really want a fox in my yard. I don't even really like the coyotes in my back yard. And, truly, I hate the fact the wolves are dangerously close to my back yard. I am the top of the food chain. I win. 'Nuff of that soap box.
Anyway, we have another security guard. He's not armed,but he has a temper.
Taloose.
Taloose is a goose.
I had always heard that geese were good watch dogs and after losing my entire flock of chickens last year I decided I'd see for myself. So far, it's paid off. I lost some chickens early on, but once Taloose got big enough to be a threat, haven't lost a one.
Ok, I lost one hen who refused to come in the coop at night. Thought herself tough enough to roost in the bushes outside. Her name was Breakfast. One morning, all I found of her were two tail feathers.
Each morning Taloose goes on patrol. I let him out of the coop and he squawks and makes a ton of noise. Then he loops around the house and ends up at the wading pool I have for him. He checks out the pool and then flies for about 20 feet and then comes back to the pool for his morning bath.
He doesn't bother me, but I've been told that if a stranger goes into the yard he hisses and makes a lot of noise.
I wasn't sure until this weekend if he was actually a he. I had originally purchased two geese, but one was killed last spring. I never have bothered to find my bird book to see if I could tell if I had the male or female. Then, last Saturday morning, I was watching the chickens. (They're kind of fun to watch) and the goose was happily bathing in the pool with the duck. The duck is a cute liitle female mallard named Wallace. (Gromit , the other duck, died of mysterious causes last suumer)
The duck was just minding her own business when all of the sudden Taloose hopped right on top of her, bit the back of her head and mounted her. All the while, holding her head under water. Now I really did try to let nature take its course here, but the poor duck looked like she might drown. So finally, I yelled, "Taloose! knock that off.
I had actually thought he might be a she and that I had lesbian foul, but do you know what that damn bird did?
He hopped off of her, let out this cocky cackle and spread his wings -- ( I swear it looked like he was flexing his biceps) and then turned around and shook his tail at me. Sure enough his very male part was right there just a flappin' in the wind.
Men. They're all the same sometimes.
Poor Wallace just looked bewildered by the whole thing.
The worst part was the rooster, named Chuck, seemed to be inspired so he hopped on a hen.
I have two other roosters, Roast and Beef, but they didn't seem to inclined to join in this little poultry sex fest. For a while there I thought the whole place had gone orgy or something.
I decided at that point, after seeing goose's dong, that it was time to go back to the house and do laundry.
Just too much excitement for this girl.
And that my friends, is life on this farm.

Am I scarey?

2007-11-08T23:56:00.000-07:00

I think people don't take me seriously.
I think people don't listen to me when I talk about eating disorders and living in joy or eating right because I'm fat.
This makes me crazy.
First of all, it makes it all too easy to fall under the tryanny of the scale again. I want to lose weight faster so I can talk to people that need to hear the message and they'll actually listen to me.
On a regular basis, I talk to people about my Declaration of Independence or about eating intuitively and I know they look at me and say to themselves, "Whatever, Karma. What do you know? You're fat." I can feel it when they think that. One person even admitted it when asked.
I'm not sure what to do about it. I am who I am and right now I look like what I look like. My body will change -- someday. When it's time. When it's right.
The thing is, the weirdest looks come from the girls who are actually thin, but think they're fat. One girl told me she wasn't ready to sign my Declaration -- "maybe in a few months". you know what that means don't you. she wasn't going to sign it until she lost weight.
I felt sorry for her. She's this great woman. Bright, intelligent, fun. But she looks in the mirror and hates what she sees.
Here's the distored thing about that way of thinking. You're trying to look like someone else. But do you really know who you're admiring? You could be looking up to someone who has been sick, someone has cancer or someone with untreated eating disorder. Do you really want to wish that upon yourself?
Seems odd to me now, but I know I've done it. I know I've looked at people and made the judgement about who they were and what they believe based solely on their pants size. How many fabulous people did I miss out on in my ignorance?
----
In other news, I've decided to learn to ski. You can actually read a bit more of decision on my other page at http://www.myspace.com/karmawrites. So here's the deal: I've always wanted to ski, but at first it was too expensive and then I decided I was too fat. Have you ever seen a fat girl on the ski slope? Nope.
I had promised myself I would take at least one lesson this winter. My kids have been learning and who wants to sit back and watch your kids do something when you could be doing it with them?
As usual my mouth get me in over my head. I suggested to a magazine editor that I learn to ski and write about it. So now, not only am I learning to ski, I'm going to share the experience with all of South Central Idaho.
I'm and idiot.
Ok. Not really.
I am doing this for all the women who sit in the lodge or just drive by the ski hill because they're afraid. I'm doing this for all the women who do want they want while enduring the insults of salespeople and trainers who assume they can't. I'm doing this because I can, damn it.
I'm terrified, but here I go.

Major revelation

2007-08-22T08:56:00.000-07:00

So it's a funny thing what a little sugar can do.
My husband has been diagnosed with diabetes -- a pain in the ass, but I really see it as a blessing in disguise. It will require us all to eat better and we'll be able to have family meals. Maybe he'll even stop with those stupid diabetic rages.
We've been meeting with nutritionists and go over meal plans -- trying to get a grip of how our bodies digest food etc. When I moved in with Clem 12 years ago, he had recently completed a Nutrisystem Diet plan. Under that system, he stopped eating supper, ate a big lunch and might have a snack in the evening that's all. I remember thinking that didn't make a ton of sense to me -- the light supper in the evening made more sense to me. But, in my effort to please and fit in -- and in his constant reminders that I wanted to lose weight and that was the way to do it as far as he was concerned.
So I stuffed my instincts and ate according to his schedule. I've done nothing but gain weight since.
WOW -- again, I have to ask why it made sense to me to give up what I believed... but really that's what I've always done -- I'm just altered my needs to fit in with whomever I was living with -- whatever I thought people wanted.
So my blood sugar isn't what it should be -- but it could use lowering. I'm a little afraid because food is such an emotional and control issue for me and this seems a bit overwhelming. But it may just be a return to center for me -- to a time and a place when I followed my heart.
I think it will be nice to be home.

Just give me a day

2007-07-10T23:36:00.000-07:00

Argh!!!!! Do you know what I would do for a day, just one day, when I don't regret a decision I make regarding what I make. I'm sooooo close to whipping this damn thing -- so very close and then it's like Ed and Vicki do a dance in my head and I get dizzy with the music or whatever and forget what I'm doing. It's making me nuts -- friggin' crazy!
Take today -- a day when I did really well all day -- until supper time -- when instead of having soup which is what I wanted -- ED took over my body and my mouth and I had greasy, nasty junk food -- that didn't even really taste that great -- and it was 8 o'clock and night and it's not sitting in my gut dancing a flippin jig with Ed and his pals -- and I can't sleep.
How is that honoring your body, I ask you? Within a matter of moments, I went from being in control to completely out of control.
Argh!!!!!
I know Ed is getting weaker by the moment -- I know that with each step I take toward my Sawtooth (or wherever) journey he dies a slow and painful death -- but damn -- I just want to go one day without having to think about food and eating -- I just want iit to be instinctive -- and yes, I know it took me years to get this way and it's going to take a while to heal ---but I didn't get to this point without a deep appreciation for instant gratification....I want it now -- damn it.

Seeeking the Sawtooths

2007-06-24T22:30:00.000-07:00

I have spent the better part of three years healing my insides. I'm ready to tackle the outside recovery -- at least in one part of my head, I am.
I don't know if it's Vicki -- or some other voice -- or just my own internal fear -- but there is also a part of me that's scared. Scared to the point of complacency.
I had my surgery June 6 -- in hopes I'll be able to breathe better and therefore not get so tired and then in turn have more energy to exercise the way I crave. But it's taking so long to heal -- and just when I think I can take on the world, I get too tired and have to stop. I would like to just give up on my goals -- and just survive - continue as things are and see what happens around a different bend -- at a different time... but I know I have to make this trip or I'll continue to put off the rest of my healing ... well, forever.
Somewhere in the Sawtooths, I'm convinced I'll find myself again. I haven't exactly figured out where -- but I know it's there. In the north. Hidden among the granite crags and timber. As if the truest part of me went there to hide while I lost control of so much in my life.
So I have to find her again -- I have to reclaim Karma.
Here on the high desert plateau though, I'll have to gather reinforcements -- I'll have to train and prepare and be ready to find her. That's the hard part. It will mean putting myself and my needs first -- it will mean saying no. It will mean standing up for what's important to me.
And I don't know if i can do that.
Well that's not really true. I know I can do it -- I'm simply terrified to leave the comfort of the lowlands.
I know ya'll will be there with me. Each step, each moment. But what if something changes? What if I'm not comfortable being myself anymore. What if people expect more of me than I can give anymore? What if I fail?
I'm not sure why I picked the Sawtooths -- maybe it's where I spent so many wonderful days as a child. Maybe it's where I'm called. All I do know is that it has to be there.
So here I go -- with a goal of hiking in the Sawtooths probably near Redfish Lake the weekend of August 25.
I can't remember I focused on something for myself before -- at least no for a long term.
I just have to remember that I am worth the journey.

The ugly truth

2007-05-05T11:16:00.000-07:00

The ugly truth is: there are no short cuts when it comes to nourishing your body. I want there to be. I want quick things that both fuels my body and taste good. However, sometimes, unless your happen to be, you know, organized, that kind of stuff isn't around. Now that I'm learning how to eat naturally again, my old habits are not doing me much good. Grabbing what's quick and easy is not usually, in my world anyway, what's going to fuel my system well for the day.
This morning is a perfect example. I woke up craving something sweet. So of course I grab two of the cookies on the counter and them gone in a flash. Then I figured I better eat something healthy so I ate a banana. Then I got hungry again so I had some left over steak. Then I went outside to work in the yard. I had no energy. Wore out easily. Had to rest. Fatigue. Damn.
Now I have to rest a bit this afternoon as I need to pick up Clem at the airport at 11 :30 tonight and go up to the cabin. Makes for a long day. So I'm trying to get some rest and better fuel into the system so I can finish in the yard and head west.
It's been really interesting learning to eat to again. You celebrate the most bizarre things -- like bringing home a doggie bag -- and having that food last more than a few hours. Realizing you don't like something and not feeling bad about getting rid of it.
I'm still working on rewards -- as I tend to want to reward myself with food. But when I can remember some warm tea is pretty cool for that. It's hard to just be comfortable, because physically, I'm not. But I know I will be, soon.
For now though, it's a quick nap before I head out to wipe out that stupid shrubbery in the front yard.

