Scaling Back

I have a confession to make: I’ve secretly been in a highly dysfunctional relationship for years.

With … it pains me to admit it … my bathroom scale.

My relationship with food and my body has been so disordered for so long that I don’t know how “normal” people interact with a bathroom scale, or if they even HAVE bathroom scales. I  only know how I interact with mine.

People: It’s not good.

I weigh myself every day. EVERY DAY. Sometimes, multiple times a day. The number that comes up on the scale is how I know how to feel about myself. If the number is smaller today than it was yesterday, I am allowed to like me, to feel as though I have some worth. If for some reason it is higher than it was yesterday, I am clearly a miserable failure and should not be allowed out of the house.

I think it goes without saying that the number on the scale also dictates whether or not I am allowed to eat, and what I am allowed to eat.

If this sounds fucked up, it’s because it is. 

When I was actively anorexic, I remember feeling relief as I watched the numbers on the scale get smaller and smaller, but I also felt anxious because I knew that they could never get small enough. You can never weigh NOTHING, but the closer the number could get to zero was the closer I could get to success. I know that makes NO sense, but getting smaller was like winning – only the Charlie Sheen kind, which meant that I was very close to self-destruction.

I may no longer be anorexic, but my eating is still disordered. I don’t really know how to see my body through a lens of reality. I don’t like photographs of myself. I don’t own a full length mirror. I am learning to celebrate the things that my body can do – run! Swim! Hike! Play games! – but I have yet to figure out how to be able to view it objectively. I can manage it for small spaces of time – look at me, I’m a curvy, fun woman! Whee! – and then that time passes and I am reduced to being portions of a whole, thighs and arms and stomach, and they all seem to weigh 300 pounds each.

So, the bathroom scale, to tell me what I’m worth.

I hate living under the tyranny of the scale, because I know all of the things it doesn’t measure – it doesn’t measure kindness, or love, or humour, not that any of those things are felt in its presence. It doesn’t measure joy, not that I ever feel joy in the moments while it calculates who I get to be today. It doesn’t, in fact, measure any of the things I want to be recognized for. It only measures weight.

The problem, I realize, is not the scale. The problem is that I allow myself to live like this. I need to stop. However, the idea of stopping makes me feel unhinged. What will happen if I no longer have an anchor? What will I do if I don’t have my numbers to tell me my worth?

The simple answer – that I will have to find my worth in the things that the scale doesn’t measure – terrifies me. I don’t know if I know how to do that.  But oh, do I want to.

I took the scale out of my bathroom this morning. I weighed myself one last time, and then stuffed the scale under the couch. I wanted to toss it out, but I can’t. The idea of not having it at all is much too frightening right now. I need to have it just in case.  (Just in case what? I have to ask myself. Just in case I need to punish myself for eating a sandwich? Just in case I start to feel good about myself? OH THE HORROR!)

It’s not a clean break, but it’s a step. Maybe, if I take enough steps, I can eventually walk away. Fingers crossed.


***UPDATED*** Some loving but insistent prodding did actually lead me to throw away the scale. I am not tall enough for a photo of this, but it did make a resounding thud. Of course, that could also have been the sound of my heart threatening to beat out of my chest with fear, so there's that.

Know Thyself

Have you ever been hanging out with someone, and heard them say something about themselves that was  a great big whopper of a lie, but that they apparently believe to be absolutely true? Something like “Oh, I’m not very judgemental,” from the person who just hissed at you across the table, “OH MY GOD BECKY LOOK AT HER BUTT!”*

Yeah, me too.

So in the interest of full disclosure, here are ten things about me that I would like not to be true, but totally are. If I try to deny any of them later, feel free to call me out.

1.       I am a dork.

It’s important here that you not confuse “dork” with “nerd”. Nerds are having a moment. Nerds are cool.  You know when I’ve been cool? NEVER, that’s when.  I’m very much aware of it, every moment of my life, and I’m starting to embrace the “I don’t fit in” feeling that I have at nearly all times (And by at all times, I mean at all times, including with my family… there are a grand total of four people who I feel completely comfortable around) because if you don’t fit in? You can get away with doing pretty much anything because those people don’t really think you’re awesome anyway, so you don’t have to care. This is somewhat liberating.

