Show and Tell

I'm experiencing an interesting phenomenon, in which I find myself wanting to cover my body more as it gets smaller.

It's odd, to say the least.

But not as odd as this photo that comes up when you google "very conservative dress."  Congratulations, you look like a human-sized crocheted condom.

Previously, I kept parts of me covered and hidden, all the time, no matter what.  To draw emphasis away from the parts of me that I didn't like (aka, almost everything), I wore a lot of makeup and cleavage-bearing shirts.  I've always loved my face and boobs.

Get it?  CLEAVAGE?  You're welcome, fellow nerds.

Anyway, before I started working out, eating well, and subsequently losing weight, I'd always thought that when I got thinner (notice I said thinNER, not thin.  I'm positive, not delusional) I'd want to show my body off.  New, cute clothes are a huge motivation for some people to lose weight.  Heck; new, cute clothes were one of my 1000 motivations to begin treating my body with more respect.  And generally speaking, in my mind, this involved a fair deal of visible skin.

What I've found is actually pretty surprising.

The exact opposite thing is happening.  The more weight I lose, the more I want to keep my body covered.

It's not because I'm ashamed.  It's not because I feel deformed, or gross, or like my formerly fatter self is in some way unworthy.

It's not because I have extra skin that I'm self-conscious about (not yet, anyway.  I've been lucky so far to have my skin recede with the rest of me, but I anticipate that this will be coming in the future.  It's almost impossible to escape it, so I'm just waiting.  Don't worry, I'm sure there will be some TMI blog posts when it happens).

On the contrary.

I am insanely proud of my "new" body (though it's not really new, it's just changed).

I worked (and am working) hard for it.

For the first time in forever, I feel like I own my body.

As soon as I typed the above sentence, I started singing songs from "Frozen."  Earworm level: 1000

Thus: I don't feel like I need to display it to prove my beauty, or my hard work, or my perseverance, or my sexiness, or my femininity, or anything.

I worked hard for it for ME.

NOT FOR YOU (well, not YOU specifically, dear reader...other people in general).

I will enjoy it as I see fit.

Of note, I've also completely stopped wearing makeup over the past year.  Mostly, this is practical in nature...I like a naked face when I work out.  I feel like if I worked out in makeup, my skin would feel choked and weird.  Plus, my face sweats like crazy, and nobody wants to look like a half-melted bomb pop.

Exhibit A.

 Now that I work out every day, it already means washing my face at least four times.  I didn't want to add makeup removal to that.  I'm a busy lady.

PREACH.

Here's the deal:  

While my choices are to eschew makeup (for the most part) and cover my body more than before (for the most part), these are MY choices and are absolutely not right for everyone.  

And my choices and opinions on this (and just about everything) are fluid and subject to change.

Whether you've recently lost weight, gained weight, stayed the same, grown an inch, gotten plastic surgery, are covered in tattoos or virgin-skinned, had a chemical peel, gotten dreadlocks, shaved your head, spent your whole paycheck at the MAC counter, wear combat boots or sky-high heels or Birkenstocks, or all or none of the above...

Whether you want to shake it around town in the nude, rock a burqa, or anything in between...

That's awesome!  Rock on with your badass self!

It's YOUR body, YOUR face, YOUR life.

YOU own it.

YOU earned it.

And everyone who wants to pass judgement can piss right off.

MIC DROP.  SENARIGHI OUT.

Therapy

Pushing yourself physically can be a surprisingly emotional experience.  I say this from experience, because I cry at the gym with frightening regularity.  

Yes, it's embarrassing.  

Yes, it makes me feel awkward.  

Yes, I really really really 

hate crying in front of people.  

But sometimes I just can't hold it in.  When the emotions are there, bubbling right under the surface, I have to let them out...whether its joy, despair, anger, frustration, pride, etc.  I feel like if I keep it in I will seriously explode.

*** Side note: dear God, someone give my trainer a raise for all of my emotional issues that he has to deal with.  Seriously...whatever he makes is not enough.***

Imagine you've spent your life encased in a distancing, isolating, and in that way "safe" suit of armor.  Now, imagine your armor is gone.  Or in my case, partially gone and receeding more and more each day.

