So, how did you do it?

"So, how did you do it?"

How many times have I been asked that?  How many times have you been asked that?  Everyone wants to know how I dropped 40 (60 unofficially) pounds.  They want to know my secret.  They want to know the easy answer.  They want to find the magic formula.

I know this because I wanted to know all those things too.

But the answers are far from easy and no one has the time or inclination to hear the truth.

I didn't do this by watching my calories.  I didn't do this because the "rapid weightloss" program works so well.  I didn't do this by jogging a minuscule amount three times a week.  There was no magic

I have gotten to this point in my journey because I was willing to find the real reasons for my bad health.  I was willing to look in the very dark rooms inside.  I was willing to explore the reasons why I equated food with emotions.  I was willing to stand up to myself and call myself a liar.  I was willing to  expect demand honesty from myself.  I was willing to be scared.  I was willing to feel the pain.

And I was willing to stand before myself and understand, to forgive and to accept.

-----O-----

About a 2 years ago, before I gained all my weight back, an acquaintance had asked me that tired question.  He's got about half a foot and probably 50 pounds on me.  He smokes.  He doesn't exercise.  He wanted to know how I did it.  I told him the about the program and the Couch to 5K training I followed.  He said I inspired him. He got excited and vowed that he was going to start because he "had to do something."

I looked him in the eyes and said, "No. You won't."

The look of pain and disappointment and fear in his eyes that day disturbed me, and does so to this day.

He said that he was going to prove me wrong.  I said I hope he does.  I said you need to be ready to fix what's inside.  And I said that I was sorry, but I didn't think he was ready.

He wasn't.  He still smokes.  He still is large.  He didn't prove me wrong.  I knew he wasn't ready to do the real work.  He wanted the quick fix.  Like we all do.

But that day I just could not be dishonest with him.

Did I do wrong? Did I set him up for failure by telling him, essentially, that I didn't believe in him? 

But, here's the thing.

I am no better than him.

I crashed and burned inside.  After that encounter, I went on to gain back 50 pounds and slap another 20 on top of it.   I stopped being willing to do all that work I praised myself for doing just a few minutes ago in the paragraphs above.

I looked myself in the eyes and said "No. You won't" and I accepted that.

-----O-----

I am convinced that food didn't make me fat.  It was my 40 years of self loathing and a unwillingness to explore the depths of my being that did.  It was a lifetime of avoiding the pain inherent in life.  It was the fact that I was trying to feed what was going on inside with stuff from the outside.  It was because I was scared.

Nothing worked until I tended to that garden inside.

I don't know if this is the answer is right for you.  I don't want to inspire you.  You MUST find inspiration within yourself.  Nothing else works.

But that is how I did it.  And that's how I do it.  And it's how I'll keep doing it.

And that's what I'll tell the next person who asks.

Killing Monsters

I've been just on either side of 300 now for the past 6 weeks or so. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't get me down.  It's like I hit a plateau and can't quite find my way back down. Or more like the harder I try to find my way down, the more I eat to punish myself for failing.  We emotional eaters really have strange relationships to food don't we?

And, of course, I'm dealing with my own inner demons, though these days are much better than that recent post.  You know which one.  I'm not going to revisit it.  It kinda scares me.  Anyway.

This morning I remembered something.  Many years ago, I dealt with unwanted thoughts. Not voices, and not intrusive thoughts or thoughts of harming myself or others.  Just think of it as OCD of the mind.  Or think of it as ruminating and obsessing on emotional thought triggers.

I named it my Monster and worked so hard at killing it.  I was seeing a therapist at that time too, and we tried several cognitive strategies to deal with it. I journaled.  I talked about it in therapy.  I tried teflon mind letting those thoughts enter and slip off like an egg on a brand new non stick skillet.  I tried screaming STOP! in my head and turn my attention to other thoughts.  To no avail.

After about a year, I was finally fed up and said to myself that killing it only fed it, only brought it attention.  Berating myself over not being able to kill it made it laugh and grow stronger.

So I stopped trying to kill it.  I walked away and stopped trying to find ways to kill it.  And I woke up one morning, about three weeks later, and I noticed it was dead.

Now here I am, struggling with weight loss again.  I know I've done it before, so why can't I do it now?  It seemed so easy the first time.  All I think about is food and how I'm going to be good today and wonder at which point of the day I'm going to fail and by golly I can make it well into the evening but then the fear of failure is so strong that I eat that bread or bowl of cereal or box of granola bars or leftover spaghetti that the family got to eat but I didn't cause I'm on this stupid diet and can't eat what they eat and goddamit I'm fed up with it and eat it all because the fear of doing so...

is finally released...

once I let myself do it. 