Family Day Off

2007-04-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

We played hookie today. For some reason I couldn't sleep last night and neither could the kids. Kate got up at 3 and CJ at 3:30 and Patti couldn't hardly get out of bed. So we took a mental health day. We slept in. The kids cleaned out their book shelf. I slept some more. We found some great worksheets on line and some in our "Everything you need to know..." books and had lunch and then read under the trees in the backyard. Kate and I cat napped under the trees with the wind blowing through our hair and over our faces. I did a little bit of work and cooked a little and did a few loads of laundry and I have to tell you it was wonderful!! But then, he came home. The kids wanted to see him and missed him, but somehow the energy changes when he comes in. It always seems like we're both disappointed. I think he is disappointed that I don't have my hair done and my makeup on. I tried to ask him about his trip, but he always just sits there looking at me -- each and every time he comes home from a trip -- as if he's waiting for me to do or say something more. I had been balancing the checkbook when he came in so of course he noticed a bill from my computer guy for the wireless network on the table and got all cranky about it. There are so many good things about him ... about us. And then, there is all that is wrong. I find myself asking the Good Lord for guidance -- for some sign that I'm here for all the right reasons. The scary thing is, I have the most difficult time controlling my eating habits when he's home. Not that long ago, I realized I don't eat dsyfunctionally when I'm away from home -- from him. Tonight was no different. I cooked a big supper and didn't mean to take a huge portion, but I found myself eating too much -- as if somehow the extra mashed potatoes and gravy might somehow, magically, make everything feel better ... make sense. So I took the kids out for a walk down to the river bed after supper. I think I needed the evening air to clear out my head -- and after eating too much that late, I didn't want to sit. I have realized that I eat and then sit far too often. I eat breakfast, then sit for 45 minutes or more while I make the commute to Twin Falls. I eat lunch and then I sit at a desk. I eat dinner and then sit after supper. That doesn't seem like it's the best thing for my body, so I'm trying not to do that. It's fun to walk along the river and see what critters have left their prints in the mud. Mostly raccoons and deer -- occasionally I see a fox print or something. The kids decided to play in the gravel pits. I continued around the bend to add some more steps to the day, but the kids basically took a dirt bath. I sent them home to get in the shower -- only to walk in on three kids and three inches of dirt in the tub. How could I be mad though? Dirt is good for the soul, as far as I think. I'd rather have 3 inches of dirt in my tub, than three children sitting in front of the computer or television for three hours. I'm finding it hard to keep my eyes open -- so will head for the comfort of my bed. God willing, I'll get to sleep tonight and not have two of the three children stacked on top of me.

Gallery of Rocks

2007-04-29T21:44:00.000-07:00

Another perfect day in the big city.
The kids and I slept in with no pressure to be anywhere today. I burned the breakfast sausage, but we had made yummy blue/black berry muffins yesterday -- so it kind of balanced out.
Did a ton of laundry -- still have too much left to do -- but finally got some uniforms back on the hanger so the kids can go to school.
CJ and I sat on the deck and read the paper -- what a perfect Sunday morning! Slight breeze -- warmth ... the birds were out. I wish I knew more about bird calls. One bird makes this beautiful song -- one I heard repeatedly growing up on my dad's farm. When I hear it now, it instantly takes me back to hanging around outside the shop -- with nothing but dirt and my imagination to play with. That same breeze, the same bird -- and the freedom of childhood.
What with all the hard work, I was forced to take my Sunday afternoon nap -- the kids interrupted me twice -- not too bad considering...
Anyway -- this afternoon we took a short drive and then a short hike in the Little City of Rocks. The area forms the western edge of the Bennett Mountains. The place doesn't remind me of a city though -- more like an amphitheater in which hikers are the show for a stone audience.(I'll load some pictures tomorrow) Then off to dinner at the local diner.
It's always fun to swing by at catch up with the town gossip.
I find myself so very conscientious of my appearance -- even though I try so very hard not to. I really want my outside to match my inside now. I know it's a process. I know it will take more than a week. I want it to be instant! I am still struggling with knowing when to eat and how much. I can't decide sometimes, if I'm really hungry or if I'm listening to a voice outside my own -- or if I'm falling into some old habit.
I find that food still takes up so much of my thoughts -- and long for the day when it doesn't. I wonder if alcoholics go through the same process. Do you ever get to the point when you can sit down and not question whether or not you're making the right choices?
The goal for this week is is 6000 steps per day and drinking more water. I think that's pretty doable.
The other thing I'm trying to figure out is managing my myriad of projects without overwhelming myself. Something I've never been able to manage-- at least not for a long time. But each brings me a little closer to the real me -- and it will be so nice to see me again.
Oh! Forgot to tell you-- I have two chapters done of my book. It started out as a biography, but I switched it to a "based on a true story". The fictional me is easier to write. I keep thinking a true story would be too painful for my family, but my intent has always been to write a self help book. But I decided it was better to start in a way that took the pressure off -- we'll see how it turns out....

Just like riding a bike

2007-04-28T20:22:00.000-07:00

So my step counter says I'm at 15,700 steps today. I'm tired and sweaty -- but man it feels good. My goal for this week was to do at least 5000 steps a day. I did it Monday through Wednesday -- but the numbers hardly budged Thursday and Friday. It was a beautiful day today and I got up a bit early so I could take my little "walk around the block" --3300 steps.
Of course, in my neighborhood, that means I walked down the lane to the river then through the river bed to the edge of the corn field. I followed a deer trail through the weeds to the fence line, then back around to the house.
Then off to the 4h meeting at the fairgrounds to plant flowers for our community service project. Then I hung around for a the county surplus auction. I bought an antique love seat that used to be in the Dietrich Hotel. I bought some old school desks -- the kind with the storage under the seat. I bought an old piano bench too. Saw lots of friends and had a lovely afternoon.
I collapsed a bit when I got home, but fixed a nice dinner for the kids and then went over to the dairy and dug my bike out of the garage in my old house.
The kids had been on me for a while to get it out. The last time I rode it -- gosh, I'm not sure I can remember. The baby seat was still on it and I think Kate was the last baby in it -- and she turns nine this summer.
Anyway I pumped up the tires and made my way down the lane. Just to the river and back. Thought I might pass out. I don't remember bike seats hurting like they do now. I used to ride a bike quite a bit, but that was three kids, 7 or 8 years and 70 pounds ago. I figured with the extra time I have, now that I'm won't be in counseling all the time (!) I can do some new things.
That old saying was right, you don't forget how to ride a bike. I figure if I can take it down to the river and back at least once each night, it's a good thing. Maybe by the end of the summer, the kids and I can haul the bikes into one of the biking trails in the area.
It was a glorious Saturday -- and a great start to the rest of the summer.

Discharge!

2007-04-23T18:54:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here in shock. It's a combination of awe and surprise and pride and .... wow. After something like three years and buckets of tears and frustration and fear -- through heartbreak and trial and tribulation ... thanks to the love and support and constant ear of dozens of kind and patient friends my counselor told me something I never thought I'd hear: "You're done."
The eating disorder, though it will never truly be forgotten, is done. Over.
I knew I was close. I figured she'd release me toward the end of May, maybe. But today, she released me to conquer the world using the tools I've learned, the internal strength I had buried and have recovered -- to just be me again without fear.
I can't wait. I'm a little scared but I'm pretty sure that's normal.
I keep walking around saying "wow"
Wow.
I worked so hard and now I just have to live it and embrace the freedom it gives me.
Wow.
I'm continually touched at the amazing people that have come in my life -- and have all loved and supported me without question or judgement.
Wow.
My husband who at times who has cause me the most incredible grief I've ever felt, never once criticized my appearance and always said I was sexy -- because of who I am, not because of how I looked.
Wow.
So off I go into my wild blue yonder.

The final step

2007-04-19T20:19:00.000-07:00

So I think it would be accurate to say I have about conquered the eating disorder. I would say at least 75 percent -- if not more. Now what comes next might be the most difficult.
I'm at the stage where I don't feel like I need the extra weight anymore. I no longer need the isolation and insulation it provides. On the inside I feel so strong. I'm so ready to just be me again. But then I look in the mirror and I get so frustrated. I want my appearance on the outside to match my confidence on the inside. But.
But it doesn't. Megan http://www.peacewithfood.com says that until I make it about me and not about size, it won't happen. That attitude is apparently the actual "magic pill" that we all look for in weight loss. So instead of getting up to exercise because I need to, I'll have to get to the place where I get up to exercise because it feels good.
The thing is, I'm almost there. I am craving exercise. I'm craving the food and activities that are instinctive -- not the product of the "should monster". But when it comes to action -- something is still holding me back. At surface level, I think it's just being overwhelmed with all the things I have go on. It's having no idea how to get all the things done I want to get done. It's the age old problem of womanhood and motherhood and putting everyone else's needs before mine.
But below the surface I think I'm still afraid to let go of that log in the river. (See the Dec. entries) I'm not sure why. I would guess it's because I don't want to deal with the uncertainty of it all. If I am comfortable with myself physically won't I be even more intimidating to others? Will my relationship with my husband change? Will I have the same friends? Will all the work be worthwhile?
I know intellectually it will be OK. My friends will still be friends. My family will still be my family. But I live in fear of the comments I'll get -- the rude comments about how I looked while fat. The dehumanizing comments about "how good I look" instead "how good it is to see me" -- I don't want to me overlooked anymore. I'd like at least a few of my relationships with my family in particular to be more than surface level -- but I remember all too clearly what my life was like last time I lost weight. I felt so overlooked. This time with more weight to lose it will be worse. I know it and I'm afraid I won't be able to handle it.
Also, I'm not sure how to turn my mind around. I'm not sure how to eliminate "should" from my vocabulary or mindset. I've been trying get up early lately because I want to walk. But I'm so tired, I usually just try to find some quiet time. I guess that's still taking time for myself but is that OK? I know there's a way to find a balance but I'm not sure what it is. There is a part of me that is so ready for the next and final step -- but I just can't seem to get it going. Maybe it will happen this summer when there is less stress -- but should I put off joy? Maybe I will start tomorrow.