Part of you is glad to be rid of it!  It restricted your movements.  It prevented you from doing things.  It isolated you and made you uncomfortable.

But it was also safe in there.

And it's terrifying to not have it any more.

It can make you feel vulnerable to attack and exposed to everyone and small and meek and uncomfortable.

IF you let it.

And it's really, really hard not to let it make you feel that way, at least at first.

This is part of what I'm going through right now.  When you spend your entire adult life and most of your childhood being of above-average size, you don't know how to function differently.  You are used to negative comments or no comments being made about your body and appearance.  So, as nice as it is to hear compliments about your body, it may make you start to feel all of the above mentioned, unpleasant things (especially coming from people you don't know all that well). 

Even though you weren't strong before you started this process (at least, not as strong as you are now), you somehow feel weaker without your armor (as happy as you are to be shedding it).

Like I said, it's really hard not to get sucked into this mental trap of feeling weak or like a victim.

You know what helps?  What will make you feel stronger and empowered and fierce and like a bad-ass and like you could cut any mofo who tried to hurt you now that you don't have your armor?

Lifting heavy things.

Using muscles that you previously neglected.  

Sweating your face off.

Jumping onto tall things because you couldn't before.

Slamming things on the ground.

Throwing heavy things into the air.

Punching stuff (with boxing gloves on, of course, and only when invited to do so...don't just randomly start punching stuff, please).

Sometimes, doing this stuff is the absolute best medicine.

Yesterday morning, I went into the gym in a foul mood.  After making an ass of myself, crying all over my trainer for like the dozenth time, and having a short but revealing conversation, it was time to work out.

I felt like absolute crap.  And I really, really didn't want to be there.

30 minutes later, I felt amazing.  I was tired, red, sweaty, and sore.  But my mind was clear and my spirit was lifted and I was ready to seize the rest of my day.

I'm not saying that working out can or will fix all of your problems.  Thats overly simplistic and just not a realistic expectation.  

What I am saying is that, for me, moving my body helps me work through tricky situations, get over things that happened to me earlier in the day, clears my mind, makes my heart happy, and improves my mood immensely. 

You should give it a whirl. 

Progress update: 9 months in

Well...not quite 9 months.  It'll be 9 months on February 1.  But close enough.

To recap:  9 months ago, my amazing friend Jen (who was, at that time, a complete stranger to me) gave me the best birthday gift I've ever gotten when she selected me to receive a year of Anytime Fitness membership.  I got her call, and was so shocked I don't even think I thanked her while we were on the phone.  I stayed up late to tell my husband that night.  I was so excited and so scared.

On the day Jen gave me my membership, with some of the most awesome people I know (Clockwise from top left: Kirk, Nate, Beth, Jeffer, My awesome self, Donovan, Jen, Jena, Kate, and Mary).  My gurus and one heck of a support team.  They rule.

I went in for my fitness consultation with my trainer on my birthday, and it was probably the most intimidating experience of my life.  I'm used to people listening to me, but having people watch me is completely different.  Especially when I'm doing something that is completely foreign to me, which they do professionally.  Especially with a strange man that I don't know.  Especially when that man is buff and intimidating looking.  I got home and asked Jeff to pummel me with a meat tenderizing mallet (not kidding).  That first day was brutal, physically and mentally.

I started going to Nutritional Healing about a week later.  My nutritionist's advice and recommendations were a complicated mystery of serving numbers and portion sizes.  It was a lot of information to handle at once.

9 months later.  Training is still brutal, but I'm doing things now that I never would have dreamed I'd be able to do in the past.  It still feels kind of awkward to be watched while I work out, but I'm beyond the point where I care.  I huff and puff and make weird faces and get red-faced and sweaty and have to blow my nose like ten times a session and leave covered in chalk.  Control yourselves, single guys and ladies...I look IRRESISTABLE during training.


My nutritionist's recommendations are now second-nature.  Do I still eat chocolate?  Hell yes, because it's amazing, and I'm willing to do the extra minutes on the elliptical that it takes to burn it off.