I have a new monster.  And I only realized it this morning.  I realized I can't kill it.  And I realize that's what I've been doing for oh so long.

Tonight, I'm going to try walking away from it and down the slope of this plateau.

And if I can't, so what.  I'll still be just on either side of 300.  Nothing will change except a new day of opportunity will begin tomorrow.

Giving Up Hope (in order to gain even more)

I've come across a quote quite a lot over the last year.  It varies in its composition and who it's attributed to, but the essence is always the same:

Forgiveness means giving up all hope for a different past.

I like it.

It's simple to imagine but so difficult to live by.  But really, I don't think it goes far enough. There is a lot that means giving up all hope for a different past.

Living in the present means giving up all hope for a different past.

Moving forward means giving up all hope for a different past.

Accepting the past means giving up all hope for a different past.

Loving myself means giving up all hope for a different past.

Letting go means finally giving up all hope for a different past.

It is so difficult to let go of ancient hurts and aging anger.  Somehow if one does, one gets the feeling that one is letting the other off the hook.  Even if the one and the other are the same person.   Especially if the one and the other are the same person.

I'm finding it easier, though, as I continue this journey, to find ways to practice this.  While my last post may not be the best example, the truth is that once I wrote it out, I let it go.  Christmas 2011 is in the past and I cannot possibly hope that I will do anything different.I know the past/present/future tenses can get rather convoluted. But as I sit here contemplating not just last weekend but the whole of 2011, I can't think of anything so infused with such simple truth. 

I don't think much of New Years Resolutions, so here is my resolve to accept my past:

With all my faults, 
with all my health problems, with my weight and fat, 

with my weakness, with my failures, 
with all that works to hold me back...
to finally accept all of this as part of myself
and to forgive
and to let go
and to live in the now
and to move forward
and to love myself

means giving up all hope for a different past.

In this way, I do indeed give up.

And giving up hope for the past allows me to hope for the present

and the future.

Happy New Year everyone. 

Let's all let go of the old year, m'kay?

Choosing Reflections

I stand before the mirror and I
See my large belly. I
See my flabby neck. I
See the sadness in my eyes. I
See the fat hanging from my
Frame, from my
Thighs.

I see my
Legs unable to run under
The weight and strain.  I see
My back full of aches, unable
To bend without pain. I see
My arms, with hanging skin underneath. I see my shoulders, slumped and broken
By life's burdens.

I see my face full of
Weakness.
Failure.
Shame.

I see all that I hate
About myself.

I stand before the mirror and I

See legs that hold me

Up like steel pillars. I 

See a back, strong

And proud.  I see

Arms with the strength

To work, the gentleness

To hug my daughters and to

Hold my wife when she is sad.

Or scared.

I see my shoulders, steady

And broad, ready to carry

The weight of life's burdens

for me. And for my family.

And I see my belly

As it wobbles and jiggles

And wiggles and bobbles

When I laugh after wrestling my

Son to the floor, both of us doubled

Over in our glee.

I see my face, proud and secure

In knowing my true worth.

And I look into my eyes, and I

See kindness. I 

See forgiveness. I

See intelligence.

I see Myself.

Little Pinpricks

So, Thanksgiving rolls around.  I threw caution to the wind and ate what I wanted…for the noon meal.  Which is exactly as I planned.  Otherwise, I snacked a bit (and I really mean just a bit) on Aunt Katie’s party mix but stuck to the plan to eat when I was hungry.  And I wasn’t hungry again until about 9 that night.  So I had some popcorn.  And that was it.

I am amazed at how food did not control me yesterday.  Then I turn it around and am amazed that I controlled food.

Not that the day wasn’t without it’s bumps.  I’ve often said on this blog that I have had very little experience in the way of receiving insults or judgments based on my weight.  I had forgotten the little comments family makes and passes them off as jokes.

I had started writing a paragraph of what happened and then realized I didn’t really want to go there.  I was going to describe a cousin who made a rude comment and laughed.  It made me mad.  It hurt.  It was on my mind all evening.  For those of you who read my twitter feed, you may have caught it.  But I started introducing my cousin to you as a loathsome ne’er do well who had no station in life to judge me.  What I found as I wrote is that I pity him.  He has had a very hard knock life.  He knows that he’s not successful like most of the cousins are.  He’s had the stack against him from day one as he has a birth defect that I’m sure he’s taken a lot of teasing about.  Maybe even from me when we were kids, I don’t remember.  Teasing may be his only way of trying to fit in; the only way to feel like he has one up on me.

