onceafatgirl

Peace is better than chocolate

Archive for the category “Relationships”

Getting unserious about (almost) everything

I love Halloween! And I have not had candy in over 20 years. Yesterday was my 20th Halloween without candy. And I still dressed up. And no. Nobody knew who I was. (I was a modern cult worshiped but very niche book character. Gideon the Ninth.) 

I don’t know what it is about Halloween that I have always been attracted to, even after I gave up sugar (which includes alcohol), except maybe that it’s all about fun, play, and cleverness. Cleverness is my most cherished vanity.

I love a hilarious detail. When I was a picnic one year I made a prom dress out of a flannel backed red and white checked tablecloth, and even went all over New York City looking for plastic ants. I never did find them. But I DID find a bug sticker book with a bunch of ant stickers….When I was Miss America I put on my mascara and then wet it and let it drip down my cheeks like I was crying and I would greet everyone like I had just been crowned. 

This year my character is known for having huge biceps, so my favorite detail was that I bought swimmies for grown ups and covered them with spandex close to my skin color. This cracked me up! 

I really do do these things for myself. Because I didn’t have any particular place to go this year. And almost nobody else I know has read these books. (Hi Shelly!) We had a handful of trick or treaters, but nothing crazy.

But I like to play dress up. I like to be clever. 

Every time I passed a mirror or a window I would sort of get a shock and have to remember all over again I was in a ginger wig and skull face paint…and that was hilarious and tickled me every time! And every time I was like “I love this costume!”

When I was very young I was an only child, and I had a dress up box. Gowns and high heels and big gaudy necklaces and bracelets from thrift stores. And I loved it even though it was just me by myself. It wasn’t about showing anyone. It was about the world I lived in in my mind and what I could do there. Who that dress could make me into. (I mean, in reality, probably a late 70s early 80s bridesmaid, but 5 year old Kate did not know that!!!) 

Addiction, especially my own carb and sugar addiction, really messed that up for me for a long time. Because solitude is not the same as isolation. But they blur easily and isolating was dark for me. Especially when I lived alone. So to perform and not be seen started to feel shameful. And it was associated with binge and compulsive eating. When I quit simple sugar and carbs I started to learn how to separate solitude from isolation again. 

But the older I get, the fewer hormones I have, the more I naturally want to play for myself again. Shamelessly. Unabashedly. Immature and juvenile to boot. 

I have over 20 years of my eating disorders under control, and it is 20 years of getting serious about my integrity, and unserious about everything else. Deciding there is no guilt in pleasure. That enjoyment is a worthy goal. That part of finding contentment, is taking joy where you can. Like enjoying Halloween for 20 years even without candy…

Gideon Nav, ass joke connoisseur and swordswoman

Wake up call

Before I got my eating under control I didn’t have very much integrity. I didn’t do what I said I would and I lied to get or stay out of trouble. And that made me not like myself. 

We have sayings like “I have to look at myself in the mirror” and I get that. I know that feeling. But the telltale sign for me was always waking up. Did I want to wake up? Did it hurt to wake up? Did I feel uneasy or burdened? How heavy was the burden? And that really went away after I got my eating under control and stopped eating my drug foods. I was sober enough to do what I said I would do, and changed enough to see the value in truth regardless of outcome. 

Now in general I love my life and I am happy to wake up.

But it still sometimes happens that I wake up feeling yucky. It’s just that now it’s generally about things that are beyond my control. 

This week a metal aglet from my workout pants got stuck under the drum of my dryer and it was making a horrible squeaking grinding. And I had a pile of laundry in my bathtub that was in the washer when I had to stop using the dryer. And that was frustrating and had me running worst case scenarios in my head. (The repair guy just left and now it’s taken care of so I get to rewash the pile. Phew.) 

And then I saw that my cat had a sore on her mouth.  And I got even more upset. And I googled. And let me tell you…I have friends that I highly discourage from googling heath concerns because they are crazy, but I have never been one of those people. Until now, apparently. 

