Monday, July 13, 2009

Ripping off the band aid …OUCH!!!!

Ok so I’ve been avoiding this post for a few days and more recently several hours. One thing I’ve learned that I love about blogging is how honest I can be without feeling judged (or like I’m going to get into heaps of trouble). I love the freedom to write how I experience and see things. I would say in general I am a fairly honest person to talk to. I don’ think that I sugar coat my opinions or am too afraid (most of the time) to tell you what I think – that is if I know you are really listening to what I am saying. Anyway, this is one post I’d rather skip altogether.

This post is about the one thing that humiliates me the most, reveals one of my truest struggles, and yet seems to be something that is acceptable in our culture. I realize that once I say what it is many people will laugh it off as ridiculous and may respond with: ‘Get over it. You’re not the first, you won’t be the last, it’s not that big a deal.’ But to me, it is. And right now, it hurts. For the sake of honesty and for the hope of perhaps some encouragement or connection out there, I will do it.

*Peeling off the band aid*

I have a serious self image problem that is closely affiliated with my addiction to certain foods. As I say in my profile here: ‘I am a chocoholic and Mondays are never far away.’ Unfortunately it seems to be the motto of my life and it has hurt more than it’s helped. Let me back track a bit and tell you when I first found out I was different …

I was five years old and standing outside of my kindergarten room when one of the grade one girls came up to me really close and stared me straight in the eyes and said ‘You are so fat!!’ She said it really mean like and with absolute disgust. I really had no idea what she was talking about. In the years that followed I soon found out. Through out my time in elementary school I don’t believe a day went by (after gr.2) that I didn’t get teased for being fat. That probably sounds like an exaggeration; the sad part is that it isn’t.

I remember being outside on the play ground and not being able to play hopscotch or skip with my friends without kids yelling names at me. Every possible name you could think of: fatso, tub-o-lard, submarine, cow, pig, and many others. I would go home and be upset and my mother (who had gone through the same torment as I as a child) would ask me what was wrong. I wouldn’t say and she would guess, then tell me ‘Stick and stones will break your bones but names will never hurt you, just ignore them.’ Wow! I think that MUST be one of the most ridiculously false sayings ever written! Anyway, I hung in there and was one of the shyest kids around, scared of what anyone ever thought of me – even my closest family members.

At one point I clearly remember sitting on the edge of my bed looking down at the bright yellow painted trim in my ballerina wallpapered room and taking the cord for my headphones and wrapping it around my neck and pulling both ends. I recall wishing I had the guts to do it. You know how old I was? 8 or 9. Sad eh? The only wish I ever had was that one day I would grow up and be beautiful. Every star, every birthday candle, every wish chip (how appropriate – ok I needed a little humour here) I wished the same thing – beauty. To me, during my growing up years at least, beauty was physical and it definitely meant being thin. Two things I’d never been told I was or had experienced…

… until I started to ‘grow up’. You know the growing up where your body changes into someone else’s body. This is when (for a girl) you see your hips have parted like the red sea and your breasts … well they are supposed to be coming any day now. When you discover areas you would soon need to groom in ways you never thought you’d have to. Yes, this was puberty. For some it is their saving grace and for others … well let’s just say life’s not always fair.

For me though it was a good thing. It meant I had some control over things, at least to some degree and I would take advantage of it. A big change came when I was in grade 8 and hunting for a graduation dress. I barely fit in the biggest size and I cried and cried. I decided enough was enough and I was going to do something. From that June to the following December I worked hard and lost 40 pounds on my own. I also bought contacts and got a new hairdo. I finally felt beautiful, (as beautiful as I thought I could ever feel). During this time I also became a Christian and decided to work on my inside too. Thing got better.

You’d think that would be the end right? I wish. Unfortunately my struggles have continued on into my adult life, always going up and down on the scale, never in an entirely healthy way. All along this journey I have watched my mama (who I mentioned struggled as I did when she was a child) grow into a morbidly obese person, carrying with her emotional baggage and years of hurt. This constantly looms over my heart and reminds me of what I could become. My biggest fear isn’t being morbidly obese. My biggest fear is not living my best life (forgive me please for the ‘Oprah-ism’). My deepest desire is to live a life that’s full. Full of joy, freedom, love, presence, and peace. Who doesn’t want that?

So, as I write about all these things I want so deeply I have to confess my serious indulgence over food (namely sugar). The other night I went to a new library in town, it was downtown in an area I didn’t know, it was busy and a little scary for me. I had to eat two chocolate bars to get enough courage to go. I had planned to make today my first day of ‘good behaviour’, a friend and I planned to meet downtown and mark our healthy eating endeavors with a visit to a Vegan restaurant. It was closed; needless to say we found another restaurant that served fries as a side dish. On the way home I felt so bad that I bought two more chocolate bars to ease the pain, of course I felt worse after that.

Those are only two of the last seven days I have abused food to help me cope (Let me tell you, there were SEVERAL others). I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, I don’t thing these foods are wrong on there own, but when they are truly used as a drug (that really is how I see them too), I know they aren’t for my benefit.

I’m not sure where to go from here or what I expect anyone to do. I fully know the logistics to losing a few pounds: duh, move more, eat less. But what are the logistics for my heart? How do I heal my heart? I’m not really sure the answers to these questions but I will continue to pursue an answer or at least at some point let go so Someone else can help. I feel that I need to apologize for my honesty. For using this as a self help forum. But this is part of my life and who I am. Maybe there’s someone else that can relate, or even help, I don’t know. It’s off though, the band aid is off and my uglies are open for all to see. Beware! There may be more to come… I am hopelessly flawed, but I’d like to think that’s what makes me beautiful to Someone.