Disorderly Conduct

2007-04-10T20:39:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it would have been easier if I were an alcoholic. Being a drug addict would have been too damned complicated. (You want me to mix what with what and inject it where???) Besides, my brother already has the market cornered on that dysfunction. Nearly everyone else in the family has been an alcoholic -- so perhaps my family would have paid more attention. Instead, they just assume I'm sitting around the house eating bon-bons while my housekeeper and nanny take care of my household responsibilities, including the kids.
OK. Yes, I have someone come in once a week and clean the house. She takes a layer off. I don't mind cleaning house when I have time, but I don't think I was put on this earth to clean. Sorry. There has got to be better stuff to do. Criticism from people who can't even see their floor doesn't really do much for me anyway. And as far as my nannies go -- I could lose my mind or hire a sitter here and there. Let's have a parenting contest and see who wins. Get off my ass for god sakes.
So now, since I'm clearly fat and lazy with no will power, those in the know are suggesting I have bariatric surgery.
I swear to God in heaven if one more person suggests that, I'm going to lose my ever lovin mind. If my weight problem had something to do with what I eat, it might be a different story. If I was drinking heavily I probably wouldn't be fat -- but would they suggest surgery? Probably not.
So it seems now I have an eating disorder, sleeping disorder and an attention disorder. Could I get more screwed up?
But here's the deal. I have the eating disorder about conquered. There is surgery available to fix the sleeping disorder. And as to the attention disorder -- I decided I would do some research and make the "disorder" work for me. I actually think the ADD thing could work with me and I think I'd be boring without it.
Everyone else can keep their judgements to themselves. This whole fat phobia thing and judgement is enough to make my head spin. I'm going to have to lead a revolution.

Is fat contagious?

2007-03-19T19:12:00.000-07:00

I feel so strong right now. I want to shout from the mountaintops about my new found freedom. I want everyone to shed the chains of the diet dictators -- and live free to be who they are in whatever shape they find comfortable. In my little naive world, I'd think everyone would embrace this. Instead, I find a few people smile at me sweetly and offer a comforting pat on the shoulder. In their head, I think they're saying something like this: "Poor little fat girl. She thinks she can change the world. She is so very wrong, but I'll offer some support to the misguided thing." The other reaction I get-- in fact the reaction I get most often -- is one of fear. It's as if they're saying: "I'd like to join you on your crusade, but you're fat and I don't want to be fat. If I sign your Declaration of Independence then I might become fat like you."
The sad thing is, the people that react like this are most often the people that really need to declare independence from Ed and Vicki more than anyone else. Ed and Vicki have such a hold on them, they live in constant fear of being who they really are. That who they are will be unacceptable to the world around them -- even to those that truly love them for who they are.
I'm of a mind to take this show on the road, to write a book, go on tour and tell everyone they don't have to buy into the rhetoric. You don't have to look like a Barbie to have a successful and productive life. We no longer have to kill ourselves trying to fit a norm that is inhumane and unrealistic. We don't have to put our lives on hold -- we can experience joy at any time regardless of what the tag says in the back of your pants.
But in the back my mind I keep hearing a voice, it's probably Vicki's voice, the kill-joy that she is, saying: "No one will believe you. You're too fat. Once you lose a little weight and look healthier, then you'll have some credibility."
Now, intellectually I know that I speak well in public and that I can make my point no matter what. But, when someone looks at me in horror when I tell them about my crusade, I wonder. Am I insane? How can I make a point when I look the way I do?
I've had these thoughts floating around my head for about a month now. Then, my friend Nancy S. sent me a link to a wonderful site: http://www.freshyarn.com. There I read a story about another woman's frustration. Writer Kim Brittingham (http://www.kimwrites.com)wrote an incredible essay about her experience with fat phobia. To combat the horrid looks, stares and comments she got while riding the New York City bus system, she created a fake book cover that reads: "Fat is Contagious -- How sitting next to a fat person can make you fat." So instead of just idly sitting on a bus, she gets to watch idiots react in horror and supporters wink at her knowingly.
What a great idea! What courage and creativity! Kim Brittingham is my new hero.
She could have climbed inside herself and become depressed, even self destructive. But she didn't. She not only took the high road, she did so with a sense of humor ... and more importantly a sense of self.
You can read her essay at: http://www.freshyarn.com/42/essays/brittingham_fat1.htm
I've corresponded with her a couple of times. She sounds like a dynamic and intelligent woman. If I ever get back to New York City, I'll buy her a beverage. In the meantime, I'll enjoy my copy of "Fat is Contagious" ...

And now for something completely different...

2007-02-22T09:59:00.000-07:00

I'm always so serious here -- So here's something fun. I'm feeling weird today. So am having a lazy day as if I had time to do such a thing.

Create your own Friend Test here

Karma's Constituion

2007-01-28T23:35:00.000-07:00

It's time for a revolution. I have written my own Declaration of Independence (of course inspired by the book "Life without Ed") and I ask you to sign it. Read it all out loud in your strongest voice. Feel it. Become it, then pass it on. I want at least one person a day to sign this Declaration of Independence for the month of February. To sign, just add your name in the comments window. Don't forget to leave suggestions for other "Rights". Feel free to pass on this link to your friends and family. (Just make sure my name is attached somewhere as I am copyrighting it.)I want to hear from everyone. Let's lead a revolution away from guilt, self doubt and worry.
Come on girls, let's hear you roar.

Preamble

At no other time in our history have we been better educated about the food we eat. Yet, at no other time in history have we been less healthy.
Appearance, in this society, is everything. Americans, especially women, define their worth not by their values or morals -- not even by the quality of their soul or existence. Instead, American women determine their self worth based on the numbers on a scale. We put our lives on hold waiting to experience joy until we lose weight. We drive ourselves toward a perfection that cannot be achieved -- all the while, sacrificing time with our family, friends and most importantly, ourselves.
We speak gently to our loved ones, but spew poisonous venom to the image in the mirror.
It’s time to stop this insanity.

Declaration of Independence

By signing below I hereby declare independence from the tyranny of the scale.

From this point forward I will not judge myself or others based on appearance.
I will not postpone joy while waiting to achieve a standard that is impossible.
I will not use a scale or the size of my clothing to determine my self worth.
Instead, I will seek joy in all that I do. I will see someone’s heart before I make assumptions about their health, wealth or moral standards.
I will eat food that nourishes and strengthens my body, but more importantly I will eat foods that I enjoy. Furthermore, I will do so with relish and pleasure and without guilt or making my self sick.
I am in control and will not let anyone tell me how I should look, what I should eat, what I should wear.
I am beautiful. Not because of how I dress, what I weigh or how anyone else sees me. I am beautiful … simply because I exist.

Bill of Rights

1)I have a right to enjoy my life without worrying about whether or not I am acceptable to anyone else.

2)I have a right to experience joy regardless of my pants size.

3)I have a right to feel comfortable in my clothing. I will no longer buy clothes based on the size, but on the cut and fit in proportion to my likes and lifestyle.

4)I have right a right to be able to find comfortable, affordable clothing without being banished to the back of the store or paying more for that “extra fabric”.

5)I have a right to sit down and enjoy my meal. I will never again skip a meal or drink a meal replacement shake in hopes of becoming more acceptable to society’s standards.

6)I have a right to seatbelts that fit comfortably and safely in any plane, train or automobile I choose to use for transportation.

7)I have a right to feel good. I take care of myself because I’m worth it.

8)I have a right to live without fear and guilt

9)I have a right to define my own sense of fashion.

10) I have a right to be loved – not for how I look, but for who I am.

11)I have a right to good customer service and not to be stalked through a store because I might break something.

12) I have a right to be me – however I chose to define me. I am powerful. I am in control and I love who I am.

Introducing ED

2007-01-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

I remember the day I lost control.
It was the day ED moved into my head. I was adjusting to life as a mother. My daughter was less than a year old. Actually she was probably only 3 months old or so. It was a sunny day with a light breeze. (The name ED is suggested by "Life Without Ed" by Jenni Schaefer http://www.jennischaefer.com )
You know how it is when you first become a mom. You have to manage a day around the demands on an infant. As much as you might try to establish a routine, the reality is when the infant is hungry she needs fed.
A neighbor, let's just say a high-maintenance friend -- and I decided to go shopping together.
The problem was, I allowed her to control the day -- and I got home and I had to deal with the demands of my husband and the baby. I don't recall what it was that I actually wanted to do, but I know I didn't get to do it.
I realized that I wasn't in control anymore and that's when I opened the door to ED. He offered me comfort, healing. He said he could comfort me.
He offered me a big of Lays potato chips. I don't even like those chips, but I ate the better part of a bag, drowning my sorrows in salt and saturated fats.
After that, the proverbial "box" was opened.
I remember consuming bags of Halloween candy later that year. My husband, finding piles of wrappers in my car one day asked me what I was doing.
I would get up in the middle of the night and eat anything I could find.
I would plan my day, my life around meals.
As I had more children and moved further away from my unfettered life, ED offered me comfort and kindness -- his version of healing and health.
He had become the most important person in my life.
I trusted ED before I trusted anyone or anything else.
Somewhere I started believing that someone else always knew better. Someone else was always right.
I stopped listening to me.
I stopped listening to the people who truly cared for me unconditionally and only heard the conditional voices.
That's when Ed's partner Vicki was able to gain strength.
She's always been a part of my life, but at no other time did I allow her to become so strong.
It wasn't long before they were the only people I truly cared about. My own spirit, voice and conscience was lost.
Now as I try to silence their voices I'm finding it truly empowering to physically separate their voices from mine in print. My counselor, Megan ( http://www.peacewithfood.com/ ) says it's good that I've been getting the last word in my dialogues. I struggle everyday, but am determined to win the battle.

Reclaiming Karma

2007-01-07T21:33:00.000-07:00

Many years ago
I was set adrift
Since then, I have followed the current
Simply going where the river took me.
There have been many times when I could barley breath as I felt the strength of the current pull me under.
I have bounced into rocks, been caught in whirlpools and been tangled in the underbrush
All the while
Just surviving in the currents control
But now I can see myself on the shoreline.
At times, the current is too strong. It pulls me back in, but I am clawing at the sore.
Control.
This is my life
My adventure
I will no longer be a victim to the currents path
But will choose my own path.
I am claiming this bit of shoreline for myself.
I am in control
This is my earth
My river
And I'll plant a flag of freedom right here.
Right now.
I am not a victim
I am your challenge
I am a force of nature.

