onceafatgirl

Peace is better than chocolate

Archive for the tag “personal choices”

I’m good at string

This week I got my first ever bout of covid. Four years is really not a bad run, I think. And it was not fun but it was a mild case. The most noticeable thing about it for me was my inability to think. 

But I also got a lesson in the positive aspects of not being able to think. Because I went on line, found a tutorial on embroidery flowers, and just…did it?

There are some things I need to note. Because I crochet dolls, I already had a crapload of embroidery floss for giving dolls faces and making small pieces and accessories. And I had recently bought an embroidery hoop to mend some pants. So I did indeed already have the basic stuff. And I did not have to make the point of acquiring supplies. 

But I do not just do things. I think them. And then rethink them. I wonder if and how. I deconstruct and rebuild in my mind. I step back and look at it from all the angles. I make contingency plans. And contingency plans for my contingency plans.

And then I act. Slowly.

But I didn’t have the bandwidth this week. So I just picked up an old pair of pants that had been in a donation pile and started going through the tutorial flower by flower. 

It’s no surprise to me that I was immediately good at it. I’m good at string. What was surprising was that I was just as good without overthinking.

What was surprising and kind of scary was recognizing how much time I waste on overplanning. 

This is not to say that the planning and the thinking are all bad. When I was in the food I was absolutely a “jump in and hope you don’t drown” kind of person. And what happened then was usually that someone who was not me had to save me. Usually my mother. So rest assured I don’t mean that.

But perhaps I don’t need a 17 step ritual dance to start a baby blanket.

I think a lot about time. Because I want things. And because I am a practical person. And once I understood that I had to manage my time to fit my priorities into my life, I started to respect both time and priorities on a higher level. So this feels important. To me. To my life. To my art. I want to use that time. It’s mine. (I only want what’s coming to me. I only want my fair share.) So now comes the work of change. (Again. Still.)

And also, I have a new set of skills with string. So there’s that.

This one maybe has too many different metaphors?

I heard someone say this week that having a bigger life is not actually about adding, but about giving up. I immediately understood what she meant. Because I’m an addict. 

But it’s not just about drugging or not drugging myself with food. It’s about all of the ways I fail to be present. Not just fail to be. Avoid being present.

I have a lot of compassion for my childhood self. I think one thing I have learned in recovery is that we do the things because they work. They help. They protect us. Until they don’t. They hurt. They kill us instead. 

But food was my friend for a long time. Smoking was my friend for a long time. 15 cups of coffee a day were my friends for a long time.

But there is so much more. Resentful people pleasing and martyrdom were my friends. Suffering. Perfectionism. Overthinking. 

As I peel back the layers of my own inauthenticity, by intentionally seeking peace, by cultivating my own joy, by curating my time, I can see all of the ways that I have been choosing various different kinds of protections, much like the protection food was. 

There is a Zen Buddhist saying. Before Enlightenment, chop wood, carry water; After Enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. 

The goings on of my day are much the same. Laundry and dishes and cooking. Knitting and crocheting and audiobooks. 

But to be at peace, with both my actions and my inactions, to enjoy my moments for the moments themselves, to become freer and less encumbered by the expectations and the “truths and understandings” of others every day, is making me happy. Content. Pleased. 

Present

I *want* to be present. I want to be here. Wherever here is. Right here at this moment. I’m starting to recognize that it’s the only place magic lives.

But here comes the annoying part. This actual shucking of inauthenticity takes time. So much time. So much work. So much growth. So much vulnerability…But mostly it’s the time. It’s hard to remember that this new era of my life right here took 18 years of work just to arrive at, and I just now feel like I am scratching the surface of the goldmine. 

What do I know about gold mining? Maybe I am about to strike it rich.

I guess if you need me I will be over here peeling off my layers of protection…

A welcome homecoming

I have had many complaints about perimenopause in the past several years. Because it has its annoyances. Brain fog, memory issues, hot flashes – especially at night, plus irregular and more painful periods. 

But there are some things that I positively adore about my life right now and I am starting to understand that perimenopause is actually a part of that. 

I have heard a few stories over the past year or so that have had an impact on me. 

First I saw some speaker (maybe a Ted Talk?) say that when women go through menopause we call it “the change” like we are turning into monsters. But really we are just returning to the same hormones we had before puberty. In other words, I realized that would mean I am reverting back to my 9-10 year old self! That’s fantastic! That’s so fun!