I just don’t have it in me to tear into my cousin in my blog where he will never read it and never be able to defend himself.

So I go on in a more general sense.

As I said, I’ve been lucky that I’ve not experienced a lot of bigotry for my size.  But from my experience yesterday, it is clear that my skin is thin when those little jokes are made “all in good fun”.  I’ve not had the big insults like being called a fat pig from a car of laughing teenagers or some of the other horror stories I’ve read in other blogs.  But the little pinpricks I thought I was ignoring hurt just as much.

Especially when they come from family.  

But even more so when they come from myself. 

I get mad at those little comments.  “You sure you want to eat that?” “Don’t let Kevin near the [insert name of food here] or there won’t be any left.”  “I can’t get my arms around you to hug you.” “If I keep going like I am, I’ll be as big as you.”

(Now that I think about it, I haven’t been lucky at all…except with strangers.)

Thing is, there’s not one of those little jokes (and many others) that I haven’t made to myself.  If their comments won’t shame me into a healthier lifestyle, what makes me think saying the same thing to myself will be any more helpful?

I’ve decided I’m not going to take those little jokes anymore.  A simple “I find that rude. Please don’t make light of what I am.  It is hurtful to who I am” should suffice.  When I make the little comments to myself that is.

Everyone else is getting the finger.

Turning Corners and Looking Back

Way back in September ’10, I had written a post that could arguably be my rock bottom.  We were about two months into my wife’s illness and life was just grinding me down and crushing my spirit.  I had happened across a blog by Jack Sh*t and, instead of immediately inspiring me, his blog…well…in many ways his blog took away what little wind that was left in my sails.  That post was probably the first, honest assessment of myself.  I remember the words crawling through my chest and down the underside of my arms, ripping themselves free and falling into the keyboard.  It was a painful post.

Jack picked up on it, to my surprise, and left a very encouraging comment.  He even went so far as to make our exchange a post of his own, for which I will always be grateful.  Suddenly I had so many readers—so many people visiting the stable.  I wasn’t really sure what to do with all the encouragement.

So I kept writing, making TJC something into my own personal journey rather than the exercise blog I had envisioned (where weight loss was a minor subject).  I’ve mostly shared, I think, the emotional side of my struggle which is at the heart of my growth.  Not everyone who came over from Jack’s blog stayed.  And that’s ok.  I have been quite content with the readership I have found.  And I’ve said it before, to those who have walked with me down this path for the long haul, and for the recent readers I seem to have picked up along the way, thank you.

I ran across that post while reviewing my blog and it got me thinking about where I had been and where I've gone.  

I’m back, in a significant way. Well, significant to me at least.  I’ve spent the last two weeks catching up on several blogs including Jack’s and many others who I used to follow until my depression had really taken hold and left me apathetic (It’s true.  I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to follow several of my fellow bloggers) I’ve found a few new ones too.  And I am getting inspired. And excited. Yet, I’ve also noted with some sadness that some authors have closed up shop.  

In that post, I said I wouldn’t know what I’d send to Jack for his W.I.D.T.H. program.  I think I know now.  I just recently came to this conclusion.  Since learning of my wife’s recent diagnosis, I thought it would be because of my realization that if I don’t get healthy, my kids have a slight chance of not having parents in 10-15 years.  But, as true as that insight is, it isn't the answer I finally discovered.

The real reason Why I Do This Here is much simpler than that.  And it’s something I’ve said for a long time but didn’t realize how important it had become: 

Why I Do This Here: Because I have to take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else.

Last Saturday I wrote that I feel like I’m going to turn the corner sometime soon.  I realize now that I’ve turned that corner a long time ago.

Two options

First of all, thanks to everyone. The last year has been awful and many of you have stuck with me.  Things are turning around, finally.  Wife continues to enjoy her job, the new medication has lifted the fog in my own life and life itself seems to be cooperating more.

Now, with the improvement of my situation comes a renewed effort to get back on track with the weightloss and healthy lifestyle.  These last three weeks have resulted in the removal of 2 pounds from my ample frame.  And here are my two options: either give up because the rewards are not coming fast and furious enough or savor my two pound gain (yes, gain....think about it...it just struck me too...gonna hafta explore that later) as the hard fought beginning of something wonderful.