You know, I wrote this last summer. Water, and my connection to it, has been a reoccurring theme in my recovery. You can image my shock and joy when I discovered the passage in "Eating in the Light of the Moon" that I mention in the post titled "Art Therapy".

Filling the void

2007-01-07T21:26:00.000-07:00

I've been going through my journal and I found a couple of essays I thought might be of interest to you.

There is this emptiness
A void
I keep trying to fill it with all the wrong things
A dozen or more hobbies
A committee here, a volunteer project there. . .
Mostly food.
As if somehow the feeling of being full would be enough to keep me from falling into the void.
Nothing worked. I don't really remember what it feels like to feel whole.
One day last May, I realized instead of trying to fill the void, I was trying to get out.
You had pushed me in when I wasn't looking.
These days it feels like I'm sitting in the darkness.
Sometimes I can feel the light on my shoulders and it feeds me -- fills me.
I keep waiting for you to give me a rope -- a lifeline.
But I don't think you'll ever do that.
I have to use the harsh words and neglect to fashion myself a shovel.
I'm digging my way up and out of here and leaving the pain you've caused behind.
I can feel the dirt begin to build underneath my nails as I claw away at the anger of resentment.
Beads of sweat appear on my brow as I step over the manipulation, the abuse.
At times, it seems insurmountable.
All I have the energy to do is cry. I know in my heart, it's worth the journey. It's possible to feel warmth again.
You may have put me here, but you don't have the power to bury me.

Conversations

2007-01-07T20:20:00.001-07:00

You know those voices in your head? The ones you argue with each time you try to make a decision? For years, I thought it was the good ol' angel/devil on my shoulder, but thanks to the inspiration from Megan, my counselor (www.peacewithfood.com) and the book "Life without Ed" by Jenni Schaefer.(www.jennischaefer.com) along with "Eating in the Light of the Moon" (www.DrAnitaJohnston.com) I've been able to separate the voices from my own inner voice. Maybe it's the voice of my soul. What I do know, is that it's my own true voice.

I have to admit Vicki is throwing a fit today. Last night, we celebrated my 40th birthday. I'm hung over. I decided to take the day off. I'm still in my pajamas. I've done very little today but eat and sleep. The way I see it, that no big deal. I drink so rarely afterall. I drank last night so I'm being a sloth today and it feels good.
Vicki is enraged. She's such a bitch. She keeps telling me about all the things I should be doing. Sometimes it's hard to tell her voice from mine, but I'm pretty sure it's her telling me I should be cleaning house or something. Right now she's fighting me because I want to write a book about this journey I've been on. Vicki keeps telling me I'll just be making a fool of myself.
Gawd, I hate that woman.
One of the things Megan(http://www.peacewithfood.com ) encourages me to do is write out the dialogues I have with Vicki and ED.
Here are several. I wrote the most recent one Jan. 3. I really want this blog and a book I'd like to write to be of inspriration to other women. Vicki says I can't do it.
Vicki:
You know you have nothing to offer other women. You're still too fat. Why would anyone believe you?
Karma:
I have to try. I'll regret it if I don't at least try.
V:
You're going to make a fool of yourself. You know knowing and, oh, by the way, YOU'RE STILL FAT. You'll be laughted out of the room.
K:
If I help just one person -- if just one person finds inspriation -- than my goal is fulfilled. The rest is trivia.
V:
You disgust me. You're an idiot for thinking you can offer anything to others -- especially when you look in the mirror sister. Who do you know that couldn't zip of their pants yesterday? You can't help anybody. At least until you've started to lose weight.
K:
Who is more pathetic? You thrive on other people's weakness. You have no value. You are hollow. You only exist because I allow you to. Without me, you are nothing. Without you, I am everything.

Here are some other dialogues:
ED:
You're hungry.
Karma:
No, I'm thirsty.
ED:
Listen to me. Your stomach growling. For something sweet.
K
No, I'm just overwhelmed and frustrated. If anythging, I'll have some tea.
Vicki:
Didn't you see that commercial? You should take a weight loss drug. It would expedite your weight loss and get you to where you should be.
K:
I need to go to bed, but I want to watch this show. You two need to die.

Karma
I think I’ll go for a walk in the morning.
Vicki
No. It will be too cold. And besides you can sleep in tomorrow. For the first time in weeks.
Karma
So – I want to take a walk.
Vicki
You can’t wear you boots, with your ankle still infected. It will be too snowy. You should stay in.
Karma
If it’s too snowy, I’ll find something else to do – maybe I’ll work out with my band and ball
Vicki
You’ve been wishing for time to sleep in and you’ll get it tomorrow – just sleep in.
Karma
I’ve been wishing for time to exercise. Without the pressure of getting the kids to school, I can take a morning stroll.
Vicki
Look, you haven’t been feeling well, Your ankle hurts. Rest. Rest is what you need.
Karma
You know, the only reason you don’t want me to take a walk is because if I get healthy you’ll be too weak to control my life. That’s not my problem. It’s yours.

-------

Vicki
You know you’re a big failure. You didn’t get everything done for Christmas in time. You still have a ton of shipping. The house is a mess. You spent too much money. You have people arriving tomorrow and you’re no where near ready. You’ll never get it all done and if you do, it will be half assed. You should be ashamed of yourself. You once again tried to do too much. When will you ever learn?

Karma
You know, I’m ahead of where I was this time last year. I’ll get done what I can get done and the rest can wait. The point is to enjoy the holiday.

Vicki
Your inlaws will be here Saturday and this house is a pit. You don’t have the craft projects ready for the kids. You’re going to disappoint everyone.

Karma
That would be someone else’s problem. What needs to get done will get done. Other moms can help with the craft stuff – and the kids can play outside or watch a movie. Maybe they won’t want to do crafts anyway. The point of the day is to spend time with family. The rest is trivia.
Vicki
But it would be much better if you could make them envious. You should be able to prove to them how organized and capable you are not what a wretched slob you are. They’re pathetic people, show them how good you are.
Karma
They are pathetic in some cases, but I’m not going to lower myself to their level. I’m going to enjoy time with my family. If someone is not comfortable, they can leave.
Vicki
They’re going to continue to think of you as a big ol fat slob and you’re going to deserve the title.
Karma
No I’m not. I am who I am. If they can’t handle it, it’s their problem. Not mine.
-------------
Vicki
Gawd you’re fat and disgusting. Don’t you look into the mirror before you go out?
Karma
You know, I’m not here to win a fashion contest. I’m just here to help with the Girl Scout meeting.
Vicki
Those other mothers and kids must think you’re pathetic.
Karma
I don’t care what those other mother’s think. I’m here to support my daughter and her friends.
Vicki
You know they make clothes that flatter your body more. Maybe you shouldn’t volunteer for anything until you've lost weight.
Karma
I like to help. Anna, the leader, works very hard for little recognition and little help. I just need to support here and share my daughter’s life. Besides I love being around the kids and all the hugs.
Vicki
You don’t really deserve those hugs. You’re too fat.
If you weren’t fat you wouldn’t need hugs from small children.
Karma
You know – I love these girls and I’m a good role model. I’ll be an even better role model when you’re dead and I hope that’s soon.
-------------

Vicki
You absolutely cannot write that book. You shouldn’t even think about it. You’re too fat. No one is going to believe you You might be able to do something after you’ve lost some weight, but not now. Don’t even bother.
Karma
Maybe I’ll catch the eye of a publisher. Maybe I’m just what they’re looking for and will want to work through the journey with me. If you’re right, I’ll just try again later. But I don’t think it will hurt to try.
Vicki
You’re going to humiliate your family and yourself. You’re going to be laughed at
Karma
I think I might just get laughed all the way to the bank. And to top it off. I might help someone else.
Vicki
You’ll probably get sued for offering poor advice or quoting without attribution or something. Don’t be stupid -- write on your little blog if you want. Maybe even for the local paper, but don’ try to do a book. That’s just stupid.
Karma
No – I’ll regret it if I don’t try.

character development

2006-12-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

As part of my healing, my counselor, Megan, wants me to start journaling out the conversations I have in my head -- the voices that direct my actions. As part of this, I've defined two distinct voices other than my own. The voices are: Vicki Should --the perfectionist, and E.D. (Eating Disorder) Love. (Thanks to the book: "Life Without Ed" by Jenni Schaefer for the inspiration and the name. This book is profound. It will change your life. http://www.jennischaefer.com )
Here are the profiles I created for them.

Her name is Vicki. Vicki Should. She is the picture of perfection. She is always collected, organized. She is good – not just good but successful at everything she does. She doesn’t lose her temper. Everyone likes her. She is thin, of course. Highly educated. Her house is always clean. She’s always ready for company. She manages her money and her household prudently and efficiently. She’s witty – never says anything stupid.
She never disappoints her children. She never disappoints anyone.
Vicki Should is perfect. Perfect in every way. And she lives inside me.
She’s the voice – the other. Vicki is the person that tells me that I shouldn’t do anything unless it can be done perfectly and if it can’t be done perfectly, I have failed.
Vicki is the person that says I can accomplish everything even though no human really could. If I were just better. Perfect.
I can be and have it all if were just more efficient.
If you saw her in the mirror, like I do, you’d say she’s breathtaking…striking. Until you looked into her eyes. They’re hollow. There is not light. No life.
Her goal, her mission is to destroy my self worth. My very essence. Then, her partner, her brother steps in.
ED Love.
He’s also thin. He’s suave. He represents the male love I constantly crave. Just when his sister has told me I’m worthless, Ed says,
“I can make you feel better. Just trust me. Let me comfort you. Let me hold you in my arms. Take care of you. Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll fill you up with the warmth of a hot filling meal and sweetness in a big bag of chocolate. We'll eat until you can't eat anymore.”
If I’m at dinner Ed is the one who says,
“You’ll feel more confident in this situation if you keep stuffing yourself. You’ll show everyone how you’re in control of what you eat. That you’re not ashamed of what you eat or what you look like. Because you’ll keep eating until you’re stuffed just to show them all how much in control you are.”
The two of them weave this tapestry of dysfunction and deceit in my mind and in my heart. It’s what keeps me warm sometimes.
The image they leave behind is one of failure and worthlessness and it forces me to depend on them for my existence.”