Then my best friend and I were talking. And she is an award winning director of singers. And she said that there was an experience she had. A woman of a certain age has raised her kids and she and her husband are empty nesters, and now she has an itch to be on stage. And as she gets deeper into it, and she’s good at it, her husband gets more uncomfortable. “Where did this singing come from? She never sang before!” And it was not once. But repeatedly. And she and her piano playing partner would say “here we go.” So is it a coincidence that this is also the time most women are going through perimenopause? Is it a coincidence that I am feeling more creative, more confident, more excited about doing things now even though I don’t have kids? There was no nest to empty.

And then a friend who does spiritual work told me that one very particular message for me was to revert back to the time when I was free. And she said that it was told to her that it was when I was 10 or 11. Is it possible it’s a coincidence I was last “free” around early puberty and now am being told to find it again after my baby making hormones are almost done? Of course it’s possible. But would it really be that crazy?

The idea that my changing hormones might affect the way I interact with society feels like an important bit of information. For me if no one else. It feels more connected than not. 

Because truly, I am feeling content and free and unencumbered in a way I don’t remember ever feeling. And It feels like a brand new kind of freedom. I mean I feel deeply unburdened in my heart and head and soul. (In other words, it’s probably hormones and brain chemicals.) 

Also on that note, shout out to my antidepressant. That certainly changed my life for the better. Along with over a decade of building good habits and learning how to maintain my integrity.

When I got my sugar addiction and compulsive eating under control, I discovered that I hated myself. But I hated myself so deeply that I didn’t even know it was there until it stopped. And it stopped because I was able to keep a promise to myself.

So I have spent the past 18 years keeping that promise and then more and more promises to myself. And liking and loving myself more. And then in the past year the antidepressant has really allowed for me to be comfortable in my own head for the first time. And here I am, 47 years old, and I love myself. Not just “don’t hate” but LOVE! I am joyful to be alive. I am tickled to be me. I feel like I am the most beautiful, likable, hilarious and generous I have ever been.

So I guess what it comes down to for me is that in my life I do the work and keep up with the maintenance, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. And my body does what it does. And sometimes that is difficult or uncomfortable. But this change – The Change – also feels like a kind of homecoming. And I welcome it.

Obsessed is not in love

Over the past 2 years, I have not been trying to lose weight, but I have. I don’t weigh my body anymore, because of my body dysmorphia. But I am in size Small linen and workout pants and I believe I am a US size 6 right now. Which I was in my early 30s and is right around the smallest I have ever been since I was 12 years old. But also, I have not actually tried on a pair of size 6 hard pants, so I don’t really know.

And I don’t want to know right now. 

Managing my body is simple, if not easy. I sleep 8 hours a night, I drink water and keep my eating boundaries and workout and now I even go to the doctor and do my health maintenance. 

But managing my *thoughts* about my body is regularly a shitshow. 

I named this blog Onceafatgirl because once a fat girl, always a fat girl. Because the society and the culture made its mark on me because I was fat. And it’s a scar. 

I know it’s societal. I know that all women and even plenty of men are subjected to this same scrutiny and many  unrealistic expectations. But those of us who are or have been fat, know that it is not just about our looks. It’s a condemnation of our characters. And has a whiff of the Predestination of our Puritanical roots.

And even though I have spent many years now actively trying to dismantle my internalized fat phobia, my knee-jerk first thought of being physically smaller is a little shot of dopamine. A little happiness. As a treat.

So I am not going to go try on clothes. I am not going to stand in front of the mirror looking for minute changes. At least not right now. Not while I am obsessive. Because what comes after that is…insane….It’s wondering how many fewer calories I can eat (even though I don’t count calories.) How much more exercise I can do. It’s researching online how to burn more fat, and thinking about actually doing some of the weird or stupid stuff I see recommended. It’s just general craziness. 

And it makes me like myself less, not more. 

So I am just trying my best not to think about my body. Because being obsessed with it isn’t love. Love is accepting something or someone exactly as they are.

But I will close by saying that one of the best ways I keep my body dysmorphia at bay is to do those things I mentioned at the beginning. Sleep and water and exercise and general self nurturing. As long as I do my daily routine of self care, I don’t need to hyper focus on my body anyway.

Living the loose life

I had a super exciting Friday night this week. A family friend was in town running sound for a touring band and I got to see him and their amazing show. And I got to meet an internet friend for the first time! And it was all magical!

One of my favorite sayings is “how you do anything is how you do everything.” And in getting my eating under control I ended up changing basically everything about my life. 

I never wanted to do anything in preparation for anything when I was growing up as a sugar addict and compulsive eater. And as a really talented and intelligent addict, that was an easy lifestyle to execute but a difficult one to bear. It meant never preparing for anything and then having to constantly worry and overthink and perform spectacularly in the moment. I always wanted to “fly by the seat of my pants” but I don’t think I understood the toll it was taking on my peace and joy. All because preparation felt like work and work felt hard.