I know which option is better for me, but I have a feeling if I don't acknowledge the former, the latter will be even more difficult to choose.

Delicous Cores

So there's this blog post by Joy Tanksley called How to get what you really want that I read.  It was suggested by my friend Karen C. L. Anderson at Before and After in a link she posted to Facebook about a month ago.  Before I go any further, if you haven't visited either of these fine bloggers, do so.  I don't follow Joy as consistently as I do Karen, but both are thought provoking and inspiring authors worthy of your time. (and if the links aren't underlined, run your cursor over this paragraph to find them.  I don't know why the underlines don't show up half the time.)

So anyway, Joy wrote this article.  The upshot is to find what I really want through an exercise of asking why.  For example, I want to lose weight.  Why? Because I want to be healthy. Why? And so on and so on.  Eventually I should get to the heart of my desire, what Joy calls the delicious core.  It's a good exercise that I've done in various forms over the years.  The problem is I always get stuck on the shoulds.

When I start the exercise, I begin with "I want to lose weight."  Why? "Because I should." Why? "Because I should." Well....why? "Because I should."

See the problem?

I should want to be thinner, to be healthier, but I have no reason for why I should.  And "should" isn't enough.

So.  What do I want? I want to wear regular sized clothes.  I want to be able to bend over without losing my breath.  I want to run. I want to look in the mirror and feel good about myself.  I want to be free of food's icy grip.  I want to let food go.  I want to stop feeling shame about every bite that goes in to my mouth.  I want feet that don't hurt. I want knees that don't ache. I want to be happy.

...and there it is. My delicious core.

I may not get there by asking why.  But I know that is my answer.  When I ask myself why I want to be happy, the answer isn't "because I should." The answer is because that is what I want.

The exercise would have me go on to find ways that I could experience my delicious core.  But I have no idea how to be happy.  Oh I know how to fake it.  But is happiness something you can create? For 41 years, those times I experience happiness is because, for that moment in time, I'm happy.  It just happens.  Either I am or I'm not.  And, mostly, I'm not.

How does one create happiness?

I think that a lot of answers I'm seeking for the many things in my life and the many things I blog about are in the answer to that question.

So tired.

Me

Do I really want to lose this weight? Do I really want to be healthy; do the work it takes to be healthy? I'm been hemming and hawing, coming up with some striking insight, learning about my triggers, my fragile self image.  And I've been sharing it, here, online, for the world to see.

But, that is only an illusion of transparency.  I share what I want.  I reveal what is safe.  I write words that offer a shell of understanding.  Do I really believe whatever the hell it is I am saying?

Here's where I stand right now.

I am so large that even a Super Walmart did not have clothes to fit.  Despite changing my tone of The Jogging Clydesdale from a runner's blog to an introspective journal of weightloss nearly a year ago, I am at my heaviest and my largest. Ever.

And that's the truth.

I have a wife recovering from a serious health issue; one that prevents her even now from a completely normal life and the possibility of employment. I have children to care for.  I have bills to pay.  I have a job to perform.  I have issues of my own to deal with.  I am stressed beyond anything I ever imagined I could go.  And I eat to deal with stress.

I have a history with food as a great comforter, as a conveyance of love, as a link to a childhood.  And I eat to remember those time I felt loved.

I have discovered that there is some part of me that fears never having food again.  I don't know where that comes from.  I cannot remember a time when food was scarce; either in my parent's home or in my adult life.  I don't understand this one.  And yet, I eat to make sure I'll have enough.


I have bad habits.  I don't know where they all come from.  I know Sundays were always popcorn days.  Mom rarely left a gas station without a candy bar for us.  I have triggers simply because it's what I've always done.  I eat because it's what I do.

I eat when I'm bored.

I eat when I want to celebrate.

I eat when my stomach is upset and I think a little something will settle it down.  A box of granola bars is a little something, apparently.


I don't like myself.  I don't love myself.  I have grown a lot in this area and have taken great strides toward acceptance.  But I'm not there yet.  And I eat because I believe all the things I tell myself: you are weak. you are ugly.  you have no control. go on, feed your fat fucking face, you deserve no better.  I eat because I hate myself.

I eat not because it nourishes my body, but because food has meaning.  Food has emotions.  Food has histories. Food is a weapon and a reward.

And here's the thing.  I'm dying.  I am one glucose tolerance test away from diabetes.  The way I carry my fat on my belly and apron shows that I am statistically higher risk for a heart attack.  I am afraid of learning that my high blood pressure is back.  I am in very poor health.  I should care about this.  This should scare the hell out of me and prompt me to do something about it.  But the immediate reward of a binge has more immediate meaning than a long, hard path to recover that health does.