When I journal like this, I go into a meditative state -- only partially aware of the words going on the page. I came "to" and was rather struck by what I wrote. It was really therapeutic to get these words, and the pictures I put out earlier out of my head. The next step was to make them public by putting them here. Once you send it out into the universe, you don't need it anymore. It's not a secret. "It" -- however you define "it" -- is just another step on the journey.

Art Therapy Number 3

2006-12-11T12:17:00.000-07:00

I am on a roll now -- While I was in this "art zone" -- this is what came out of my head next. I think the heart inside the heart is where I keep the stuff I want to hang on to, but don't need anymore.

Art Therapy #2

2006-12-11T11:45:00.000-07:00

Ok -- so in the next section of the book, this the conclusion to the story.

From the book: “And so, very slowly and carefully, you let go of the log and practice floating. When you start to sink, you grab back on. Then you let go of the log and practice treading water, and when you get tired, hold on once again. After awhile, you practice swimming around the log once, twice, ten times, twenty times, a hundred times, until you gain the strength and confidence you need to swim to shore. Only then do you completely let go of the log.”
I’m still treading water, I think. I know I haven’t swam to shore yet. The fear is like a giant anchor tied to my ankle. I’m not sure how to cut the tether.

Here’s what I’m shooting for though – planting my own flag on the shore –

Art Therapy #1

2006-12-11T11:26:00.000-07:00

I'm trying something different. Something a little voice inside my head has been trying to get me to do for years. I'm playing with water colors -- pencils to be exact and I love it.

In the fabulous book "Eating by the Light of the Moon" by Anita Johnston, ( http://www.DrAnitaJohnston.com ) the author gives a metaphor that I can’t get out of my head – I’ll paraphrase it for you:

I’m on the banks of a swollen river when the bank gives way – I’m tossed by the waves and being pulled by a force I cannot control. I’m drowning. A huge log comes by and I grab on – I hold on to save myself
Finally, exhausted, I float into an area where the water is calm. I could easily swim to shore, but I would have to let go of the log. I can’t. I’m afraid.
(from the book)“How ironic. The very thing that saved your life is now getting in the way of your getting where you want to go. There are people on the shore who see yhou struggle and yell, “let go of the log!’ But you are unable to do so because you have no confidence in your ability to make it to shore …”

With that in mind, this is what I drew in my new water color book with my cool new toys!

Stop the insanity

2006-11-25T19:00:00.000-07:00

At what point do we get mad? When do we as humans stand from the mountaintops and shout, "Who gives anybody the right to tell me what I should weigh, how I should dress, what I should eat? How dare you tell me I shouldn't be happy because I do not look like someone in an advertisement? How dare anyone draw me down into their own insecurities. You don't like the way you look and feel, fine. Take it up with your shrink. But don't bring the rest of us into your dysfunction. What if what I am is enough?"
My friend Mars has long had this figured out. She's always been comfortable with who she is -- and never seemed to believe anyone who would try to tell her differently. I have always admired her for this -- and wished I could be more like her, but thought it couldn't be for me.
I have this weird perfection thing. I'm assuming it's the result of something in my childhood. Maybe I thought I had to perfect to be loved. As an adult, I know intellectually that's not the case, but emotionally it's another matter.
I wonder if I think I deserve to be healthy and happy. I wonder if I get so much pleasure out of being a victim that I will never let down my guard and just be me. I know I have all these people in in my life that love me unconditionally -- the only one that doesn't, really, is me.
I am the one who always looks in the mirror and says, "I love you, but..." Now, if someone did that to my children I'd be furious, but somehow I allow myself to do it to me. What gives me the right to judge myself so critically? Who am I to know what's perfection and what is not?
When will I stop this insanity and just be comfortable in my skin -- celebrate me?

2006-11-15T22:22:00.000-07:00

Ok -- so I'm not doing so hot on the whole "write on the blog"every day thing. Some days I'm just too tired and sometimes I'm distracted. Oh well -- some consistency is better than none, I suppose.
In my efforts to learn balance and boundaries in my life, I tried scheduling my day. I sat down and wrote out everything I thought I should get done today. The first thing was get up at 5 (after going to bed at 11) and shower and clean out the car. I woke up at 6:30.
I still managed to get everything done, but no where near as gracefully as I'd hoped.
Next, I was going to work straight for two hours and in that time prepare 5-8 stories for publication, prepare for a meeting, check my e-mail -- oh and get a blood test done in the office wellness program. In reality, I checked my e-mail, laughed with my co workers, went the meeting only half prepared and tried to orient my temp on my job. Oh, and got the blood draw done and ate breakfast at the office.
Later I was going to run errands -- including getting groceries, installing my snow tires, and making a bank deposit.
I made the bank deposit.
Now, probably to any normal human in the world, I had a reasonable productive day. So why do I look at a day and try to figure out how to fill it with so many hours of over achievement no human could ever get it done -- and then wonder why I'm stressed out and miserable??
Why does it make sense to me? I schedule no time for joy and then feel guilty when I'm laughing with my co workers cause I should be focusing on work?
So tomorrow I'm just going to try to get one thing done -- an interview and preparation for a story due Friday. One thing. It could work.
I keep thinking that I could try to get some other things done. Well crap, I'll have to write my column since I forgot to write it tonight. But it won't take too long. And I'll need to set up another story. So maybe I'll get three things done.
This whole keep it simple thing is so complicated.

Seahawk Blue

2006-11-13T20:48:00.000-07:00

Taking inspiration from Mars and Sallyacious I think I'll try a to write a blog entry every day for one month.
We just got back from Seattle. We went to a Seahawk game. It was wonderful! I'd show you pictures but I didn't take any and my friend hasn't sent me any yet. We arrived in the Emerald City Thursday night and by Sunday I felt myself coming close to actually relaxing. I'm hoping I didn't overdo anything though. You know how sick I get. I woke up this morning and my eyes were gooped shut. Not a good sign.
So my counselor has talked me into taking a leave of absence away from work. I've told the paper I'm going to take six to eight weeks off. Exhaustion. Gawd I feel like a loser. I get myself into this spirals every other year and you would think I would have learned by now not to do it. My counselor thinks the combination of grief, exhaustion and marital problems is taking a toll. Go figure.
Anyway, I'll have to check with my counselor every day and I have a limit to what I can do. She thinks I'll stay too busy even if I'm not working. (Can you imagine?) I hate it that she's got me so figured out. Am I that obvious?
Oh! So back to the Seattle -- I had a great time with friends and the stadium was wonderful etc. But here's the wierd thing: I landed in Boise and I was sad. I may be tired and starting to come down with something, but you know what I think it was? I think I was mad at Clem and didn't know it until later. My bag was heavy and when I was pulling it up the stairs at my friend OJ's house, she ordered her fiance' Bob to help me with it and kept saying "Where's Clem?" It just never occurs to me to expect help from him -- especially these days when I'm taking a new "expect nothing" approach (it's one of a thousand of baby steps toward healing our marriage -- it makes me crazy, but everyone says it will work. Whatever.)But then as I'm towing my luggage toward our car, I thought, "Perhaps a real man pulls his wifes suitcase and she pulls his lighter bag." I'm certainly not helpless -- and lets face it, I'm probably stronger in some areas than Clem -- should I expect chivalry? Does it make me less independent and capable? It's so confusing to be a fabulous babe, hot mama queen of it all, liberal educated feminist who wants so much to be treated like a princess and spoiled rotten. The reality is I'd just love some common courtesy. Besides it sort of freaks me out when men do nice things for me. I'm not sure what it means.
So during this time off -- I'm supposed to learn how to better balance my time -- and include more health and fitness stuff 'cause I really do want to be healthy and fit -- as it makes me happy and this whole process about my happiness afterall. So I'm guessing I'll get to work out more without guilt -- for not being at work or at home or something else. Mars wants to do Bloomsday. I think that's good. I'm going to do it with her.
Then I'll feel purple instead of blue.

Remembering Joy

2006-11-05T20:48:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend in Moscow. I had forgotten how much I love it there. My friend Cyndi and I drove up to see our friend Sally in a play. She was, of course, fabulous.
The rolling wheat fields crested by evergreens welcomed me back. It has been seven years since I visited my college town.
As we drove around, I could physically feel the stress leaving my shoulders. I'm not sure what it is about the place -- but I've always felt at home there. Not sure why I actually left now.
It's an eight hour trip for me so had lots of time to think -- and talk with Cyndi. We're both dealing with grief -- trying to figure out how to cope with loss and heart break in our own way.
I've been trying to find time to do the things that bring me joy with limited success so far -- walking around Moscow -- even for a moment was a good start.
Sally does these cool artist trading card things -- So I think I'll do that. I need some breathing space -- as always, but more now than ever. I suck at balance -- I'm two months from 40 and you'd think I'd have figured it out -- but no -- still struggling up that path.
I've also been reminded lately of how much I enjoy being outside -- walking, breathing -- seeing.
I've set a goal of making a hike up Elbow Creek. It's a place I know little about -- it's outside Stanley and once you make it to the top, there's a pool and a view of the Sawtooths. My friend Cassidy told me about it -- and I've become obsessed.
I'll have to train for it -- so Cyndi is helping me devise a plan. I'm going to do it June 21. The Solstice. It seems right -- appropriate. Transition.
I'm going chronicle the training here I guess. Maybe it will make a great book.
I'm scared and the dark voices in my head keep telling me I can't do it. That I haven't given myself enough time to train -- that I'll never make the climb.
Fuck 'em. I'm going to do it. Who is joining me?