One of the most surprising things to me is the atmosphere of trust my trainer and I have cultivated.  It's a strange relationship; trainer and client.  It teeters on the border of fitness, counseling, mentoring, friendship, and teacher-student.  It's weird and excellent.  I honestly wasn't sure, at first, if I'd be able to trust my trainer and really let my guard down enough to give 100% during my sessions.  The verbal attacks I've been subjected to in the past have been predominantly from men, and most of those men were very fit; so as a subgroup of the population, I was intimidated and scared of them.  A male trainer that I don't know?  A screaming drill-sargeant, who I am to let in to see my vulnerable self?  Yikes.

Fortunately, I could not have been more wrong.  My trainer, and the other trainers at the gym (whom I ask questions of on an almost daily basis, thanks dudes) are frickin amazing.  No screaming drill-sargeanting happening.  Will he call me out on my bullshit when I'm stalling because I don't want to run?  Yes.  But will he also patiently wait while I mentally prepare myself for box jumps instead of getting impatient?  Also, yes.

Flippin awesome.

Now, let's talk about my nutritionist.  She rocks my socks off.  Every month, Jeffer and I go in to get weighed, measured, and have our composition analyzed.  I'm at the point now where the nutrition is second-nature, but questions consistently come up.  She gives us all the factual information we need, her opinion when we ask for it, and also, calls us out on our bull.  Bonus: she's fun.

So, the updates.
Let's start from the beginning, and let the photos and captions tell the tale.

This is June, 2014.  I was about 6 weeks into my training and had lost 13lbs from my start weight of 350.

August, 2014.

This is October, 2014.  I think I had lost about 60lb at this point.

And this is from today.  Down 92lb from the first photo and 79 from my 32nd birthday.  It's kind of blurry, but you get the idea.  Also, my hair looks fantastic today.

In 9 months, I've lost 79lbs.  Overall, I've lost 92lbs from my heaviest weight.
I actually weigh less now than I did when I was full of parasites living overseas.  Bonus: this weight-loss is much healthier than intestinal worms.  The more you know.
I'm down 5 pants sizes and 3 shirt sizes, 11 inches in my waist and 9.5 in my hips.
My wedding dress has room for a second person to jump into it with me.
My energy level is fantastic.
And my confidence is better than it ever has been.

Now, again, I will say this.  MY VIEWS ON BODY POSITIVITY AT ANY SIZE AND BEAUTY AT ANY SIZE HAVE NOT CHANGED.  I am a champion for body positivity and loving yourself.  As long as you are happy and healthy, I honestly don't give a crap whether you weigh 100lb or 400lb.
My increased confidence is the best thing that's come out of this, and I don't know if it's from the weight loss, how much stronger I've gotten, or both.  But it's excellent.

I'm crushing goals, kicking ass, and taking names.

AND I'M 8LB AWAY FROM MY NEXT TATTOO.

Fat girl shopping

Disclaimers:
1) I am well aware of the fact that as a white American, I am privileged in ways that others are not.  This sucks and is unfair and I know it.
2) I am not trying to get into a "who's more oppressed than whom" pissing match here, just trying to make a point about something that frustrates me to no end.
3) Bah, humbug.

So.  Picture the last time you went shopping.  Just take a minute and try to recall.  What kind of selection was available in your size?  What part of the store was your size carried in?  Did the clothes designed for your gender stop at a certain size, and send all people bigger or smaller than that to a different part of the store to shop?  How was the lighting?  How did the salespeople treat you?

If you're a dude, there are a wide variety of choices available to you.  And whether you waist is 32 inches or 52 inches, your shirt size XS or XXL, in most stores, you can buy pants off the same clothes rack.  You lucky dog!  There are so many options for athletic wear for you that it has it's own section of the store.  Bonus!

If you're an average to below average sized lady, there are a wide variety of choices to you.  There are so many options for athletic wear for you that it often has it's own section of the store.  Bonus!  There are a plethora of brands and styles for you to choose from.  Chances are, if you walk into any store, anywhere (with the exception of plus-sized specialty stores) you can find multiple options in your size.