I am tired of this.  So tired.  I am tired of hitting this bottom time after time after time.

I don't know what I'm going to do this time, but something has to change.

I am too important to give up.

It's Official

It's Official.

I am too fat for Wal-Mart.

NOTHING in my size.

Shit.

Progress

Today I threw away half my fries.  And I refrained from picking up the glob of tuna salad that fell out of my sammich and eating that too.

Is this what progress looks like?

Discoveries

It started with a memory.

I had been thinking about food and my odd relationship with it and I remembered a friend’s 30th birthday party. They had shish kabob gyro meat done up on the grill and all sorts of things to make Greek goodness.

And soon, as people were done eating, I got nervous.

You see, there was still meat on the buffet table. Delicious gryo meat! I couldn’t stand it. There was meat and no one was going to eat it. Presumably my friend would have put it in a container and kept it as leftovers, but she wasn’t doing it. She left it out there! And no one was eating it! The compulsion to eat it was overwhelming. I tried to be sneaky about it. I tried to hide the fact I was snacking long after everyone else had stopped eating. To this day I don’t know if anyone noticed, but the memory of that shame has not left me after 9 years. I ate about a 1/3 pound of meat that I wasn’t hungry for….simply because no one else was going to and I couldn’t stand it being there. Perhaps a third pound isn’t excessive, but the thoughts accompanying were.

Does this make a lick of goddam sense?

That memory lead to other thoughts. Roast beef, gravy and mashed potatoes. OMG. Whenever we have this, I pig out. And the thought in my head is “who knows when you’re gonna have this again? Better get it while you can.” Pig out city. Same thing with what my family calls goulash (most people would call it chili mac without the chili seasoning). I go ape shit for this stuff and eat bowl after bowl with the same thoughts “Better get it while you can.” Same with tuna & noodles. Same with chop suey. Same with popcorn. Same with macaroni and cheese (homemade with Velveeta, not that boxed stuff).

It’s insanity is what it is.

It is a compulsion from my unconscious mind. These foods are my comfort foods. They are the foods we had growing up. We had at least one of those dishes every week (well, not the roast beef, but since we raised steers it was often enough). I’m sure there some emotional attachment there that I’m going to have to explore someday. And all this brought to mind many other things. Mom couldn’t leave a gas station without a candy bar, and one for each of us boys. There was always an after school snack (sometimes healthy, sometimes not). There was nearly always a bedtime snack. Then there were the things that were scarce: Pop was only on hand if we were sick or having pizza. We didn’t have pizza very often. Chips were only served if we were having burgers and dogs. There is still a part of my mind that considers these things treats and rarely enjoyed despite the fact that I have them all the friggen’ time now.

“Better get it while you can.”

It has never been so clear to me that any health gain for me will not happen until I address this emotional attachment to food. Habits, fears of scarcities, attachments to childhood memories. These things I hadn’t figured on. Here I thought emotional eating meant only to eat as a way to deal with stress and hurt. It goes much deeper than that.

I am grateful for these discoveries.

A friend on Facebook posted a quote from Regina Brett in God Never Blinks:

"Forgiveness is giving up all hope of a better past. At first that sounds harsh, but once you let go of what you wanted the past to be, you can start changing the present and create a better future.”

I don’t know what her book is about or what context this quote comes out of, but boy oh boy it is powerful. Forgiveness is giving up all hope of a better past. Forgiveness of myself is giving up all hope that I won’t eat that gyro meat 9 years ago. It means giving up all hope that I’ll be able to restrain my compulsions of the past. It means giving up all hope that my mother will be a better example to the child within me when it comes to diet. It means to come to the final, inescapable conclusion that the past is set in stone. The hurts inflicted by myself and by others will not be erased and no hope in the world can change what has happened.

The present, however, can be changed. And that is more power than I've ever had before.

I have a lot of work to do.

Something positive, something negative

Image provided by FreeFoto.com

I am really struggling with this post.  I want to share a nascent change I've noticed in the last month.  I just don't know how to do it without giving a lot of backstory.  There's just so much to tell.  I'll try to keep it simple.


I recently shared about a financial situation that blindsided us.  Indeed, what I shared was rather negative.  And I can't stand here and tell you I faced that situation with complete happy optimism.  But I worked hard to keep a positive perspective.