In order to get my eating under control, I had to start planning and preparing in advance to have what I needed to eat. I was told that I should be the most important person in my own life and that if I cared about getting sober from sugar and not eating compulsively, I was going to have to make sure that my food was taken care of. And that *I* very specifically needed to do it. 

I must weigh my portions myself. It’s part of my spiritual relationship with food and my ability to be totally honest and responsible for everything that goes into my mouth. I need to read ingredients. I need to ask how things are cooked at restaurants. I need to refuse to eat things that are not on my approved menu. Even if it’s something made just for me. Even with love. 

So now, I find that my life is so much the opposite. I plan and prepare all the things so I can relax in the moment.

Friday before I left I made sure everything was taken care of: My home, my husband, my food for the weekend, my dinner for the night, my tickets, my Ubers, my friends’ needs, my schedule, ALL THE THINGS! And that made me feel great about myself. That made me feel calm about my night. That made me feel like now all I had to do was go with the flow. And then I just got to be in the moment. I didn’t have to worry or overthink. I got to enjoy the moment and the music, my new friend and my old one.

Growing up my eating was addictive and out of control and it forced me to use ridiculous amounts of energy to try to keep myself together and show up for the most basic life tasks. I had to keep myself so tight and reined in, because of how loose my eating was. Now I keep my food tight so I can live my life loose instead. 

Ready for a nice time on a nice day

In 45 minutes, I need to be out the door for Mother’s Day. We have to pick up the beef sandwich set ups and the appetizer tray, and the chicken tenders. And my brother-in-law is bringing the sodas and the snacks and dessert. 

And none of it is for me. I have a lunch packed. I will bring my diet soft drinks because I’m the only one who drinks them. I even bring my own silverware and a mini spatula so I don’t lick my plate or bowl in front of everyone. Because I would. And in a pinch I still will. Hence the bringing of the spatula. 

I leave nothing about my food to chance. And I love that for me. I know I can count on myself to do my best and care. 

I don’t miss Chicago Italian beef sandwiches, though they have been off the list for over 18 years. Are they spectacular? Of course. Are they worth picking up the drug that makes me hate myself? Absolutely not. 

A lot of people say just have one. As if it were an obvious answer. 

If I could just have one, my friend, I would not do this. Why would I choose all this work if I were capable of moderation?

I am happy to provide fun party foods to others. I am happy to go to a family event with people who have never known me any way but bringing my own food to every event. It’s a nice day and I’m ready to have a nice time. 

I want to be myself more

I don’t love change. But I love having changed. I love having grown. And though I have never had a baby, when they say childbirth is the kind of pain you forget, I feel like that is what changing is like. Because I forget how bad it sucks when I am deep in the process and haven’t quite figured out how to be the thing that I am not yet, even though it is *right there*! 

When I quit sugar and got a handle on my compulsive eating, there were simple, if not easy rules. There is a list of foods I eat. I eat portion controlled meals of them 3 times a day. I choose whatever I want within the boundaries. I don’t eat anything else. Did it take something to not eat cake in the beginning? Of course it did. But there was no mystery to if I had done it. Did I follow the rules? Then I had done it.

When I quit smoking, one of the hardest things was the ways I had built it into my day and my life. The first cigarette of the day with a cup of coffee on my roof. The cigarette upon coming out of the subway onto the street. Where to stand to not be in the way. The cigarette after a meal. The last one before bed. But at least all of those things, I could see! I could tack them up on a calendar if I wanted and come up with new strategies to combat them if I needed. 

But just changing, growing, choosing to be a more authentic version of myself, and then doing it again, and again, there is no calendar and no map. It’s just me trying to change the air I breathe and the water I’m swimming in. 

It hurts. It sucks. It puts a strain on so many parts of my life that have depended on me being the way I was. The point is, I do have these inauthenticities built into my day like a cigarette. But I can’t put them on a calendar. I can’t pinpoint them on a map. I don’t even know where they are until I bump up against them. Or sometimes ram into them head first. 

But ultimately I want to be myself more than I want to be comfortable. No. I want to be myself more than I want to be anything else in the world.

…Grow up, Kate

What does it mean to trust the process? I guess the further I get from my own past experiences, the less I know what that even means. And right now that is frustrating and annoying. (Terrifying. It’s terrifying.) 

This week:

Someone asked if I might be interested in applying for a part time office job they know of, and I asked for more information. I am interested in making money. I am also interested in making money from my creative brain. I am trusting that the right things are coming my way.