Another bonus?  Not everything is black!  Average to below average sized ladies are permitted to want colorful things.  You lucky ladies, you!

If you're an above average sized lady, you have known exactly where this was going from the beginning.

Our section of the store is about  1/4-1/3 the size of the "regular" sized ladies clothes, if we're lucky.  A sizable percentage of the options in the section are black, grey, navy, or brown (why would you want to draw attention to your fat by wearing bright colors?).  We are stuffed into the back of the store (why would you want to draw attention to fat people by making their clothing visible?).  If any athletic wear is offered in our size, there is generally one brand available and one rack of it (for example, in the sprawling cacophony that is Scheels, there is exactly one rack of Nike plus-sized athletic wear.  At Target, Kohls, and Younkers, there are exactly zero racks of plus-sized athletic wear.  In Shopko, there is exactly one rack of Energy Zone athletic wear.  I could go on, but you get it).  After all, fatties must not workout or they wouldn't be so fat, right?  RIGHT?

And if you live in a smaller town, things get worse.

When I lived in Door County, I had to drive for an hour JUST TO BUY  BRAS THAT FIT ME.  That's right.  The closest bras that fit my body at that time were in Green Bay.

When I was home for Christmas this year, about 70lb lighter than when I lived in Door County, I wanted new sweatpants, because my old sweatpants fit me 70lb ago and made me look like a hobo.  Even being several sizes smaller (but still a fat girl by all standards, really), I had to go to three stores to find a pair of suitable sweatpants.  SWEATPANTS.  I was not exactly seeking high-fashion...I just wanted something soft to wear to sit on the couch and watch Twilight Zone re-runs.

But seriously.

There are a lot of cute little boutique stores close to my apartment, and I like to window-shop (and sometimes actual-shop).  These boutiques are tiny, have a tiny selection (as most boutiques do, hence the name), with a tiny size offering (small and medium, large if they're feeling generous), and exorbitant prices.  But it's fun to go.  They also sell shoes and bags and household items and things that are accessible to my fat self.

My experience when shopping at these places has been fucking horrible.

If you are fat and walk into Hey, Daisy! for example, the employees will look at you, pause, and then go right back to talking to each other without so much as saying hello.  This happened once and I was annoyed.  This happened again, and I was infuriated.  So I decided to do an experiment.  Of all the specialty shops downtown that sell clothing, exactly one was welcoming and friendly when my fat self walked in (Thanks, Beatnik Betty's!).  The others must have decided that fat money doesn't spend the same and disregarded me.  Yes, I am aware that I will never ever ever fit into your clothing, but there are entire sections of your little store dedicated to things that I might have liked in my life.  That is, until you decided you didn't want my money.  I'm all about supporting local businesses, but downtown Appleton really needs to step up it's customer service game.


Again, I am aware that there are worse atrocities than being shoved to the back of the store to buy a limited selection of shapeless black clothing, and being treated poorly in a retail store.  I KNOW.

I've written about this before.  Why am I revisiting it?  Because it is still happening.  Because it sucks.

Also, because as I get closer and closer to not needing to shop in the fat girl section any more, I get more and more pissed that a fat girl section exists.  It's sizeist and sexist that my father and my husband, with their very different body sizes, can buy pants, belts, and shirts off the same clothing rack, and that my BFF and I, with our different body sizes, can't.  We have to go to opposite ends of the store to get every single garment except shoes.  Sometimes, we have to go to entirely different stores.

Double standard.

Not cool.

NSVs

Don't get me wrong.  Losing weight is awesome.  I feel amazing.  I look pretty good.  I feel more confident and healthy than I have in a loooooong time.

But (and this is a big but, no pun intended), I am getting more and more geeked about the non-scale victories I'm accomplishing throughout this process.

Let's discuss them, shall we?

Within the last month, I've been able to do a lot of things that I've either never done before or haven't been able to do in a long time.