Instead of thinking, "my god I have to put this on a cc and woe is me forever", I turned it to "thank god my credit limit is high enough that I can make this gap stop measure and get some breathing room before the next decision."  Instead of focusing on "there is nothing to be done, there is no help for us," I found myself open to the overtures of two CPAs who attend our church willing to sit down and go through our options.  And instead of thinking "I can't sit with them...then they'll know how ignorant I am when it comes to money," I thought "they are the experts; I can learn something here."


It wasn't easy, but I remained open to the chance that positive things could happen for us.  Indeed, I kept telling myself that positive things would happen to us even though I didn't always fully believe it.  Things turned out...ok.  None of the options available to us for absorbing this debt were any better than the cc.  Indeed, the current rate on this card is actually the lowest available to us, so the accountant friends gave it their blessing to keep it there until something else changes in our situation.

And now, on to the rest of the post....

Perhaps it is as simple as this: what you tell yourself to expect, that is what you find.  In everything. In your flaws, in your relationships, in your job, in your faith, in your finances.  Everything.  That is the power of Affirmations.  Whether that affirmation is positive or negative, it will have a profound effect on your responses to everything you encounter in life.

And that is the change I have found in myself.  I am floored how easily I calmed down after the initial shock.  I am shocked at how pervasive this new attitude is.  I do have a long way to go.  I have taken great strides in affirming myself as the great guy I knew I could be.  I have gone a long way to accepting that life will be painful, but positive opportunities will present themselves if I'm looking for them.

There is one place I still struggle with, though.  I hate my body.  I loathe it.  Right now my belly is so large and I feel so bloated.  I can't bend over to tie my shoes without holding my breath.  I struggle to get out of the sofa. I can feel the constraints of my clothing all day long.  I can accept my inner self so much easier than my physical self. I find myself thinking that maybe if I trick myself with faking positive affirmation thing as it concerns my body and it will respond even though deep down I hate it.  But it's not going to work.  As long as I affirm that I hate my physical self, my mental self will continue to abuse it and treat it as if were truly unworthy.

I love my fat self in as much as I have compassion for how I got this way--that I have used food to protect and soothe my emotions and that I am not a failure...but that is as far as I can get.  The flesh is much harder to love than the hurting person inside the flesh.

I have come a long way, my friends; but I have so much farther to go.  Thank you all for coming this far.

More letters from a madman

Dear Fat Me,

Yeah, it’s taken some time.  I’ve had to do a lot of thinking. A lot of searching.  And a lot of learning.  I know I have so much more to learn but I know you are my friend and will walk the journey with me.

Yes, I love you.

Yours,

Thin Me

Dear Thin Me,

We don’t have to hug or anything, do we?  That would be awkward.

Sincerely,

Fat Me

Dear Fat Me,
 

:^)

-TM

What I want. Who I am.

This photo was taken after dropping 60 pounds in my "rapid weight loss" program at the hospital.  I went on to drop another 15 pounds before life intervened.

Last Saturday, I did something that rocked my world.  I replaced the batteries in our scales.  I learned that I had gained 15 pounds over my starting point for the "rapid weight loss" program.

I had to use all of my newly acquired skills to stop from falling into a shame cycle.  I had to live in that moment and accept that I am at this point in my life a large man again.  The past is gone, the future is yet to be.  All I have, all we have, is the right here, right now.

I focused on the memory of this photo.  And I thought the words "this is what I want, this is who I am."  Positive phrases.  Not "this is who I hope to be" or "who I will be".  And this mantra got me through the urges to shame and blame.

It's going on my desktop and a print out is going on my bathroom mirror.

What self affirming words can you give to yourself to make it through the inevitable low blows that will come?

Morning thoughts

"I am brave enough to live the life I want and not the one I expect"

This is the thought I woke up to this morning. Which is odd considering that yesterday we were blindsided with the news that my wife did not get the job after all. It was a very stressful day and my heart broke for her. She did not take it well at all considering her former manager encouraged her to apply and made many references to how interested she was to hire my wife. I don't think it was done with malice. I think the manager was surprised when another employee applied who had more experience. I don't think she was expecting this particular scenario. But what a let down for my wife.

I've been trying very hard over the last two years or so to stop living from crisis to crisis. It's hard to do when, frankly, my life is a series of crises (ha). It's hard to view it as living from opportunity to opportunity. Yesterday could have put me in a real tailspin and I won't deny the fear and anxiety I felt. At the same time I knew that we had a plan that gets us through June financially and this unfortunate wrinkle doesn't change that plan. I decided that this was the universe's way of having my wife push her boundaries but still point out she's not yet ready for prime time. I am gladdened to no end that this manager still thought highly enough of my wife to invite her to apply. I have to remember these facts and not focus on the bad.