An Update

2006-08-31T21:53:00.000-07:00

So I had the "big talk" with Clem on the 20th. Told him I wanted a separation. He handled it much better than I expected. He agreed to go to counseling, which we started last week. He said he had no idea I was that unhappy. Geeze Clem I haven't worn my wedding ring since February.
He asked if I had a boyfriend. Oh yeah, in my spare time. He's still convinced that none of it is my fault. That is all about my depression -- I was depressed before and now I'm just more depressed. My mother just died you big dumb shit -- duh? If you'd even been a little in tune you'd get that. He told me last night I should have told him I needed more. What part of "My mother just died and you're supposed to take care of me as I was in no position to take care of myself did you just not understand?" God are you really that clueless?
I think it's going to take me a while to get over this --
Anywhoooo -- I noticed the most bizarre shift over the weekend. I had been on pins and needles trying to decide if I was leaving or not -- I had made arrangements to rent a house and everything -- but I was out in the yard and I just realized I wanted to stay in my house -- Not that I'm not ready to go at any time -- but I do love my house and my life so as long as things are progressing forward through counseling etc -- I'll hang in there. The reality trying to separate just before school is starting for the kids and just after my mother died was more than I could handle. I don't know if it's the Zoloft kicking in or what -- but my instincts are telling me to stay -- if only for a little while longer. I hope it's not a decision I will regret.
I keep thinking I'm due for a break down -- that it would be justified -- but the wierd thing is I haven't felt this strong in a long time -- How about that? Right in the middle of the biggest stressors in my life and I'm ok -- who would've thunk it??
I'm really, really, looking forward to going to New Jersey to see Dan the first weekend in Oct. I think Cyndi might go with me. It's ok if she doesn't -- but I'd feel a little better if she did cause it feels a little wierd to go vist a single guy when I'm married to his cousin -- especially when I think he's so darned special. But I've never been east and Dan and I have a cool connection and I'll get to see some of Clem's relatives that I really like -- AND SEE THE THE BLUE MAN GROUP IN NYC!!!!!
Yeah for me!
But I'm a little afraid to fly -cuz last time I flew I couldn't get the seatbelt on -- and that was the most humiliating thing in the whole entire world -- I just broke down and sobbed for a minute...I wanted to fall out over the Pacific Ocean -- I'm hoping United has bigger seat belts than Delta --
And I feel like such a bad mommy cause I scheduled a trip over Patti's birthday -- I was thinking I would be able to find a babysitter to help Clem that weekend because school is out Thursday and Friday -- but yesterday I realized it's her 6th birthday and since my kids only get BIG birthday parties every 3 years, this is sort of a big one. She says she's ok with celebrating a week early -- a trip to Chuck E Cheese makes thing seem a lot less yucky I guess.

For the record

2006-08-19T21:31:00.000-07:00

Just so you know, I did not give the eulogy exactly as written below -- I made it upbeat and positive -- left the ramblings here.
It feels rather strange to be at peace with her death -- I keep thinking I should have more issues -- but I don't. At least not now. Maybe they'll sneak up on my later. She's in a happy place. I miss her. Can't think of much else.
So I went on a picnic with my dad and step-mom today. My sisters think I'm a traitor. Dad and Maxine didn't come to Mom's funeral -- and Maxine was, apparently down right rude about it. I was mad. I yelled at my dad when I found out he wasn't coming. In fact, I yelled so much I actually felt compelled to call back and apologize later.
I don't know exactly what the issue is -- Maxine got all freaky at my wedding too. It's probably old garbage that has nothing to do with anything in reality. Just stupid crap. I was, and am, really disappointed. I would have thought they'd be there -- if nothing else, to support me as I gave my mom's eulogy. My sisters ex- husband showed up to support his kids -- and everyone hates him. My uncle showed up -- and my mom and he couldn't even be in the same room, but he came to support us -- even some of my strange cousins showed up and they never made any secret about not liking my mother -- but not my dad. He lead me to believe it was, in part, his choice. That it wouldn't be appropriate for him to come. Ok -- but how dumb is that? They've been divorced for 40 years ! -- Get over it. My step-mother said she couldn't understand why were making such a fuss over someone who just cost us money and caused trouble. She was worried my dad would end up paying for the funeral or something.
The thing is, my step-mom -- is well -- not that bright and not exactly the nuturing sort -- although she , on accassion, tries. I suspect she knows she screwed up and at some point will try to make ammends. In fact -- she tried to say something to me today.
But I'm most disappointed in my dad. I'd really like it if one man in my life would stand up for something he believes in -- and better yet, I'd like it if at least one of the two most significant adult men in my life would at least try to take care of me in my time of need. My husband and my father both baled out on me -- during one of the most significant stressors in my life.
What, do I have a target on my ass?
But, here's the thing. I'm mad, but being mad won't serve any purpose. It won't change anything. If I, like my sisters, stop talking to Dad and Maxine, exactly who gets punished? Dad? Does it matter? He'll likely not last too much longer -- so I'm thinking I should cherish the time I have left.
Yes, he made a choice that didn't suit my needs, but he has to live his life. Is this really worth ending a relationship? I think not.
Clem comes home tomorrow. I am planning on having the big "talk" with him. It will be tough, but I need to be in control right now. He has to learn not to be quite so selfish. I don't deserve the kind of treatment I've been getting and I can't get healthy if it continues.
I wish we could balance each other out better. He's too selfish and everyone keeps telling me I'm not selfish enough.
I'm feeling a little sorry for him though. His brothers moved into the "new" office (My old house) and all Clem had asked for is that they leave his workbench alone. But they didn't -- they moved it all out and left it outside for a week -- there's no sign of anything of Clems in the office -- except for his fish left on the wall. You know -- he didn't want an office, a phone or anything he just wanted his work bench -- And they didn't even move it because they need work space. They moved it to make room for his brother's antique collection. I went to get his stuff and store it over here, but his brother had wised up earlier and moved it into another building. Clem's in for a rough week -- but maybe he'll finally see who is there for him -- and who is not.

Reflections

2006-08-19T09:47:00.000-07:00

I saw her for just a moment today -- that old familiar face. It was lovely to see her again, looking back at me.
Me. My other self. She looked healthy and happy -- relaxed. I'd forgotten how nice it is to have her around.
But she didn't stay long -- I don't know why -- It wasn't intentional. First, I thought I'd just change clothes -- be a little cleaner in case I went to the store after the hike. But everytime I changed and -- let's face it -- judged myself a little harsher -- she faded -- until she was gone.
I just looked again and there's no sign of her.
It was funny -- I'd almost forgotten what she looked like. Younger -- alive -- a lot like my mother -- like in that great picture I have of Mom wearing a cowboy hat western shirt -- mugging for the camera with one of her friends. Face was a lot thinner -- gentle, kind -- with a wild spark in her eye -- nothing dangerous -- just a hint she'd be ready for anything.
But after a few minutes around the farm -- and a few minutes lost in thought about the future and then that other part of me was back.
Square face, dark circles -- haggered and beaten -- overwhelmed.
Maybe I'll go change clothes.

All in the family

2006-08-10T21:40:00.000-07:00

My brother wrote this tonight -- wow

The light glowed softly from across the darkened room, much like a candle in a sanctuary -- both welcoming and warming.
"Come, you are home," it seemed to say. And, in a trance like way, I did. The approachment, itself, warranted the slow and respectful march that accompanied these sort of occassions, but the joyfulness and the happiness of the one being approached called for something of a much more joyful nature.
"What do I do?" I wondered, "How do I show my respects for her in ways that I know she'd understand and respect herself, without insluting those that wouldn't?"
Why does it matter? Why does it even concern me? This occassion is for her, it has nothing to do with me or even my own existence. Granted, I will mourn for her, but I will not mourn forever. Instead, I will celebrate her life, both the good and the bad and that I will celebrate forever.
And so, I approached with a large and soul-felt tear in my eye that also seemed to accompany the moment.
I stepped into that aisle that said nothing else to me but, "I am the end. There is nothing beyond me but a box and some dirt."
And, then her voice said softly to me, "No, I am always here, and I always will be so long as you remember me."
And looking back in retrospect, I should have said, "Mom how could I ever forget?"

goodbye continued

2006-08-05T07:39:00.000-07:00

She died yesterday about 5:30. I had been warned it would come within a few hours. The call came 20 minutes later. My sister said it was peaceful and quiet and -- as much as we could ask.
This morning I find myself strangely calm -- though tired and a bit overwhelmed -- Strong enough to handle what comes at me this week --
My heart continues to break in my marriage. My husband has yet to offer me a hug -- show me any compassion. Maybe he just doesn't know what to do. Thank God for his cousin Dan -- here visiting from the east. He has offered a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on when I needed it -- cooked dinner and been very kind. I felt so bad last week, when I realized he would be here when she died. I haven't been able to be the tour guide I'd planned. I had so many things I wanted to do while he was here -- but very little of it will happen. I'm not sure what I would have done were Dan not here when the calls came in. It would have been very lonely indeed. Perhaps God had a plan afterall.

I find myself pretty impatient with people and things -- I have so much work to do around here - but I'm thinking I might be ahead to take the kids somewhere fun. I'm not sure where that would be at the moment -- Clem, his brothers and Dan are going to go play golf -- Maybe the kids and I will go to the fair in Jerome -- maybe we'll go to Glenns Ferry and do the craft project at the state park -- Who knows -- maybe anywhere is better than here.
So here's part two of the eulogy. You'll have to tell me what you think.
Eulogy cont --
My mother, as I hear tell, knew horses. I had always heard that she was the kind of woman who could tame a wild stallion. She always told us about growing up on the back of a horse -- riding around the family farm in Steam Boat Springs, Colorado –But according to my uncle Floyd, she didn’t start off on a horse – it was Buster the Billy Goat.
“She would ride that thing all over,” Floyd told me. “Buster would get lazy and wouldn’t want to go. Well, we only had one spur … we put it on her – Buster went sideways and she went the other direction.”
Her love of horses though – started early – Floyd says there are pictures of her in which she was so small – her feet just stick straight out.
Next to horses, my mom talked most often about music. Originally it was singing with Aunt Vera – later it was using her soprano to belt out more classic tunes. Most of us though remember the old hymns …
My dad said she bought a piano for $75 dollars at the music store in town – A man moved it out and unloaded it by himself using a board with two wheels in the middle. He sat it in the corner of the house and it wasn’t a week and she was just sitting there playing – “The notes and sounds were a natural talent,” Dad said. “She didn’t have to have lessons.
At night after they’d all gone to bed, she’d sit at the piano and sing – Old traditional hymns. Dad’s favorite was How great thou art. George Beverly Shay would sing it on the Billy Graham show – and mom would sit at the piano and play and sing it as well.
“It was beautiful,” Dad said. She made ol George Beverly Shaw sound like a chicken.”
For Don and I, she’s play and chord quietly every Sunday morning – it was our wake up call – we hated it originally – but both of us would give anything to hear those chords again now.
My mother was playful and silly – she could tease – when we were little it seemed she’d try anything – riding my bike – place baseball in the street with our friends – and my personal favorite – riding Gary’s skateboard.
But she was at her best when she was taking care of us – especially when we got old enough to really be taking care of ourselves.
When Marian was living in Denver – she got sick – really sick. Mom flew out bought her socks and fed her hot dogs.
Marian went to work the next day.
She was feisty – a force to be reckoned with when she needed to be – While she may have had an opinion or two about our choices – let anyone else question us and there would be hell to pay – she always believed in us – even when we were being self destructive – Maybe she was in a constant state of denial, but in her eyes we could do no wrong – even when doing wrong was exactly what we were doing.
My mother never made millions – even if she did she would have spent it all on obnoxious toys found at yard sales and given to the grand kids – she didn’t have some stellar career or hold a world record – But she accomplished what some people only yearn for – she gave us unconditional love.
I think Gary said it best – he told me she was what a grandmother should be.
He wrote: I loved her and I always felt as though she loved me. Throughout my life she has often been the first to praise me for my few accomplishments, and nearly always the last to scold during my numerous mistakes.
I am going to miss the "birthday" call. Gary said Since I joined the Coast Guard she has never missed calling me once. What more can you ask for as a grandchild, someone who loves you no matter what, with none of the parental responsibility-baggage, just positive support and undying belief in you; and by god someone who thinks your special enough to call you on your birthday even when your closer to be being a grandfather than a grandchild. She is my grandma, what else can I say."
And she’ll be missed.