1) I fit into tall boots.  Yes, the tall boots I fit into are designed for chunky calves, but this is huge for me, as I couldn't even zip those a few months ago.
2) I climbed a state park tower without having to stop and rest on the way up.
3) I voluntarily went on hikes (or, as Rae would say, "walks," since there are no mountains involved).  I love hiking but haven't had the energy or stamina to do even a short hike in a long time.
4) I scheduled a fishing trip with my pops for this coming summer.  I love fishing with my dad, but I haven't done it in almost 10 years because 1) nursing school took up all my time, 2) I got too heavy for my waders to fit me, and 3) there is no way in hell I could have enjoyed it having the low energy I've had until recently.  Our type of fishing is peaceful and relaxing and fun...but it's also exhausting, ass-busting work.  We don't fish like your typical fisherman.  There is very little "sitting in a boat, tooling around a lake, drinking beer" and lots of "let's walk cross-country through a knee-deep beaver run for an hour to the tiniest, meandering stream imaginable.  Also, try not to get in the way of any cow moose or wolves.  Also, don't fall in the floating bog.  Also, don't catch your pole/line/waders/vest/face on any tag alder.  Also, don't forget to spray your entire body with toxic tick spray so you don't get Lyme's disease.  Also, don't get lost because you will die of exposure.  Also, you are carrying a canoe, two paddles, life vests, and all your fishing gear."  It can be strenuous, but it's worth it to fish in places that less than a dozen other people on earth are able to find, navigate, and enjoy.
5) My wedding rings are too big.  This is both a victory and a pain in my ass.
6) My boobs haven't shrunk nearly as much as I thought.  My bras were all huge and I was really sad...until I went to buy new bras.  Turns out, my band size was 4 inches too big which is why I was swimming in them.  Thanks for sticking around, boobs!

The moral of the story:  The numbers on the scale are great.  I love seeing them consistently going down.  However; there is so much more to it than that.  If you're trying to lose weight and the numbers aren't agreeing with you, think about everything else you've gained through the process.  I bet you've had some awesome victories, too.

Resolutions

It's that magical time of year again.  That time were we flit from party to party, gorging cookies and fudge and Christmas crack and Dutch babies and ham and potatoes and we eat more butter than Paula Deen and more sugar than Wilford Brimley.

Yeeeeeeeeee Haw!

 The spirit of the season, for me, is being with family and loved ones...which frequently seems to revolve around food.  We go to my in-laws house for lunch, my parents house for dinner, co-workers bring delicious treats to work, neighbors bake cookies.  

How in the world do we justify this?

Well, for some of us, this is how we eat all the time, so it's just another day/week/season.

For others, we somehow have the willpower to resist everything delicious and unhealthy that's put in front of is.

And yet others live a primarily healthy lifestyle but have a holiday free-for-all.  Why?

SWEET, GLORIOUS, NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS ARE COMING!

Yes!  That moment when you wake up on January 1st, the whole glorious year ahead of you, is amazing.  It feels like a clean slate!  Every mistake, silly thing, "cheat" day, skipped workout, foul remark, sin, whatever that you participated in over the last year seems like a distant memory...it might as well not exist any more.  You are perfect and your track record is unblemished.  New year, new start.

Remember that scene in Forrest Gump when Forrest and Lieutenant are celebrating New Years with Cunning Carla and Long Limbs Lenore?

You can almost smell the stale cigarette smoke and Dr.Pepper fumes, can't you?

Well, either Carla or Lenore (which one, I haven't the slightest) has a great line, even though she's only in the movie for like 2 minutes.  She says to Forrest:

 "Don't you just love New Years?  You get to start all over again.  Everybody gets a second chance."

And it's so true.  "New year, new me" is the motto of so many people I know.  New Year's Resolutions is one of my most and least favorite traditions.  I've never really gotten in to NY Resolutions - I've always been more of a birthday resolutions type of gal.  For me, turning another year older is a fitting time to try to make a positive change; especially one you've been thinking about for a loooooong time but haven't had the motivation/courage/gumption/ability to try to achieve.  But that's just me.  Lots of people are gung-ho about their NY Resolutions.  And really, ANY time is a fitting time to make a positive change in your life...but New Year's is a milestone date, and people take the opportunity to make promises to themselves.

Preach it, Morpheus.

Until about a month in.  Maybe more if they're REALLY dedicated.  And then a lot of people fall off the resolution wagon.