Anyway, I woke up with that thought on my mind and just wanted to share. I feel so incredibly empowered. I did not binge yesterday. To tell the truth, I was so stressed that I had lost my appetite. Still, when did appetite or lack thereof ever stop me from literally swallowing my emotions? I was clear headed enough last night to remember to live the life I wanted.

All my life I've heard people say I can do it if I just put my mind to it. I've always taken that to mean willpower wins over circumstance. What if "putting my mind to it" is less of a pounding hammer on nail and more ... searching for appropriate metaphor ... more of a gentle brook. Perhaps willpower isn't bending my will through the brute force of my psyche but instead a flowing stream looking for opportunities to erode the banks of my unwanted behaviors and breaking through to new places to flow where my behaviors are more healthy. And where it doesn't erode quickly is acceptable too. Just be open to the idea that it can happen; that it will happen eventually.

Ok, I'm getting a little deep for even me. I've said it often and also recently--my life is not an afterschool special. But I'm in a pretty good place right now. Soon this moment will be in the past and new situations will present themselves. I will do my best to remember that I was once in this place.

Onions

It's been a bit since I last posted.  To tell the truth, for every two steps forward in getting a handle on my emotional health and it's integrated, interwoven effects on my physical health...it's usually a step backward.  It's like an onion.  Just when I feel I've let somethings go, truly feel that I am over some situation or worked through some negative self image, I find it again at a deeper level....a more basic level.

I have a lot of anger.

Without going into all the details, 2010 started out by a betrayal of a friend.  That friend was also my pastor but I am careful to point out his breach of confidence was rooted in our shared friendship and not his confidential duties as a man of the cloth.  It was final straw and the tipping point in my relationship with him.  I ended up resigning my position as a lay leader in my congregation and pretty much withdrawing from church altogether.  The rest of the church leadership got involved with the pastor in issues that went much deeper than my personal pain, and it ended with him tendering his resignation in June effective at the end of August.

There is no doubt in my mind, though, that he blames me for the majority of his failed ministry with my congregation.  I have the e-mail.

I've consciously let go of my hurt and anger.  It doesn't serve me.  I know that I did not, as he put it, "damage his ability to participate in the relational structure of the congregation..."  I have worked hard to let it go and not let the situation and the memories of the situation control my day to day emotional life.  And I've been rather successful.

But then I peel a layer of the onion.

Things have changed in the way I relate to church, to members of my congregation and to how I experience God.  I went to church today and we installed a new, interim pastor, and I've been moody all afternoon.  Everything has changed.  It isn't over simply because he left.  There is aftermath that continues to affect my life and the lives of others. The situation of the former friend and pastor can be directly linked to my wife's emotional and mental health issues.  The stress of the last year has been central in my weight gain.  I have a lot of anger that I am left with this situation to deal with.

I'm not giving up.  I'll keep peeling back that onion.  Pastor Whosit surely isn't the only thing I'll find I'm sure.  Keeping a positive attitude and squelching the negative self talk is a significant step forward for me given my past and personality.  But denying what's buried deep down will not keep me moving forward.

I've got more work to do.

You know, this isn't a typical Jogging Clydesdale post.  But it was important to write so I think I'll post it anyway.

In brief

Struggling a bit today.  Feeling overwhelmed by the fact I am back to my heaviest (on record) and have needed to buy a new wardrobe.  It's been true for several weeks, but it is just hitting hard today.  Hard to not feel a failure. Hard to love myself in spite of my imperfections.  Hard to convince myself I am worthy.

These mind games are really putting a twist on me.

Therefore:

I acknowledge that these feelings exist and I declare that they have served their purpose:  they have informed me that something is wrong; there is an imbalance in my life.  I accept this, and I forgive myself for wallowing.  I am so worth it and I will never be perfect.  And I do love myself.

Even so, I am not too proud to say I could a couple of attaboys.

Back at it

I jogged tonight.  That's right ladies and gentlemen, the Jogging Clydesdale actually got his lardass out there and jogged!  Been a long time since I've actually posted a running (ok, plodding) entry.  I had been itching to get back out there but was afraid to do since I have packed all my weight back on.  310 is just so heavy to be out there pounding away.  I decided on my way home from work, however, that I was just going to do it.  And I did before I could talk myself out of it.

