The Wagon's Still in the Shop

Today wasn't the day.

Maybe tomorrow won't be either. It's on the horizon though.

I know because I'm the mechanic. I'm the wheel wright. I'm fixing this wagon.

How? Well, in short, I'm going to mom myself. I'm going to turn my wagging mom index finger on myself and say, "Beatrice Elizabeth, you cannot read that book or write that story or drink that coffee or have screen time until you've done at least twenty minutes today!"

Of course knowing me as I do, there will be the five stages of getting out of responsibility and shirking self - discipline:

1. DENIAL: You can't make me. I do what I want. You're not the boss of me!

2. ANGER: You're just doing this cuz you're mean! I don't like you when you're like this!

3. BARGAINING: Fine, I'll do it, but can I do half now and half later? How about I do two workouts tomorrow?

4: DEPRESSION: What's the point of doing this anyway? It's not like I'm ever going to lose any weight. I never do. I just want to curl up and cry.

5: ACCEPTANCE: Yes, I know you are right. It's what is best for me. Twenty minutes isn't that long. I can make it.

And then when those wheels are back on that buckboard hopefully I'll feel better inside and out. Though, I do think inside is more important because eventually feeling well inside becomes being well outside.

Goodnight, friends. Pray for me. Cheer for me. Do your twenty minutes with me then use your screen time reward to tell me how you feel.

P.S.
As much as I'd like to say this plan is my idea, it's not. Someone wise planted the seed and I ran with it.

What Happened to My Wagon?

I wish there was a better way to say it, but I'm going to fall back on the old cliche. I've fallen off the wagon - the exercise wagon, that is. I was going strong for weeks then let one little schedule interruption run me off the road. If I'm honest with myself - and whoever might be reading this - I'd have to say that's just par for the course for me. I'm gung ho out of the gate then I let the first turn drag me down.

I keep thinking tomorrow's the day, tomorrow I'm climbing up on that seat, grabbing the reins, and giddy-upping my way back to good habits. The problem is that the bad habits are much stronger than I am. At least two of them are - sugar and laziness. I've beaten cigarettes, drugs, and myriad other addictions but none had the power over me that sugar and laziness have.

I cringe at the word laziness. It plays into all of those fatty stereotypes that say we must be this size because we never do anything. Of course that is so absurdly untrue as to not warrant comment but still I feel compelled to point out my three children that I homeschool, the home I manage successfully, and the improvements/investments that I make in myself in other areas (like writing!)

All of that is dandy but why is it so hard to move more and stick to it?

I think the sticking to is the difficulty. There are lots of activities I would love to try: cross fit, rock climbing, roller skating - Heck, I've checked out a belly dancing fitness dvd from the library. I even want to learn to fight. Not the local Tae Kwon Do dojo stuff, I mean quick takedown, fighting for your life, Krav Maga stuff or maybe that Brazilian dance-looking stuff called Capoeira. Who's going to teach me though? Who's going to look past the belly that gets in my way constantly to see that my calves are pure sculpted muscle that could give a mule a run for its money in kicking power?

No one. People literally laugh at me when I use the words 'cross' and 'fit' together in a sentence.

But those people aren't the problem.

I AM THE PROBLEM.

I'm the one who doesn't get up to do it.

I'm the one who has checked out that belly dancing dvd twice for a total of six weeks time and never cracked open the case much less watched and participated.

It's all me. I know, but is knowing enough to get going again? Maybe. Hopefully. We'll see tomorrow morning.

The Truth About Body Image - Part 1

I'm not sure which is worse, seeing a picture of myself or hearing others tell me what a great picture it is. I know that I have some form of that skewed vision that all women get but I also know what I see, and good or beautiful are not adjectives I'd use to describe it. I know the aforementioned loved ones are at the very least well-meaning but do they also suffer from an equal but opposite vision issue? As I see only the fat and ugly as a result of my personal shame and disdain, do they only see beauty as a result of their love for me?