Testing 1, 2, 3

2006-08-03T22:38:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here, faced with the daunting reality of writing my mother's eulogy. She's not quite dead yet, but I figure once the big event happens I'll be out of time.
I was secretly hoping my sister Robin would do this -- she's always more eloquent than I am. But, I think it's good it's me. I can handle this -- and it makes sense for my role in the family I suppose. I am the head drama queen.
So I'll test drive it here.
I had gotten to the unfortunate point of resenting my mother most of the time. She presented me with one more thing to do in my overscheduled life. She was demanding -- wanting attention on her schedule not mine. She refused to take care of herself -- take responsiblity for anything, including my existence on this earth and I was tired of it. I determined a year or so ago that this relationship would continue on my terms not hers -- as much as possible anyway.
I was most often convinced that she would make her self ill just to get attention -- to make sure we'd all come running -- and for the most part, her ploy worked.
My brother, Don, and I must have seemed rather callus when we checked her into the hospital the last time. We made sure she was safe and cared for, but left quickly.
"Ok, Mom, we'll see you later," I said.
"Did you guys have any questions?" the nurse asked as we left.
No -- we replied and we both rolled our eyes.
"You guys have gone through this before I take it," the nurse said.
Oh yeah -- once too often I guess. It was the last time I spoke to her -- that last time I saw her smile -- upright -- alive, really.
It occured to me when I got news of the stroke that I'd spent two hours alone in the car with my mother and we'd barely spoken ten words. I was tired, preocuppied -- and really, I had nothing to say. I had already told her pretty much everything I wanted to -- and anything else had fallen on her selectively deaf ears. Two hours in a car wasn't going to change or repair anything.
She was who she was. She did the best should could with what she had. She loved me -- loved all of us to the extent of her ability. That will always have to be enough.
My mother was not the kind of person -- in my lifetime anyway -- who lived in the "now" -- the grass was always greener some where else. Her vocabulary was peppered with ifs and shoulds haves. Just when you'd hand her everything she always said she wanted on a silver platter, she'd want something else -- Don and I spent thousands of weekends looking at new houses or cars -- things that would be ours "when" and" if".
Every so often though, she'd show up in reality -- and it is those times she seemed truly happy --She'd always told us she wanted to take a long vacation -- but my step father -- well he was just not that kind of guy. She kept saying when and if and then finally said -- we're going -- now.
Hiro stayed home, but she packed Don-Don and I up in that little silver Izuzu and we headed out.
We went to Vern and JoAnn Johnsons ranch in Mackay. It was -- and continues to be -- one of my most favorite places on the planet. Don and I had heard about the Johnsons -- but we'd never met them -- they were the stuff of Metzler family legend -- but I didn't know why until I was there.
Vern Johnson was probably the first cowboy I remember laying eyes on -- he was authentic -- I barley remember him -- his wind weathered skin dark under his cowboy hat -- Joan was beautiful and practical -- she always seemed to have bright lipstick on -- their dining room was covered with pictures of the whole family on horseback and stacked floor to ceiling with rodeo trophies and ribbons -- We stayed in the basement in a room that smelled of dust and old leather and it was wonderful.
My mother was relaxed -- for one of the first times I could remember -- we dined on milk fresh from the cow and mushrooms Joan had picked and that day and fried in butter. To this day, that meal goes down as one of best meals I have ever had. The Johnsons, much to my continued surprise put Don and I on horseback and sent us out into the sagebrush -- They gave Don the nice horse -- but -- they just sent us out -- us two city kids who were rather lucky to know which end to feed -- and Mom just smiled and waved as we wandered away -- she knew we'd be ok - if nothing else, she figured, the horses would take care of us.
My mother, as I hear tell, knew horses. I had always heard that she was the kind of woman who could tame a wild stallion. She always told us about growing up on the back of a horse -- riding around the family farm in Steam Boat Springs, Colorado --

to be continued
....

Mass of energy

2006-08-01T11:48:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here in my mothers hospital room listening to her snore -- the only audible reminder she's alive, breathing. I wish it would stop. It seems nuts to continue like this--I guess I don't understand how one part of the brain could be mush and the other still sending the signal to breath - to exist.
My brother and sisters hover over her. They stare longingly into her eyes and hold her hand. They brush her hair and fuss. I am not compelled to do so. This, to me is just a shell -- I just want it to be gone like her spirit. If I get close I must admit to caressing her cheek or running my fingers through her hair. I don't have anything left to say to her -- anything I would say she wouldn't get any more than she did when she was alive. She was a kind woman, compassionate even, but she often saw and heard only what she chose to accept -- the rest, was trivia.
On Tuesday, I went to Mass at St. Al's. It was the oddest thing. I was sitting there in the dark chapel. There was only one other person there. The stereotypical older Catholic woman. Long skirt, conservative blouse, caridgan sweater thrown over her shoulders, a large cruxifix around her next. Neat, clean and righteous.
Abruptly the priest threw open the door and flipped on the light.
"That was abrupt," I said aloud. She looked at me as though I were a space alien.
"He's running late," she said, rather snotty, I thought. "I better go over the readings."
Then in piled another stereotype. I mother in her 40s -- denim jumper, birkenstocks, medal around her neck, wild hair with more than a few grey strands shoved haphazardly in a bun on her head. She was trailed by seven kids, the youngest of which quickly prepared the altar.
I watched them with a bit of awe, spiced with amusement.
"Say hi to Jesus honey," the mother said to the youngest boy teaching him to genuflect.
After that, a 20 something man -- wearing a "choose life" t-shirt -- a clean cut boy with a wedding ring. He sang the loudest -- knew each ritual. Again amusement for me. Next someone in scrubs -- her pockets filled with prayer books -- though none so tattered as Catholic MOM, but on their way, I'm sure.
I said there trying to focus on the lackluster homily by a priest I instantly disliked.
Several minutes into the proceedings, the Governor.
Well I'll be darned -- the Governor. Didn't even know he was Catholic.
At the sign of peace each of those Catholic Kids walked over and greeted me -- ok now I was warming to the scene. Wouldn't mind raising a few of those.
Then the priest corrected the actions of a few -- kneeling when they should have stood -- genuflecting at the wrong moment.
My amusement was complete at this point -- I dislike the notion there is a right and wrong during the mass -- People need to act on how they feel -- not according to some ancient rule written by a guy in a dress -- who likely never tried to teach seven kids to sit still and follow a ritual or two.
I walked away and shook my head.
While I needed the eucharist that day and got what I needed -- the man had confirmed in one fell swoop everything my mother hated about Catholicism.
I suspect she was watching from her perch someone -- giving me that dreaded "I told you so" shake of her head and tapping the right foot. And wishing, perhaps, her body would catch up to her brain and fade away.

2006-07-30T22:54:00.000-07:00

My mother is dying. She had a stroke on Friday and is lying in a hospital bed in Boise in a coma and she is, for all intents and purposes, gone. We're just waiting for her body to catch on to the reality.
I'm numb. I sit here and look at all the chores that need done, but can't seem to focus on anything for too long. I want held, but that's not an option for me. I sometimes feel pretty productive, but then want to curl up into the fetal position and rock back and forth. Everyone tells me that's normal.
Great. For the first time in my life, I'm normal.
I'm fortunate in that I have made peace with my mom -- for the most part any way. She is (was) who she is. I understand her more now that I ever did before.
I'm tired, but can't or don't want to sleep.
I don't know what to do. Nothing feels right -- I was in the garden earlier. My brother was helping me get caught up on two months worth of weeding. The funny thing is, I came across a small herb patch I had given up on and not marked. I had assumed the seeds never grew.
But I was busily pulling weeds when I realized there was something more than that godforsaken wild geranium -- cilantro. A few minutes later, I found sage.
I guess that's what life is like though. Buried under all the weeds is sweetness -- something savory and exciting -- the little things you don't notice when you're so busy -- but you have to pull the weeds -- get rid of the crap first.
I guess its a good metaphor for my life right now -- must get rid of the crap.
Maybe I'll try to sleep --

not again, not again, not again.

2006-07-25T19:22:00.000-07:00

Well crap, shit, fuck, damn and everything.
I just binged -- ahhhh damn, damn, damn
I'm feeling tired and sorry for myself and I stuffed myself silly -- Gawd I wish I could think of a better way to cope with crap -- what do other people do? -- everything I can think of just feels destructive.
This sucks so very much.
What I do know is that I want to be held. Held by a big strong man who will just hold me without groping me. He will hold me and tell me I'm beautiful and that everything's going to be ok. He'll adore me and enjoy spending time with me. I'll be his best friend and he'll be mine.
Instead, I have my husband who will attempt to hold me, but will eventually grope me and then it becomes something sexual instead of something nuturing, kind.
I realize what you're thinking -- it's that psycho babble mumbo jumble -- "but Karma you have to love yourself first -- you have to be willing to hold yourself -- comfort yourself -- God can fill the void."
Whatever.
You know, I do realize, of course, I'm fabulous -- but you know a girl's got needs --- and I've had it waiting around for God or anybody else to take care of me because it's not gotten me very fucking far now has it?
Taking care of myself is a lonely and frustrating option -- it might work if I had a single solitary coping skill but I don't and I simply have no idea what to do when I feel like crap.
If I sleep, I feel like I'm lazy
If I read, I feel like I should be working
If I work outside, I feel like I should be inside and vice versa.
If I eat, well you have to eat to live so that's productive right.
Well not if you stuff yourself.
Holy crap -- why does that make sense to me when I'm in the middle of it and then I feel so crappy immediately after?
I would simply LOVE to go a day and not obsess about food.
Not have to worry if it were good or bad -- how many fat calories it contained if I am eating at the right time of day.
How would it be to just eat cause I'm hungry and stop when I'm full.
Simple and completely impossible at the same time.
There has got to be a better way to deal with reality.
If I write, I suppose that's good. But I'm sitting here thinking about how tired I am -- how stuffed I am and how much work needs to be done around the house and yard and how much I just want to curl up in bed.
Perhaps I should take some sort of medication.
Is that a cop out?