Then I called my step daughter who is a vet tech, and she told me that it’s probably fine, that shelter cats often get them, and since I have to take her in for her rabies shot, just bring it up then. 

So I am not actively freaking out anymore. But also, I am still scared. And waking up I can feel it. I can feel it in my body before I remember exactly what I am uneasy about. 

Having my eating under control has taught me how to use my emotions, to read them, to have them in their proper place: as sign posts and guides. Because sometimes it just comes down to the fact that I love my cat and after a point, I can’t control what happens to her. So it hurts. And there is nothing to do about the feeling itself.

I can’t stop feelings. (Not even with drug foods. They will all come out eventually.) But I can live with them. And that is not a thing I could do when I was eating compulsively. And conversely, when I live with my feelings, I don’t feel the shame that leads to more compulsive eating. I don’t have to like feelings. I just have to feel them.

I can just get to work

I started doodling. And it’s maybe changing my life?

A lot of things have come together in my brain recently, that have changed the way I think about myself and my abilities. 

I have never been good at drawing. That just seemed like an obvious truth. I also have terrible penmanship. I really wanted to be one of those girls in school with the big loopy script. Or the ones who could change their handwriting at will! One girl in high school told me she was changing her w’s to a cooler style. I was thinking, you get a say in how you write your w’s????

And then I was thinking about teaching crochet. See, I hold my hook like I hold a screwdriver. But another very common way is to hold the hook like a pencil. And I tried to teach myself to hold my own hook like that, in case I need to demonstrate something to someone who holds their hook like a pencil. And I can’t. I was able to teach myself to crochet left handed holding it like a screwdriver, but I cannot do it with my dominant hand in a pencil grip. My fingers don’t work like that. 

So I have always had it hard wired in my brain that I am bad at visual art. And I have all of this evidence because my fingers don’t work like that. I am not saying I thought I was bad at art. But bad at anything that required me to take a 3 dimensional view and render it in 2 dimensions. In fact, oddly enough, I sometimes look at cartoons of animals to create a crochet pattern. In other words, I *can* do the opposite and take a 2 dimensional drawing and render it in 3 dimensions. I am great at knowing how string moves. I am a great fiber artist. I can knit and crochet and make friendship bracelets. The hardest part of embroidery for me is the drawing of the image.

But then I started doodling. Social media has been feeding me a steady diet of doodling content for a few months now. For a long time it was just satisfying to watch. But eventually I wanted to try. And I thought it was about the colors. Because most of these videos are so gorgeous and colorful. But I am actually pretty obsessed with plain black ink on the page. 

And then one of these videos said that a lot of creativity is not the result of being excited. It comes after repetition after repetition when you’re finally bored because you have made all of the obvious choices. 

So I have been making spider webs. And other fun stuff. But I keep coming back to spider webs. Over and over. Line drawings, or exploration of patterns and repeats, whatever. Just do it again.

And it has started to make some sense to me. It’s just shapes. And also, drawing is not an innate gift. Some people have a natural talent, but it can be learned. There are teachable techniques. Which I suppose I have always known, but not believed. Not for me, anyway. And MY FINGERS STILL DON’T WORK LIKE THAT! I make so many mistakes. Miss so many lines. But I’m learning how to use them, to incorporate them, to hide them, to just accept them.

I have to know in my heart and head that this place of ever evolving self acceptance that leads me to these new places of self discovery, that leads to deeper acceptance, and so on, is based on 20 cumulative years of choosing not to eat drug foods when shit got real. It’s 20 years of working through difficult situations by experiencing the pain, the disappointment, the discomfort, the stress, the joy, the excitement, the love. 20 years of eating three meals a day with Life in between. It’s 20 years of not being ashamed of myself for not being able to stop eating. 

Not being ashamed of myself has done wonders for my art.