Recently a friend of mine who happens to be a truly stunning example of God's creation posted an article about how our daughters will develop a better body image if they hear their mothers compliment their own body. I agree that our daughters deserve better than always chasing that smaller size and fretting over whether some snooty classmate is going to give her grief over her ever-changing physique. I want to shout it from the rooftops. I want to get on the middle and high school lecture circuits and tell them just what happens inside someone's soul when she is labeled the fat girl. I want all of our daughters to know that the superficial, snotty "you-know-what" will likely one day put on an extra thirty pounds she can't get rid of and she'll still be a "you-know-what" who is bitter and unhappy. 

My problem is not in the sentiment put out by the study mentioned in my friend's post. It's in the implementation. I want my precious girl to know that she is exquisite at six and will be forever, but I just can't be that model for her. There is not a mirror in existence that would show me anything worth praising. I'm not a slightly rounded woman who has curves that keep me from being bony. I don't have a little belly that rounds out to evidence the three natural childbirths I have endured. I have no curves - I have mounds. I have rolls, I have lumps - and my belly is downright disgusting.

Even more disturbing is that I'm standing in the wake of a ship already sailed. My daughter KNOWS what I look like. She doesn't have the glassy-eyed "mom is perfection" illusions that some children grow up with; none of my children have that variety of cataract. They all see the warped - bodied, bulging me. They are curious. I saw it in their faces for a long time before my daughter was brave enough to ask. "Mommy, why are you so overweight?" Those were her exact words. I told her about PCOS but she didn't fully grasp how that might work since every other voice in the world tells her that being overweight is caused by eating too much and not moving enough. Somewhere deep inside her she just doesn't believe there is a reason I'm like this. Nestled next to that doubt is the death of my chance to ever model a good self-image.

The cancer of low self-worth is spreading rapidly at our house, too. What began as praising God that our premature first-born was exceeding every expectation the NICU doctors gave him became a 10-year-old boy who always wants to check his weight and worries that the little prepubescent belly he has will mean that one day he'll look like me. How do I know he feels that way? He told me. In tears he admitted that he was afraid of looking like me one day. I'd never hurt so much in my life. Of course, I don't want him to end up this way either but I didn't want him to give voice to those daggers.

What it comes down to is knowing that I want my children to understand that the magazine, film, television, and fashion industries don't know the first thing about beautiful and that their worth lies in their love of God. He created them and loves them regardless of what anyone (including themselves) deems a flaw. Unfortunately, they are going to have to find that example somewhere else. Mommy is filled with self-disdain. Mommy is no example to follow.

Feeling Discouraged

Few things are as discouraging as spending four months waiting for people to gather around you and raise you above where you can be on your own. Since announcing that my health had gotten to the point that I have to take the dramatic step of bariatric surgery to combat the condition that has caused me become so large, I've heard lots of crickets chirping. I can't even get my friends and family, with a few exceptions, to click "share" and help me spread the word about my fundraising efforts. I've been stewing and wondering about the reasons for the dead air. I've come up with a few that might be true but I don't understand any of them.

First, do they think I'm lying? Do they think I've never really tried to lose weight, and if I would follow this new plan or take up running or just cut out high fructose corn syrup everything would be fine? I'd drop pounds like crazy because obviously I've never really tried. After all, the "experts" on TV say that anyone can lose weight with diet and exercise.

I also thought, perhaps, they don't think my health is really at risk to the degree I say. Most of them have known me for a good portion of my life. My health has never been this desperate before. Why would it be now? It must be all about my looks. I just want to look smaller.

Maybe they think I'm just trying to get other people to pay for something that I can really afford. Of course, that must be it. I really have an extra $18k laying around, doesn't everyone?

Several other scenarios crossed my mind but these seemed the most likely. What I don't like about these is that they make me think about my friends and family in ways that I don't want to think of them. They characterize people I love as heartless and questioning my integrity. I'm fighting these scenarios hard. I don't want to carrying these second-rate images in my head. I want to believe that everyone who claims me as friend wants what is best for me.

Harder still is the fight to not let this become a value judgment of me. For instance, believing that I must not rank as high as this or that other project that my friend supports with great vigor. Am I so insignificant in their life that they would promote a fundraiser for a fake product over my health and long life? Why are they hugging me and paying me lip service instead of simply clicking? How good of a friend must I be if they cannot even do something so simple?