2.       I am clumsy.

I might tell you “Oh I love to dance” and that will be true, but the unspoken follow up truth is this – I also fall down a lot. In public. While sober. Sometimes during dancing. There. Now you know.

3.       I am highly strung.

I would like to be able to be described as mellow, or laid back. I am neither mellow nor laid back or zen-like. I have achieved this state a few times, but mostly? There is a reason a previous employer called me “hair trigger” and that reason is that if you push my buttons I WILL flip out. I won’t stay flipped out for very long (see #7 for exceptions) but it will be briefly intense.

4.       I live like a college student.

I work from home. Therefore, “work appropriate wardrobe” has no meaning for me. Neither does “eating like an adult” because … it’s just me. Why bother? Ramen and a pudding cup? Oh heck why not.

5.       I will find ANY reason to get out of a relationship.

It continues to amaze the people who have known me for a long time that Mr Wrong and I ever got married, because no one ever thought I would stay in a relationship long enough for that eventuality. I can find a reason to break up with anyone.  It’s pathetic. Now, to be fair to me, some people must be broken up with, because they’re stalkers, or because they want things in life that you don’t want, but I recognize that those are valid reasons to break up with someone, as opposed to reasons like “he leaves the toilet seat up” or “he really really REALLY loves Rush.” **

6.       Once a grudge is created, I will hold it for the rest of time.

It’s incredibly difficult to push me over the edge into grudge territory. As I said, I’m hair trigger, but I’m also an insta-forgiver. If you and I have a fight? I will be upset with you for about 20 minutes, and then I will be done with it and will fully expect that we will both be able to go on merrily with our day.

Unless, of course, you have crossed the line into unforgivable territory.

In which case, you will become dead to me.  I’m big on forgiveness, but there are some transgressions that will not be forgiven, and what they are is case-specific, so I can’t even review them.

7.       I am disappointed when people I love don’t share my worldview.

I don’t get mad about this? But I get REALLLLLLLLLLLLY sad. Like, heartbroken sad. It’s weird

8.       I am a crier.

I used not to be a crier, which caused people to be like “Wow, you are an emotionless block of ice. That’s not awesome.” Sadly, now I AM a crier. I would like not to be, but happiness? Makes me cry. Sadness? Makes me cry. Rage? Makes me cry. I need stock in tissues and waterproof mascara.

9.       I am secretly a slob.

My house is immaculate because I know that, underneath it all? I am a MESS. That’s why everything is so clean. Weird, but true.

10.   I am not spontaneous.

I love adventures. Carefully planned and executed adventures. If I tell you that I threw caution to the wind? That would be a lie. I wear caution like a beloved cardigan. I WILL NEVER THROW IT TO THE WIND. I am a planner, people!

So there you are. 10 things about me that I might wish weren’t true, but that no amount of wishing has yet resolved. What are your truths?

 

*if you’re my age, that song is now in your head. HAHAHAHAHAHA.

** I made those up. I have not broken up with anyone for either of those reasons. But I have used equally ridiculous reasons in real life.

Living In Oblivion

I should probably mention before I start sharing what is a long list of ridiculousness that “Living In Oblivion” is the name of a series of CDs that might be the source of all of the awesome in the world. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.  You should check it out here:

 http://www.amazon.com/Living-In-Oblivion-%28Series%29/e/B000AQ3ALK/ref=ac_dpt_sa_nc_link

Anyway, that’s not what this is about. But now I have a yen to listen to The Church, so it’s all good.

Yesterday. That’s what I wanted to tell you about.

Yesterday afternoon. I was sitting at my desk, working, windows open, singing along with Barry Manilow – “Ooooooh Maaaaaaandy! You came and you gave without Taaaaaaaaking! But I sent you away!” (By the way, what’s up with that? Hey, Mandy, STOP BEING A DOORMAT! And Barry, why are you such a jerk to poor Mandy? Seriously!) – when I heard sirens.