I looked up some statistics on New Year's Resolutions from the Journal of Clinical Psychology (and no, I will not cite it in APA format).  Apparently 75% of individuals last through one week of their new resolution.  Seventy-one percent last two weeks, 64% make it through an entire month, and only 46% are succeeding at their resolutions after six months or more.

Forty-six percent.  Less than half of us who make resolutions will be successful at six months, and my guess is, even less will be successful long-term.

Why?

THINGS GET IN THE WAY.

We have jobs.  We have wives or husbands or partners or girlfriends or boyfriends or significant others.  We have kids.  We have dogs or cats or parakeets or potbelly pigs or horses or lizards or hedgehogs.  We have houses to maintain.  We have bills to pay.  We have graduate school.  We like to marathon Netflix in our spare time.

In short: We have lives.  Busy, exhausting, stressful lives.  

Another way of putting this:  We do not make ourselves a priority.

Yet another way of putting this:  Some of us thrive on martyrdom and don't ask for help/support when we need it.

We ABSOLUTELY need to make ourselves a priority.  And we ABSOLUTELY need a support system.

I've had a huge mind frame shift this past year, where I'm treating myself like the "leading lady" of my life for the first time, and it's amazing.  

Don't get me wrong...sometimes my "wants" still come after others' "needs."  When my husband is sick and needs me to go to CVS for cough drops and Theraflu instead of getting a second workout in, I do it.  When my dog needs to be walked so I have to take a study break, I do it.  When a co-worker's child is in town from across the country for only a few days, I pick up her shift so she can spend time with him.  But it's all give and take.  When I'm sick, Jeff brings me pho and tea.  Taco rewards me in snuggles and by being adorable.  My co-workers are so flexible and help me out by picking up extra shifts when my sister is in town (and during finals week).  So I'm not saying be a selfish a-hole 100% of the time.  You have to make others your first priority at times.  That pretty much goes without saying.

However, we need to set goals for ourselves and make them a high priority in our lives.  And we need to surround ourselves with people who support our goals and ideally, share our goals.

When I told my husband I wanted to go back to school, we both went about making my success in school a high priority in our lives.  My husband got a new job so we could move to Appleton, I got a job in Appleton, we found a place to live in the area.  We decided to put the quest for a human baby on hold, but decided to get a dog so we'd still have something cuddly to come home to (that's slightly lower-maintenance than a human child.  Slightly).  I made sure my work hours would work around school, he made sure his work hours would allow him to occasionally see his wife.  My success in school is a high priority for both of us because it affects both of our lives.

The same thing happened with getting healthy.  When I was given my ATF membership (thanks Jen, my queen!) and we started seeing a nutritionist, we both started eating better and calling the other one out on unhealthy habits.  When we inadvertently sabotage ourselves or each other, we talk about it.  Eventually, Jeff saw how freakishly strong I was getting and decided to join the gym, too, before I could beat him at arm wrestling (kidding...this may or may not be why he joined.  Also, I will never beat that monster at arm wrestling).

I consider my friends and family a big part of why I've been so successful at last year's birthday resolution.  They support my goals and several of them are either trying to get healthier or living insanely healthy lifestyles already.  It really does help!  

And no, I'm not saying to give up your friends and get new ones.  If your resolution is to quit smoking, by no means do you have to stop hanging out with your smoker friends.  But you do need at least one person in your corner who doesn't smoke or who has successfully quit smoking, to cheer you on and back you up.  They will be your sounding board and motivator.  They'll put you in check if/when you mess up.  They are an integral part of your success.

I'm lucky, I have a LOT of people around to keep me accountable.  The gift-giver, Jen.  Do I want to let her money and time go to waste?  HELL to the no.  Likewise for my nutritionist and trainer...if I don't follow their instructions and do what they tell me to do at home and at the gym, I'm essentially wasting their time and straight up disrespecting them.  I frequently ask myself "What would Amanda/Donovan do?"  I want to be alive, mobile, and healthy for as long as possible to keep being ridiculous with my husband, besties, sibs, and parents, so they're motivating, also.  Even my dog keeps me in check...he needs daily walks and I need to find the time and energy to do it.  And despite his teeny little legs, that fool is FAST.