I have an almost-done crochet project for someone that has been sitting in its project bag for over a week without me touching it. But I don’t want to do it. And I don’t know why. But I am not. And that feels right. So why do I feel like not doing is automatically wrong?

Among a whole list of other basic health related big girl accomplishments, I went to the doctor and actually let them draw blood for the first time in 20 years. And the phlebotomist was so generous, listening to me, going along with my needs, not being condescending or impatient with me. And then she was also just spectacular at her job. I didn’t cry, and that made me want to cry in a different way. Shout out to Lisa! But that was a huge hurdle for decades and I just made it over it? Okay…

All of these feel like big things. But I don’t know what they mean. 

I already know how to move forward from a lesson I have failed to learn. I know how to catch up. I know how to both move up and move on.

But I feel like these are new lessons. A whole new curriculum. New frontiers and all that jazz. Emotionally, personally, in my connections and my accomplishments. And I feel like I don’t know protocol. I don’t know what “letting go” looks like.

In the serenity prayer, there is the serenity to accept the things I can’t change and the courage to change the things I can. And also the wisdom to know the difference. But wisdom comes from experience. And I don’t have that. Which I suppose means it’s coming. And probably fast.

And maybe what it comes down to is that I don’t want to fail. Not even once. And well…grow up, Kate. 

Another make coming

I have been thinking a lot about the addiction part of my life lately. (Not that I am ever not thinking about it on some level.) About the part of me that always wants more. That wants to be filled up. Sated. And never quite is.

People who keep the same eating and food boundaries that I do have a handful of slogans. And one is There Is Another Meal Coming. Because that is what addiction feels like. Dearth. Void. Scarcity and Deprivation. 

And even though I used to cringe at the cheesy nature of having slogans, that one, and many others, got me through. Reminded me that there was ALWAYS another meal coming. I was guaranteed three meals a day. I am guaranteed! I get to eat things I love. And none of them are drug foods.

But since I have been actively trying to create a year of joyful, peaceful, purposeful creation, I have noticed that I still live my creative life like there is not, in fact, another meal (project, idea, time to make) coming. I am thinking like an addict about making. Frenzied, overwhelmed, excited but in a way that leads to disappointment. Half finished, lost steam, too many ideas, not enough time.

In all seriousness, I feel like it’s a miracle I make and design and create as much as I do for as much chaos as I court around it in my head. 

So my goal moving forward is to remember that there is another make coming. 

I already know that this lesson comes with some practical considerations, like time and logistics, but there is something to Fake It ‘Til You Make It, and for now it feels good to trust that stuff will get made. And maybe in the end, with a little more room in my head for something bigger.

Keepin’ it clean

This week I made all of my maintenance style doctor appointments. It’s a thing I hate that I literally avoided for over 20 years. But I have a philosophy that I learned when I got my eating under control. I quit the thing that is killing me quickest. 

First it was simple sugars and carbohydrates. Then cigarettes. And eventually it was my staunch refusal to go to a doctor. 

I’m 46. I will turn 47 in June. I am not young. And I am not stupid. I know people live longer because we have preventative measures as well as improved drugs and technology. So I put on my big girl panties and I scheduled my exams and check ups. 

But as a person who grew up fat, I want to say that the medical system traumatized me. And the only reason it does not continue to do so is that I have spectacular boundaries. And I put them in place vigorously and shamelessly. 

When I was single and dating, I remember having a date coming up, and I was eating my dinner in a coffee shop before hand and dropped some on the floor. I was not going to eat it. And frankly, it was so little that under different circumstances, I would not have thought about it. But I was going on a date. So I called someone who does what I do with food to “turn it over.” Just tell someone the truth about it because part of being an addict for me is being a liar about food. I told her that when it comes to dating, I want to be “clean.” I didn’t want anything to muddle my thinking. 

And I am so glad I did. Because the date was terrible. He was mean to me. When I told him that, he tried to make out with me. Which, obviously hell no! And then he got mad when I would not let him drive me home because he had been drinking. 

Now all of this might sound like an obvious progression of no on my part. But if it does, you have never been a woman out on a date who was trying to deescalate an uncomfortable situation. I almost let this drunk man drive me home because he was pressing me in an upsetting way. 

But I didn’t. I was clean. I knew my worth. I knew that I did not want what was on offer. And I knew that I had the right to say no however I needed to.

Well I am looking into finding some voice work and voice acting as a job soon. I love to act and do improv. I am naturally clever and I have enough experience to know that being quick is a muscle you can build. 

So this feels like that meal before that date. I want to be clean! I want to keep this vessel healthy. It is my instrument. And I want to signal to Life and the Universe that I am ready to take whatever comes. To take it seriously. To take it with grace and humor. And to make something out of it.

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