I don’t have to be a visual artist. But I like that I don’t have to not be either. I don’t have to label it either way as part of my identity. And if the time comes when my doodling expands and visual art is part or all of what I want to create, I can go in without thinking I am “bad at” something. I can just get to work. 

All my castles on solid ground

With all of the things going on in my life over the past 6 months, I had not been making anything. No dolls, no toys, no blankets, no squares, no nothing. 

But finally, over the past 2 to 3 weeks I have started to make again! I am working on designing a little crochet convertible toy when I have the mental energy to do crochet math, and a seed stitch knit blanket when I don’t. 

One of the things that recovery from sugar addiction and compulsive eating has offered me is a firm foundation in the tangible. AKA “Doing the work.”

I am one of those girlies who straddles the line between woo woo and science. And one of the most important things I learned when I got abstinent from sugar and arrested my compulsive eating was that manifesting is not magic. It doesn’t mean “free.” And that if you do manage to “manifest” something without any work behind it, under it, there is nothing to hold it up. Building castles in the air, if you will.

When I was eating compulsively, I could absolutely lose weight. For periods of time, at least. But never ever once did I go on a diet or a program where I lost weight and thought, “this is the answer. I could sustain this!” 

Never once until I put my current boundaries around my food. Specific and measurable. Literally. Eating 3 times a day. Eliminating my drug foods. Weighing my food. With a community of people who do what I do. 

I had to change. I had to choose different foods. I had to choose different behaviors. I had to choose different thoughts. I had to give up whole ways of being. I had to have a crisis of self! (That sounds very dramatic but it was mostly a lot of me being in public in my pajamas and drinking gallons of coffee with a bajillion packets of sweet n low.)

And one of the ways that manifested for me was in honoring the cyclical nature of life. More specifically of MY life. That not every moment is a moment for creation. That not every purpose is one of productivity. That the moment is worthy. That I am worthy of rest and healing. That conversely, I am capable of digging deep and reaching so far beyond my comfort zone that I astonish even myself. 

The past 6 months has been a wonderful reminder how good I am at managing a project. How efficient I am. How dependable. It was fun. It was great to have so many new experiences, some of them a little scary. (In a grown up way, not a safety way.) 

And now I am ready to create again. In a new home with a new view and a new neighborhood with new people to meet. I am excited to be inspired and confounded and willing to try and fail. I can’t wait to spend hours making only to spend minutes unmaking and then giving it another go. No really. 

Getting control of my eating gives me peace enough to live my life as a process. I’m here for the experiences. And it’s all just experiences. 

New becomes normal quickly enough.

Bad news: There are so many personal changes coming at me from my move that I have to sit in a lot of really big emotions. Good news: Who I am becoming is kind of fascinating. Bad news: Fascinating is not boring or easy.

My nervous system is on high alert. None of this is known or safe or expected. 

But also I am very peaceful. I am very clearly where I am supposed to be. I love this home. My husband and my cat love this home. The future is now. 

But nothing changes if nothing changes. And I am already on the other side. I have stepped into something new. Which means that things have already changed. Past tense. In a bunch of ways I had not really noticed until the move was done. 

And in many ways I have not yet caught up. 

I need new protections for my peace. I am making new choices about my accessibility and availability. About what I am willing to be held accountable for and to whom. New choices about the energy I will take responsibility for. I already keep my phone on Do Not Disturb after 7:45 at night to keep my peace. I can choose something like that for my inner peace as well. 

I knew that this move would change me and that I couldn’t know how until it was done. And I am so grateful that I knew to have my panic attacks one little one at a time over the past six months so that I could get here and look square at my life, rather than having a crisis of change now, before I can get to enjoy this new view, literally and figuratively. 

But again, this isn’t exactly the road well traveled for me. It’s scary to consistently confront the changes to the way I see myself deserving to be treated. It takes something to say that my peace is more important than my making other people peaceful. 