To be fair to me, this happens a lot. I don’t live very far from a fire station, so if there’s an accident or something, they go zooming past my house, sirens a-wailing.  I paused long enough in my (overly dramatic) Barry-Sing-A-Long to think, “Oh, I hope there wasn’t a bad accident,” and then resumed working and caterwauling  singing.

And then I heard MORE sirens. And MORE. It sounded like they were pretty close by, too, but there’s an Irving station down the road where people REGULARLY take their life into their hands by pulling out into traffic, so I thought, “Oh no, someone probably got hit at the Irving station, I should say a little prayer for whoever it is.” So I did.  And then I resumed my work. Lalalalalalala. That Barry Manilow sure knows how to help a girl get through a busy afternoon.

At one point, I did look out the window only to see a largeish group of people hanging out in the parking lot. Weird, I thought. But then I thought, you know, it’s time for college students to be moving in – maybe all of those people know each other. Yay for your little parking lot reunion! Have a good school year! Study hard! I mean, who am I to judge if a bunch of people want to stand around chatting. Standing around and chatting is one of my favourite things to do.

It was about 6:30 – day long over, Barry turned off – when Flinkie called me. “Dude, WHAT is going on at your house?”

“Uh, nothing?” I looked around. Nope, situation normal.

“I just drove by your street and there are like a zillion firetrucks and caution tape!”

“Oh,” I said. “Um, I did hear sirens earlier,” I added, as though that would make up for the fact that apparently, there had been some sort of situation outside my window, and I was unaware of it.

I got online and googled. Sure enough, the apartment complex next to mine? Had been on FIRE. How badly, you ask?

This badly.

If I had stepped onto my balcony, I would have been able to SEE this. But I didn’t. Not only did I not step outside, I never smelled any smoke or had any indication that there was anything at all going on except for the sound of sirens, which I did hear, but thought were further away.

I was oblivious.

I’m telling this story for a couple of reasons. First, because there are obviously some people in my area who are now without homes. The American Red Cross is doing their good work supporting them – if you would also like to help, you can donate to the Red Cross here:

http://www.redcross.org/charitable-donations

I’m also telling this story because I am ashamed of my behaviour. I heard many sirens, indicating that someone was in trouble. And I did NOTHING. I couldn’t even be bothered to look out my window. I was comfortable, working in my office, singing along with iTunes, minding my own business while there was a building LITERALLY burning down next door.  And while this is kind of an extreme case, it makes me think of how many times I have passed by someone who was in distress and either not noticed them or decided it was not my business.

I’m not the only one who’s done this, I don’t think, but it’s a terrible thing to do; looking away consciously, or opting out by refusing to look out the window is not acceptable. And as I see the political ads, the political debates, the political DRAMA that is unfolding as this election progresses, I am only more convinced of this truth: we can’t count on our leaders to lift us up, to lend a hand, to reach out. We have to reach out to each other. And we can’t do that if we refuse to see each other.

I was oblivious yesterday. I won’t be oblivious again.

The Heart of the Matter

I woke up on Saturday in an outrageously good mood. There was no reason not to be in a good mood, really – I was comfy and cozy in my bed, and Beansie was cuddled up next to me, purring.

Happy.

Because I can’t let a sleeping dog – or, apparently, potential moment of angst – rest, I poked at the idea of happy. Really? I thought. Are you REALLY happy?

I was. I am.

For that, I have Mr Aggressively Hateful Letter Guy to thank.

You might be thinking: Um. That makes NO sense.

However, when you get some “You SUCK” mail – and let’s be honest, I’ve been told that I suck before, though this was certainly the most eyeball searing example of that -- you have to ask yourself some questions. Questions like “Well, do I actually suck?” and “Do I want to keep doing this if these are the kinds of reactions I’m going to get?” and “Do I need to reassess the way I live my life?”-- questions that merit asking anyway, because it never hurts to examine your life a little bit.