Quantum physics

2006-07-24T20:47:00.000-07:00

So if all time is happening -- can you influence your future? If you visualize your future in a certain way, can you make it happen?
It's all about choices right?
I visualize a future in which I don't obsess about every morsel I put in my mouth. I see a place where the men in my life stand up for what's right. Where I can have conversations with people that go beyond the surface -- that feed my intellect.
I visualize a space in which I have unconditional love -- from one man in my life other than my son -- I visualize a place where I would be willing to accept it.
My gawd do I send out signals to men that say," Let's just stay on the surface -- forget about a deep and spiritual connection -- where you can say what you think with out it being a threat -- where intimacy is not about sex, but about an unspoken connection.
Where the people that are supposed to be adults are adults -- where I am not responsible for taking care of everyone and the dog.
Where I fit in -- and not intimidate the hell out of everyone -- where I'm understood.

If not then, maybe now

2006-07-21T20:21:00.000-07:00

When I started this over a year ago -- I truly thought I'd have reached my weight loss goal by now --
If anything, I've lost ground rather than made progess -- at least if I pay attention to what the scale says.
I gave up the scale for Lent -- and only during my weak moments get back on -- they end being mere moments, but they take weeks to get over.
Why is it that women in our society are taught to judge themselves by numbers -- the 3 numbers on a scale or the size of a pair of pants? We are all so much more -- well most of us --
the women that really are only what the numbers are worth have depleated themselves into being nothing but digits really.
Feeling pain, rather than numbing it with food is rather overwhelming -- I've spent so many years of my life just trying to survive and now, when faced with the task of actually living instead of merely surviving -- well, wow -- it's so very hard.
That's the other thing -- our parents, intentional or not, teach us that our feelings are bad -- that we can't just feel things -- the pain, joy and truth of our existence.
How many of us were jumping for joy and told to "settle down" -- or sobbing over a loss and told to "get over it" -- my gawd -- how many times have I done this to my own children?
In the process of sorting out my life I seem to be having more sad days than good sometimes -- but now that I'm am allowing myself to feel the pain (or whatever) I'm aware of how much good there really is -- how many angels God has sent my way -- just when I think I can't be any more stupid or my situation can't get worse - there is an angel or a messenger or something -- someone to remind me that adversity is often an opportunity --some things happen for a reason --- you can't change other people --
So I had a revelation the other day -- I forced myself to go to the gym to meet with my trainer -- a bear of a man who has a take no prisoners approach -- I certainly have a love hate relationship with him.
He made me do these chest press things - at 50 pounds, which is a lot for me -- I made it through one set of 18 and hoped he'd let me stop. I told him I as having a bad day, afterall -- (aka "please, pity poor me) but he pushed for another set.
One-third of the way through my arms were on fire -- another third and I wanted to cry and give up -- but then a voice inside me said "Don't let them beat you, not at this, not at anything" -- I finshed that stupid set -- and I hurt, but I did it -- My trainer, Jeff, just looked at me and said "wow".
That thought has kept me going quite a bit the last day or two. I still can't seem to get control of what I'm putting in my mouth -- mostly because I get tired and frustrated.
But it occurs to me as I write this -- that not controlling what I eat, puts someone else in control of my life. Being fat just allows him to feel controlling an superior to me.
Ha -- he doesn't deserve that.
My arms -- and my heart -- for that matter -- hurt like hell -- but it's nothing I can't handle now.

my return

2006-03-30T23:25:00.000-07:00

When I started this nearly a year ago, I truly believed I would find myself 100 pounds thinner on this date. I remember feeling so empowered, so motivated, so ... on fire.
But, as the saying goes, that was then, this is now.
I've not lost an ounce -- and in fact, have gain about 10 pounds. You know what? -- I'm ok.
I have finally started getting a grip of the fact that my worth shouldn't be judged by 3 numbers on a scale. I'm more than that. Yes, I need to get healthy. But no, I'm not a complete failure because I don't fit into society's norm.
Eating is only a way to avoid what's really bothering me. It is a way to fill a void. But I'm slowly, but surely, finding other ways to fill the darkness. I struggle every second of every day, but I move forward most of the time.
I have been reading an incredible book, "Eating by the Light of the Moon" -- and so far its communicating all of the thoughts that have been running through my head the last few months.
That the fat has served it's purpose, but I'm done with it now. I have to lose the weight equal to another person. At first I was overwhelmed at the prospect, but you know, I'm ready to let her go. She's been wonderful for me. I have hid behind her and tried to find a way to combat the rollercoaster of emotion I've been on for the last 10 years. She's allowed me to survive. Slowly, ounce by ounce I'm ready to let her go. Thank you so much dear friend -- serve another woman in need.
I've also been thinking a lot of about water -- the symbolism of a river. For years I have been just floating with a current -- just trying to survive. It's time now to stake my claim to land that is mine. I can choose where I want to go and when -- and those choices are good and intelligent and only mine. In the book, the author describes a metaphor in which the addiction is like a log you hang on to keep from drowning. In reality all you have to do is swim to shore, but you've become so reliant on the log it's hard to let go. When you get scared you grab onto the log again. Each time, you get closer to the shore -- appreciating the log for its purpose, struggling to focus on the journey. But it's all there in front of you.
I'm going to be ok - better perhaps, than I've ever been.

My God, this hurts

2005-10-18T16:48:00.000-07:00

There is nothing worse than being lonely in a crowd. Here I am, with three kids, a husband, a job and a wide variety of friends and I feel as though I either repel or intimidate everyone is my life.
I feel panic and fear -- and know at my core I must fall on my knees and surrendar to God.
I don't want to do it alone, and the one person I would trust is unavailable. I know God does not give you more than you can handle, but I have to wonder what the plan is here. I guess that the issue, isn't it? Just trust and follow -- my inability to do so has me in this mess.
I find that I don't know who I am anymore. My friends, so sweet, tell me daily all the good they see and yet, I cannot believe them.
My shrink says that I am a child of God. What does that mean, really?

forgiveness

2005-06-13T13:05:00.000-07:00

fatandthen

The next goal I suppose is forgiveness
I keep hanging onto this anger
It serves its purpose of justifying
the hatred and temptation
I suppose
I keep thinking if I forgive
It makes the action okay
and they are not
Lies are lies
I cannot continue living in this darkness however
and I can feel tickles of light shining through
This journey is exhausting
and yet, so appealing
the hatred and anger
just weighing me down
keeping me from the truth and freedom
that I seek
Forgivenss would lighten my burden
but I cling to the load
hoping someone will do the heavy lifting for me
but is my journey and no one elses
So foregiveness must come before I reach this summit...

universe

2005-06-13T12:58:00.000-07:00

fatandthen

I wrote this for some friends who got married over the weekend -- thought I'd share it with you

There is this universe
that writers cannot describe
and artists cannot capture
But I see it in your eyes
and I feel it in your touch
and when I am within you
This universe and I are
one ...

Progress

2005-06-09T08:36:00.000-07:00

fatandthen
For the first time in my life, I think, I am feeling my own feelings
My own pain
For years, I have absorbed what other people felt or thought
or what others told me I should feel or think
Now, it's mine
I was not prepared for the depth of pain
Surrounding one person, maybe two
This healing process through my addiction is far more complicated than I even imagined
It is a rich journey
for which I am grateful, certainly
I would not turn back now
I have not binged in days
I have caught myself and turned away
For the first time in a long time
I have felt the sensation of being full
and not needing more
I have turned away food and not felt deprived
It is a victorious emotion
Unsteady, yes
But it feels so amazing to be driving my own car
To feel and touch things of my choosing
I have to admit to feeling confused, sometimes
Unable to decide for myself what to do with emotions I cannot control
Craving for someone to tell me what to do with the hurt and anger and fear
But then trusting that the answers are before me
If only I am willing to watch the road...

Anger

2005-06-07T21:29:00.000-07:00

You lied
You did something wrong
You were ashamed
So you lied
Until you were forced into a corner and had to tell me
Family secrets suck
I have given up and lost so much
Things and people I'll never get back
All because you lied
You couldn't keep your legs together
You committed the sin
But I paid the price
You couldn't take resposibility
But I am held accountable
I pity you
I pray for you
But I am done caring for you

Taking Charge

2005-05-30T20:25:00.000-07:00

I'm so tired of fighting. Tired of being in control. Of taking care of myself and 1000 other people and things and no one seeming to take care of me.
Today he sat in the house and did nothing. Everything is my responsibility and the ugly truth is I set up that precedent. All he had to do is say, "I know she's busy so I'll go get milk." That's simple right. Instead, while I'm busy at the other house trying to get something done, he calls and says our son is hungry and when am I going to get milk. AHHHHHHHH.
I feel like I have no choice but to live like a single person with a wedding ring. Create my own life here using his resources. I have already checked out emotionally. Someday soon I'll complete the move.
Hurting today,
fatandthen

Shame

2005-05-29T21:25:00.000-07:00

These are just thoughts I'm dealing with ....

Shame

Dear God,
I have for you a gift.
It is not mine, but I have carried it for most of my life.
It was hers, you see, and I have taken good care of it for her.
Not because she asked me, you know, but because I thought it was my job.
It forms the rolls of my belly
The round of my thigh
It has been shelter
My excuse
My umbrella
I have hidden behind it and used it as armor
But it has left my empty, tired, and void of compassion.
I have cried too many tears I found myself fetal-esque on the floor
All because I have this gift that needs to go to you
I have continued to carry it with me not wanting to feel the Son’s rays on my heart
Too afraid to put it’s protection down
But I’m done now, Lord
I do not need it. It is yours.