So I remember that the fact that it’s uncomfortable just means it’s new. And that new becomes normal quickly enough.

Literal new view

What else is catching up with me?

Life has felt like it has been speeding by lately. My entire year has been a whirlwind from the beginning. And here, before the official end of Summer, I (yes “we,” but “This isn’t about him”) have bought a condo, sold a house, paid off all debt and have moved. MOVED moved.

This may not sound particularly exotic if you know me from real life or my blog, and are aware that we move all the time. But that is different. A kind of home away from home. Those places are never meant to be permanent. The “home” is always the stuff in it that has been used in the last place and the last. It’s the sameness of dishes and utensils, sheets and towels (and each other) that make life on the road its own kind of home. 

But this is Home. “Capital H.” 

And it is entirely different. I moved from a two story suburban house with all the trimmings: attic space, a two car garage with a refrigerator in it, a shed with lawn tools, a lawn, a patio, patio furniture, a swing in my back yard and fancy trees in the front. Yes even a picket fence but ours was black.

And now I live in a 2 bed 2 bath high rise with a balcony, a doorman, elevators, a pool, and minimal storage. As I was forced to look at my life through new lenses, and I was forced to examine, yet again, my ever evolving priorities. 

This move is a huge culture shift. One that feels so right for me, and also changes so much about my day to day life. 

From the outside all this happened between the beginning of May and the end of August. And in terms of actions and logistics, yes. At least I sure did have my fair share of panic attacks in these past 4 months. But I don’t think changes like this happen in the moment. 

I have been changing. And for longer than four months. It’s just now my home caught up. 

I wonder what else is catching up to me.

Hip to the new style

Over the past few weeks I have been experimenting with time. I have had a pulled hip flexor so I couldn’t do my workout. 

And it gave me a chance to play with my schedule. I have had the same morning workout routine for many years. I want to break out of old patterns. Not because they are bad, but because I want to shake up my life and what better way to do that than to disrupt my routines. To do something different.

I am always looking for the next part of my life. Some new growth, a new understanding, new perspectives. I don’t love the experience of change. But I love having changed. Like a lot.

This willingness (however begrudgingly in the moment) to change is a direct result of having my eating under control. Not eating my drug foods forced me to look at reality. The reality of my integrity and my behavior. And with my hormones and emotions not being influenced by sugar and carbohydrates, it was hard to talk myself into continuing a temper tantrum and insisting on being dragged kicking and screaming. It was easier to be a grown up. Also less embarrassing.

The more time I spend with my sugar addiction arrested, the better I am at life. I am more peaceful, have a good sense of (not religious) faith, I know how to be a good friend, and a good community member. And the more I understand what I care about, the better I can use my time going forward into a new life.

Loving all the places I live

By the end of the month, my home buying and selling saga will be done and I am so overjoyed! I love my new home. I am so happy to have our old home sold to a family that loves it. (I designed that kitchen with so much loving intention!) I am so relieved to not have a mortgage anymore before the end of the year. I am so glad that it didn’t take months and months to find a buyer and have to deal with stagings and showings and two tax bills.

I have a home beyond my wildest dreams. I already had a life beyond my wildest dreams.

That was a promise I was made by people who were already putting boundaries around their eating 20 years ago when I started. They said “weigh and measure your food and your life will get better.” “Stop putting drug foods in your body and you will change your life.”

And I changed my life. Not just my body, which did change, but my very experience. How I felt about myself. How I thought about myself. How I talked to myself. And therefore how I felt about the world.

The foods I am addicted to and abstain from DO things to my body. To my hormones. To my brain. More than just nourishment, they affect my moods and my pain receptors, and my anxiety levels. 

And I have never been so clear about it as since I stopped. I am a 49 year old woman, and I love my skin. I love my body. I love to do my workout. And I love myself enough to rest it when I need to. This vessel is the only one I exist in. And it’s my job to understand that that was not a mistake, it is a gift. 