That is a hard demon to ward off.

An equally wily demon is the one that suggests I treat said friends differently, that I disconnect from them because that will sure teach them! Besides, I can't do without them of that's how they're going to be! I feel so fourth grade just typing that!

Overall, this had been a growing experience for me. I'm learning to walk in active forgiveness daily, hourly. I'm learning that I don't always get the reason behind a "no" and that is okay. I'm learning to love people no matter how little it seems they love me.

Thanks for reading! I'd really like your comments on this one!

Me and My Alphabet Soup

Believe it or not there are people who have the gall to ask me why I don't just lose weight. They tell me its simple math. I just have to use more calories than I take in. That's what all those high-gloss, morning show talking heads with tiny waists and 10% body fat tell us, right? That's all there is to it.

Well, I'm here to tell you -


THEY'RE FREAKIN' WRONG!


At least for me and millions of others out there who are victims of faulty body chemistry. That's my alphabet soup: PCOS and IR. It's those six letters that rule my life. Those six letters are the reason that a "calories-in-calories-out" approach doesn't work.

I have Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome and Insulin Resistance. Together they wreak havoc on my body, all through my hormones. Most people eat food and their insulin system tells their muscles to hear the message and receive the nutrients and grow. Not me. My body is so messed up by these two conditions that my insulin systems causes my body to think it is in constant starvation mode so it stores everything I eat - AS FAT! That fat is primarily visceral or omentum fat which also produces a hormone that perpetuates the cycle.

I'm mouse in a wheel. I'm stuck with no "eat less, move more" plan that can help. Believe me, I've tried them all.

That's why I'm seeking surgery. I need to live. I want to be PCOS and IR-free which I can do with surgery. I need help though. I need my friends and family to stand by me and want this for me as I want it for myself. I'm not copping out and taking the lazy way out. Surgery is not a walk in the park. It is work. BUT surgery is the "reset" button that my system needs to be healthy for the rest of my life.

PLEASE! PLEASE! Visit my fundraising page and donate. Even if its just a dollar or two, it will help. If nothing else, it gives me hope.

Here is the link: Bea Is A Loser

I Woke Up Fat Today

     Let me welcome you to my first post. I've been ruminating on the thoughts behind this blog for some time. I questioned what my goals are in writing it and whether I really wanted so many people reading the deeply personal thoughts I intend to post here. A friend even warned me that I'd be opening myself up to some potentially very cruel people. I thought it over. The short answer is that I want people to know what my life is really like and that faceless people on the Internet couldn't be any more cruel than classmates, strangers, friends, and family have already been. Sometimes scars from the past serve to protect the delicate skin underneath. I also questioned if I had the gumption. I guess that question has been answered.

     I want to promise you two things: first, I endeavor to be honest. Sometimes that honest will be startling and painful for both of us but I cannot be half-hearted with this. Second, I promise you that I will not post every day. I may go a week without posting. I may post more than once in a day. There likely will not be regularity to my timing but each post will be meaningful.

     So, what did I mean by saying I woke up fat today? It's not the easiest thing to explain if you've never been fat. Gimme a minute. I'll try to explain. That realization, that slap in the face with the facts isn't my first thought of the day. It usually comes later in the day when some physical, emotional, or social obstacle has made it obvious. 

     Here's an example: think of a trip to the movies. We all know they aren't built for comfort. They're built to pack as many people in as possible. Most people when they go to a movie are anticipating the movie itself. Not me. I'm planning how I'm going to sit in one of those seats for two hours. Then it hits me: I'm fat. Okay that means I have to sit on the end so I don't spill over into the people on either side of me. On the end I can lean into the aisle not bothering the people next to me. Next, I check the seat before I sit just in case its the rare one that is already damaged. I can't explain the humiliation of being a fat girl who breaks a chair.

     Anyway, you get the idea. Life in this body in this world is painful, cruel, and ill-fitted. Every day is a new lesson in navigating this life. I'm going to share those lessons, my trials and triumphs, and whatever else I think might help someone understand what it is to be in this body.

     Thanks for reading. Please feel free to leave respectful comments.