The moral of the story is this.  Set a resolution if you want.  Or change today.  Whatever works for you to set and achieve your goals!  Any time is a fantastic time to make positive changes in your life.  Whether that includes fitness or not, strive to be even more awesome in 2015!  Find yourself a support system that will help you meet your goals.  You are worth the time and energy and I hope you can find a way to prioritize your goal this year!  

One last comment: Fellow gym-goers, I know January can be frustrating.  The gym is flooded with newbies.  The squat rack is always taken (usually by somebody curling).  Your trainer is booked out for weeks and there's even a wait for cardio machines.  

Welcome, resolution gym-goers!  I hope you stick around so I'm not the new kid any more :)

Two things to keep in mind: 

1) As stated above, 54% of the resolution gym-goers will be gone in 6 months (which may make you happy but actually is pretty depressing when you think about it).  So hang in there, you'll have the gym to yourself all too soon.

2) You were new once, too.  Be patient and don't be a butthead.  Hope they stick with it so in a few months, they'll know what they're doing and can spot you.

Done and done.

Coping Mechanisms

***Trigger warning: self injury, alcohol, drugs, food addiction***

I posted this blog about a week ago, then chickened out and promptly took it down after a few hours.  It's hard to talk about "demons," addictions, coping, and the horrible things I used to do to myself.  It's actually really triggering and weirdly isolating for me...it reminds me of how secretly messed up I was (am?) and that makes me feel like a weird-o.  But I've set out on a mission to be totally truthful about this entire ugly, amazing, rewarding, challenging, sweaty process, warts and all.  

I am fascinated by coping mechanisms.  The way that we, as individuals and/or entire groups or societies, handle problems and stress in different ways is so interesting to me.

No longer true, but this graphic did strike me as funny, given the topic of today's blog post.

And my coping mechanisms have always been...well...let's call them "flawed."  (Diplomatic code for "completely messed up").

Through this process, I've come to appreciate the power of honesty and transparency.  I hid parts of myself for such a long time from everyone, including friends, family, and even my husband (often unsuccessfully, but I sure did try!).  Keeping things to myself made me feel like I had something to be ashamed of, when I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of (except my secret love of Taylor Swift).

So let's talk about my coping mechanisms, shall we?

First...the old.

Things I've given up doing.  

Some I'm glad are gone.  

Some I miss daily.  

They were as comforting as a snuggly afghan crocheted by my sassy and adorably mean grandma Lois, and when you wrap up in it you can still smell her...a faint whiff of homemade marinara, vanilla extract, and Virginia Slims.  (If that's not comforting to you, sub in your own happy memory and you'll get the idea).

Oh Lordy, here we go.

Former coping mechanisms that I have given up (for the most part) in no particular order:

1) Food.  Obviously.  I did not eat my way to 363 pounds (my heaviest weight ever, displayed here on the interwebs for all of you to read) by being mindful and paying attention to how I treated my body and what I put in it.  I would "numb" myself with food when I felt anxious, or ashamed, or scared, or angry, or even just bored.  I'm Italian...and we also celebrate with food.  Yikes.

2) Alcohol.  Ugh, I'm getting a headache just thinking of the epically terrible two-day hangovers I used to get from railing cheap vodka and Boone's Farm.  *barf*  My freshman year of college is a hazy blur of basements at party houses and Southern Comfort/Mountain Dew cocktails in random dorm rooms.  I was once called "a female Jim Morrison" because I would seriously drink anything you put in front of me.  Not proud of that nickname, let me tell you.  

3) Drugs.  This was also an excellent way to forget about things.  Hazy and comfortable, exactly the way I wanted to be.  You don't have to feel ANYTHING when you're stoned all the time (again, I feel the need to reiterate, this habit is donezo...just in case anyone at the Wisconsin DRL or the nursing board secretly follows my blog).