There is so much the same about loving the body I am in and the home that I am in. I had to love my body *before* I could change it. (Well, change it for the better…I tried bulimia but it was hard…do not recommend.) I had to love the home I was already in before I could get a new dream home. There is something to the idea that gratitude is key to abundance. To be able to change the filter in your brain to see the gifts and the joy and the winks from the Universe. 

So here’s to the next unexpected gift from being this grateful for my new home! 

Goodbye to my amazing kitchen! I hope you make the next family as happy!!!

I have made my bed. I have yet to lie in it. 

This weekend I made my first and last IKEA purchase. On Saturday we picked up some pieces of furniture. When we got it home, we started to put one together, a bed, and it was clear that one piece was drilled wrong. And the options for replacing it were more inconvenient than literally fixing it ourselves. I mean drill bits. I mean saw dust. 

So it took two days and another 100+ dollars. To build a bed. 

Nothing that was supposed to get done for the move this weekend got done except that. 

I don’t eat over being frustrated. I don’t eat over my plans going awry. I don’t eat over broken furniture. 

And I have a modicum of control over my nervous system because of it. I was not that stressed. I am not saying I was happy, but we could laugh. We could do one thing at a time and problem solve. (It doesn’t hurt that my husband is a construction worker and I am a crafter. We are used to that kind of thinking.)

And I prefer to trust that we were exactly where we were supposed to be. But also, we will never forgive this bed or IKEA. Sweden as a whole I withhold judgment on for the time being.

I have made my bed. I have yet to lie in it. 

I’ve been down that path. It sucked…

I heard recently that there is link between telling girls they are fat and them becoming fat. Not girls who were already big or trending toward weight gain. Girls across the body spectrum were 60% more likely to become fat if they were told they were fat as children. And NOT because of their diet. It is through a cortisol path. Hormones. That the shame of being told this *literally* instructs the body to store energy as fat. 

It is a self fulfilling prophecy that we blame the girls/women for.

I actually had heard about this many years ago from Gary Taubes, who wrote The Case Against Sugar. He said that “calories in calories out” isn’t true because some foods affect our hormones, and fat storage is essentially a job for hormones. He also noted that sugar, especially processed sugar, affects our hormones as much as it nourishes. This of course made perfect sense to me. Because after I stopped eating compulsively and quit sugar and grains, and I lost a lot of weight, those calories never added up. I ate SO MUCH FOOD! High calorie and decadent. And I was a skinny!

And then I quit smoking and gained 30 pounds eating less and lower calorie. Quantifiably less. (Remember, I weigh all of my food.) And the answer was that smoking also affects your hormones. 

We have used weight as a moral issue for decades; centuries. By insisting it’s the actions of the individual alone that create fatness, without any understanding of why or how our bodies work. And we have brought it into being by shaming girls, any girl.

There is an uptick in anti-fat sentiment that promotes disordered eating right now. There is woman who posted a few months ago that if you weigh more than 160 pounds you don’t have the right to give her attitude. Ma’am, if I’m going to give you attitude, your opinion about my body is irrelevant to me. My attitude isn’t based on the holy vessel of another being. For you, it would be because you’re an ass. 

(Also HOW BIG DOES THIS WOMAN THINK 160 POUNDS IS???? And any height? Like if she’s 6’ does that count? Where did she get this number? Is she 157????)

Then I saw a MAN get on the internet to say that size 14 is plus sized. Bitc- ahem, Sir! You are not part of this conversation. This is for women to decide where to shop. Not for you to morally dehumanize and degrade the majority of post-pubescent women. If your ideal partner had body is of a teen girl…well, there’s a term for that….

So here is your reminder that weight is not an indicator of health. That you cannot see what a person eats by the size or shape of their body. And that EVEN IF THEY ARE UNHEALTHY people still have the right to exist in peace and love in their beautiful fat bodies. 

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