It came to me, though, when considering what happened, and what should potentially happen next, that fundamentally? What happened last week didn’t hurt me in the way I think it was meant to. It hit me in a place where I felt outraged that someone would direct abusive, hurtful, HATEFUL garbage at another human being, but it didn’t hurt me personally. I didn’t leave my desk reeling and in emotional pain, scared and scarred, and resolve to change my life to live according to the standards of Mr Angrypants or anyone else.

And I clearly am not shutting my yapper anytime soon.

In fact, here’s what I have determined:  I’m fine just the way I am. Actually, I’m better than fine. I’m feeling pretty freaking amazing.  My life isn’t perfect, but it’s kind of fantastic just the way it is, and I don’t have to apologize or make excuses or try to live by anyone else’s code. I’m done with that. It’s not happening ever again – and for anyone who ever wanted me to be someone else, someone different or “better” or whatnot? I bear you no ill will. (And I’m not mad at myself anymore for failing to live up to your standards, either. Yay for both of us!)

Also, I realize that there are people who think I don’t suck. If you think I don’t suck? I love it, because I think YOU’RE awesome. We should hang out and toast our mutual awesomeness.

If you think I DO suck? Equally fine, and good on you. I bet you’ve got many awesome qualities, though we probably won’t hang out anytime soon, if that’s okay, because I just seem to rub you the wrong way.

I’m pretty sure that the intention of the “You SUCK” letter was not to shore up my belief that I’m walking down the right path, but that’s what it did.

Which makes me all kinds of happy.

The Only Post I'll Flat Out Beg You to Read

Dear, Delightful Blog Readers,

My Facebook account isn’t private. I mean, I’ve blocked some people who, for various reasons, have demonstrated that they shouldn’t have access to any part of my life, but for the most part? Public. Why? Because I am careful about what I post. It’s the INTERNET, y’all. So if I wouldn’t do/say/whatever it on the street, I doesn’t go on my Facebook account. And since I do post things I would do/say/whatever on the street, there’s no reason for my account to be private. I’m okay with it being open.

This means, of course, that Facebook – like, well, walking down the street – leaves me open for trolls. But, again, so does walking down the street. That doesn’t mean I should never leave the house, and it doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t be who I am on Facebook – or here in this blog, or anywhere else. Because, trolls or no trolls, it should always be safe to be who you are.

Except that sometimes, it isn’t.

I received a friend request a couple of weeks ago from someone I went to high school with – someone I didn’t know very well, but who was a friend of friends and who I sort of know. I accepted the friend request, because I’ve received multiple friend requests from people I knew only casually who have ended up being very good friends indeed. I didn’t think very much of it.

But apparently, he’s been thinking about me. And not fun thoughts, filled with unicorns and rainbows.

No. These were thoughts about whether or not I am a lesbian. And since he’s decided that I AM a lesbian, based on the way I look, act, speak, whatever, he should probably send me messages and posts that are hateful and using speech that I can only describe as obscenely offensive.

I am not going to dignify or validate the message(s) by reposting any of it here. Hate speech is hate speech, and it’s not generally very creative or original. Hate speech directed at someone for his (or her) sexuality includes an indication that someone should be raped straight – a lovely thing to say to someone, no? – and a variety of ill thought out slurs, vulgarities, and obscenities, which are intended for – well, I don’t actually know. To change me? To make me afraid? To make me angry?

Because let’s be clear here, people. I’m not afraid of this asshat. I’m also not interested in being silenced on any level. However, I am BEYOND enraged.

And I want to say this: when you argue against equal rights for all people, when you argue against equal civil rights for everyone regardless of their sexuality, you feed the fire of people like this. I don’t know this man, really, but he thinks he knows something about me, and he’s decided that the thing he thinks he knows is not acceptable, and feels completely justified in sending me hate filled, angry, violent words about what should happen to me and people he thinks are like me.

It doesn’t offend me when people look at me and make decisions about my sexuality based on my appearance, because I don’t see anything shameful about homosexuality. Not a thing.

Hate, though, is shameful. In any manifestation. There is no justification for hate.