4) Literally pulling my hair out.  Sweet mother of crap, I can't believe I'm writing this.  I have the glorious combination of self-injuring and OCD-like symptoms, officially called trichotillomania. This means I literally pulled my hair out.  For years.  In fact, I still have a bald spot that is coming back in.  It's both a reflex you do without thinking about and somehow also a direct command that you must obey.  And it's not easy to stop.  Imagine this:  There is a mosquito on your arm.  You feel his little mosquito feet walking around, looking for the perfect place to bite you.  It feels weird and it's itchy.  EVERY SINGLE FIBER OF YOUR BEING is telling you to swat him away.  For people with trichotillomania, pulling is/was exactly the same way...it makes absolutely no sense but every single molecule in my body wanted me to pull out my hair.  It was like an uncontrollable drive within myself and it had to be done or I wouldn't feel right, or wouldn't feel in control.  And it hurt but it felt good to hurt myself...for some reason I thought I deserved it and it was gratifying to punish myself (straight effed, I know).  Interesting factoid: Olivia Munn (aka actress and Aaron Rodgers' girlfriend) has trichotillomania also.  Also, this is really embarrassing to share but I'm on a quest for transparency here... so the next time you see me, if you could pretend you never read this and NOT bring it up, I'd really appreciate it.  Also, try not to stare at my hair or I'll be on to you.

Coping mechanisms I have kept from the olden days:

1) Swearing.  Again, obviously.  Swearing is an amazing defense mechanism.  Many types of people are less likely to get too close when you have a filthy pirate mouth.  Swearing is viewed by many as unfeminine and unattractive...and when, subconsciously, that's how you want to appear, it's an amazing tool to have.  I have a love/hate relationship with swearing.  Mostly because I am not offended by it at all.  I'm offended by name-calling, but the f-bomb doesn't raise my hackles in the least.  Ho hum.

Brand-spanking new coping mechanisms:

1) Sweating like a pig (even though apparently, pigs don't sweat.  The more you know).  This is my favorite one.  The gym is my therapy.  Did I ever, EVER, in a billion years, think I would say that?  Ever?  Um...no.  It's an amazing outlet for frustration and anger, even sadness (although working through sadness at the gym sometimes results in crying at the gym which can be AWKWARD...just ask my trainer).  Good AND bad days are improved by gym time. It's amazing, when you feel great, to leave the gym feeling even better.  It's even more amazing, when you feel like crap, to leave the gym feeling great.  Half dead and sore, but great.  Lifting heavy things is unbelievably empowering and uplifting.  It's hard to be sad when you know you get to deadlift.

2) This lovely blog.  Again, an amazing outlet for frustration, anger, sadness, JOY, etc.  Sharing what's happening, my struggles and setbacks and accomplishments, has brought me so much peace through this process!

Who else remembers this from middle school guidance?

3) Actually feeling my feelings.  This is EXHAUSTING and was really hard to begin doing.  But if I'm mad, I just let myself be mad.  If I'm sad, I cry.  If I'm happy, I do an embarrassing happy dance or make out with my husband (you're welcome, Jeff).  I don't numb myself with anything anymore, which is so tiring.  How have you all gone through your entire lives feeling everything all the time??  Why didn't anybody tell me it was so tiring but so awesome? Seriously.  I've never taken so many dang naps in my life, yo.  But I've also never felt more in tune with myself and the world around me.  Things are glorious and awful, hideous and lovely.  It's amazeballs.

Now, how did I stop doing all that old unhealthy crap and start doing the new stuff?  

I wish I could tell you.  I wish I could say, "here, world, it's the magic pill that made me stop doing horrible things to my body to cope with my problems and deal with things in a constructive way instead!  You're welcome and goodnight!"

But the truth is this: I have absolutely no idea.  Seriously, I think voodoo magic or baby gypsy tears were involved.  I've made conscious efforts to let go of my coping with food and ripping my hair out before...many many many many times before, in fact.  And I've never been able to do it.  The intoxicants were easy to stop...somehow I never got addicted to them (which given my personality is a frickin Christmas miracle), I just liked them a lot.  

I can only say, the motivation from my health gurus and my amazing family and besties finally made me look at my coping mechanisms and realize that they are less than awesome...and to run full tilt boogie towards my new addictions.