Mrs. C came with me and we had a nice jog around the subdivision.  I am again using the Couch to 5K program so it was more walking than plodding.  My ankles are very mad at me.  But the air was crisp and evening fell into night.  I haven't had such a pleasant run since, well, last spring I suppose.

I am going to pay for it in the morning.

Now I'm not going to make any public declarations that I am back on the wagon or that "this time I mean it." I know that I don't have the will power or discipline.  Today is sufficient for today.  Tomorrow is another day.

One day at a time, my friends.

Receiving Forgiveness

Depression is nourished by a lifetime of ungrieved and unforgiven hurts.
Penelope Sweet

 

Forgive. Forgiveness. To give. To receive.

Which is harder? What is the power of forgiveness?

I want to explore receiving forgiveness, even asking for forgiveness. I know there are others in my life that I have hurt and I should go to them to apologize and ask their forgiveness. Opening myself up to that vulnerability is terrifying. So, for most of my life, I naively wait for those who I hurt to come to me first and forgive me unbidden.

The only one suffering is me. I spent so much emotional capital remembering who all I hurt, who I need to avoid, who I had to steel myself against should they bring up whatever it is that I did and prepare my self for the defense I rarely had to enact.

Let me tell you a story.

My senior year in college, I lived in the basement apartment of a college friend. His family was of more than modest means and he was able to purchase a house right out of college. He let me live there for free. I did not like his girlfriend. But I didn't hate her. Just your basic dislike. I didn't like her personality, her laugh, her being around, her...experience in... intimate matters. I didn't think she was a good match for my friend.

One day my brother stopped by. I thought my friend had left. So as I was giving my brother a tour, I lambasted the girlfriend and didn't hold back in what I thought of her.  I was crueler with my words than I usually am.  I slipped into a kind of locker room language.  I was not nice. I thought I was being clever.

Well, of course, my friend was home. He came out of his bedroom, left with his girlfriend, had a nice dinner, came home and kicked my ass out. It was, for all intents and purposes, the end of a friendship. I had blown it. I apologized sincerely. What I said was a true representation of what I thought of the girlfriend, but how I said it and who I said it to was bad judgment I think he accepted my apology, but I don't know if he forgave me.

They got married. They have a beautiful family. My town is a small city. Plus all characters in this anecdote are all Mennonites. So we run into each other every now and again. And every time we did, I felt deep, abiding shame. Life lessons as an adult were teaching me that the things that had so bothered me about their living arrangements back then are a pittance to the real problems and decisions I needed to make and live through now.

I was ashamed at how I judged her.

One evening at the gym, about 12 years after the incident, she showed up with a daughter to work out. We made small talk (we had gotten to at least that part), said our good byes and I walked out of the weight room. I made it out to my van, sat about a minute, and went back in. I asked her if we could talk. I said, “All those years ago, I did things and said things about you that I regret now. I worked it out with Tom and I do believe he accepted my apology even though it did not restore the friendship. But I never talked to you about it. I am sorry for what I said. I was wrong. I had no place to say the things I did about you. And I'm tired of being overwhelmed with shame every time we meet. Will you forgive me?”

She cried. She pulled me into a long hug. She whispered, “yes, of course I do, and thank you.” And she still hugged. I cried a little too if I'm honest. And I felt wave after wave of relief.

It wasn't until I left the gym that night, though, that I realized I had been carrying about 20 pounds of fear, shame, memories, and worry. The mental weight loss was palpable and this kind of weight loss has stayed of. What happened between Tom and Carol and me is done. Its over. It doesn't require any more energy hold on to or to fear. Now when we meet, we smile and look each other in the eye. There is friendliness there that has been missing for more than a decade. Our lives are very different so I don't really expect a friendship to be restored with Tom or with his wife. But we can meet serendipitously and talk about college and about our kids and all the awkwardness is gone.

This month I am going to ask my body for forgiveness. I have abused it. I have ignored it. I have done things with it that bring shame to me when I remember my youth (remember: I was younger just last week than I am now). To open myself up to my body and ask for forgiveness makes me mental vulnerable. It's easier to keep ignoring my body and keep abusing it rather that to really make the decision to ask for its forgiveness. I'm going to ask my body's help in releasing the anger I have with it as well. I hate my belly. I hate my man boobs. I'm asking for my body to forgive me even as I find ways to show it love, knowing I will most likely fail several times before I can succeed. 

Can you imagine the power you will have if you can truly repent and truly forgive yourself for what you've done to your body?