I will not allow the hatred of this person – or any person – force me to change who I am. My Facebook account – and this blog – and the way I live my life will remain public.  My hope is that someday soon, it will be safe for everyone to live their life honestly and openly and without shame or fear, and that doing so will not feed the trolls.

That’s what I want. It’s what we all deserve.

Much love,

Danielle

Make It Work

People always tell me that working out is awesome, that I will come to love it, that there will come a time when I start to look forward to the workouts. That I will crave the workout.

I understand that they believe this, and that maybe, for them it is true.

But let me also say this:

THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN.

There are things in life that I do truly look forward to. Here are some of them:

Happy hour

Friday afternoon

Vacation

Starbucks Pumpkin Lattes

Here are things I do not look forward to, ever:

Lunges

Lifting weights

Having people look at me while I move my uncoordinated self through a series of organized, maniacal dance moves

Any activity that involves an overly chipper person reminding me to breathe

Look, I get that exercise is good for you. I GET IT. But don’t tell me that I’ll come to love it, because I won’t.  That’s not how I’m wired. I’m not trying to be negative, I’m just being honest. Some of us really look forward  to jogging, and some of us can’t wait to have a refreshing nap.  You can guess which group I belong to.

As I said, though, I get that exercise is important.

So I have to trick myself into it.

You might be wondering how that is possible. Well, it’s like this: I like to shop. I like shoes, I like outfits, and I like tshirts. So, I told myself that if I would work out, if I’d give this whole exercise thing a shot, then I could buy myself some cute things.

I might not ever look forward to exercise, but I ALWAYS look forward to new shoes.

Like these:

Laugh all you want, if you feel you must, but these shoes and I will be running about 20 miles this week. This is up from 0 miles a couple of weeks ago.

I still don’t crave or look forward to the workout. I don’t have to. I don’t have to convince myself that I love something in order to do it. I just have to convince myself that there are things that make it worth it. Like being healthier, feeling better, and of course, the promise of new workout wear.

You know, fun shoes DO make everything better.

How Do You Measure A Year?

Last year at this time, I was unemployed. Sort of.

Here’s what happened:

I went to work in the morning, as usual. I rolled up my sleeves, sat down at my computer, and got cracking.

At about 11ish, my boss – the owner of the company – notified all of the employees that we had a conference call. We all dialed in. He was a chatty fellow, and he liked to touch base with everyone now and again. No big thing, I thought, but I was annoyed because I had stuff to do, and didn’t have the time for a pow-wow.

There was no pow-wow. Instead, he told us that we were all fired, because ownership of the company was reverting back to the original owner (who I was hired by in 2007) and that the new/old owner would have to hire us back.

Then the line went dead.

As you can imagine, this was distressing.  (This is such an understatement, I can’t even begin to tell you.)

It was especially distressing because the new/old owner called everyone to hire them back EXCEPT for me. So my fellow employees kept asking me: Did he hire you back yet? Did you talk to him yet? And I kept having to say no, no he hadn’t.

I also kept trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong in my summation of the guy who’d fired me in the morning, who had essentially negated my ownership in his company (which I had) with nary a word or a heads up, but that is, perhaps, a story for another day.

Eventually I got the call.

And so it goes.

I did, of course, spend some time in the bitter barn regarding this whole issue. Sometimes, a girl needs to camp out in the bitter barn for a while, and get cozy with her rage. But eventually, gradually, it gets boring in there, and a little dusty. So you have to come out where the other people are, where there is laughing and dancing and the occasional sing along.

I wouldn’t even be mentioning it, probably, except my mom said to me “Didn't we all get fired a year ago?” and I had to say “Yes, we did.”  It all came flooding back – the panic, the sense of desperation, the fear of “Oh my God, what do I do now?”

I know now, of course, that as inevitable as those feelings are, it’s also true that you just keep going. When you’re scared? Keep going. When you’re desperate? Keep going. When you don’t know what to do next? Focus on what you’re doing right now. You’ll get where you’re supposed to be. Even though the journey can be sucktastic. You’ll get there.

It took me a year, but I learned it.