This is the Picture

I avoid having my picture taken.

I avoid looking in full length mirrors.

I don't own a scale.

Yesterday, someone was taking photos at work and I saw myself in one. To say that I was horrified is an understatement. Y'all. I look TERRIBLE. This is not the most I've ever weighed in my life? But it's the most I have weighed in a long time.

I'm not okay with it. I just ... no.

I'm so OVER this. Can I just say that? I'm tired of this being a thing in my life because it's BORING and it's not the entirety of who I am. Unfortunately, it's the thing I spend the most time thinking about. And ... dull. Dull as toast. Who wants to spend all day thinking about the size of her own ass?

Not me. BORED. OVER IT.

Sigh.

But here's the thing: Fat or not, I need to stop hiding. From cameras. From myself. I might not love the way I look? But I still deserve to be seen, dammit.

By other people.

And by myself.

Speak Now

Sometimes I open my mouth (or click "reply") when, maybe, I should stop and reflect instead. I don't often take the time to ask myself if I'm prepared for the can of worms I'm fixing to open; instead I get out the can opener, rip the lid off, and release the squirmy little bastards right out into the wild.

Sometimes it might be better not to have a room full of worms. They are squishy and hard to get out of the carpet. Sometimes it might be better to stop yourself before you pick up the can. I mean, I don't DO that? But maybe I should.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.  Because even though I feel like I spend a lot of time picking up worms, I also think that there's something really valuable about speaking up and out.  To be honest, there are days when I feel like I invented the concept of "see something, say something" because most days I just don't have the ability to keep my yapper shut -- but I think that, if I see something that's a mess, or that's just plain wrong, and I don't say anything, I'm complicit in whatever is wrong. If I see something unjust and I don't speak up, that makes me part of the injustice; what happens when no one speaks up? What happens if no one says anything?

I guess I'd rather tiptoe through a room filled with squirmy slimy worms than risk never saying anything.

So hand me the can. I'll get the opener out of the drawer. And let's get this party -- questionable as it may be -- started.

You Probably Think This Post Is About You

This is the third time I've written this post down. I've composed it in my head about seventeen times, but when you're writing blog posts in your noggin at 2 AM when you're wide awake, they tend not to get translated into actual writing. (I have come up with some excellent things in the middle of the night that no one will ever see -- it's like a tree falling in the forest. Ish.)

Anyway.

The thing I want to say is that there is sometimes a huge difference between your personal narrative -- your story, your truth -- and the stories other people tell about you. Those two things can be widely divergent.

The best thing you can do is use this as an opportunity to vow not to judge other people, because you know what it's like to be judged. You can use it as a lesson to let people show you who they are rather than taking what might be a mean spirited character sketch that someone else gives you as fact.

Whenever this happens -- and it does, and it will -- this is how I choose to respond. I'm not going to argue and tell someone how wrong he is. It does no good. Maybe, at some point in the future, she'll see. Maybe he'll realize. For right now, however, it doesn't matter. Arguing won't help. Protesting won't help. Some things are too broken to mend, so you try to dispose of the pieces gently enough that no one gets any more hurt.

Because ultimately, that level of conflict is born as a result of someone's hurt. To be honest, no one is ever innocent in these situations. Someone acted one way. Someone else reacted another way. Did anyone intend for the eventual rift? No, but there it is. Sometimes it can be repaired, and sometimes ...

... well.

So what do you do? Consider your words. Be deliberate and careful in your actions. And remember that the people who love you know who you are, and anyone else? Will hopefully take the time to learn who you are from you and not from what is said about you.

Awesome

I got up on Saturday, ate breakfast with The Fella, and cleaned our house. I used to clean every day, but since my hours at work have changed, my cleaning schedule had to change as well.

As I was scrubbing the inside of the microwave, I thought about anxiety and OCD. How I spent years trying to convince myself that the distress and inability to focus when surrounded by clutter -- and my tendency to completely shut off at that point -- was not indicative of a deeper issue. I also thought about eating disorders, and how I firmly believe (despite my lack of medical training, I should add) that eating disorders live on the anxiety/OCD spectrum. I wondered what I could do to help advance research in that field. Maybe nothing. But I guess I can keep talking about it.

I went to the bank. I went to the grocery store. I had a nice talk with the cashier, who might be sixteen but looks twelve. I find him delightful, mostly because the world stretches out before him in every direction. It's his own personal choose your own adventure novel. 

I came home to The Fella and The Wee One and felt my heart fill up, as it always does. I love my men. We played games. I made pancakes, poorly (I don't know why I suck at pancake making. Maybe because I don't like them?). The Wee One wanted Easter Candy and I maybe snuck him some extra.

And I took a minute to let it soak in. The life I didn't know I could have or even hope for? It is beautiful. It is full. 

It is awesome.

One Week Later

Time is a yoga master. It's BENDY, y'all.

An hour doing something you hate is fourteen Mondays long. An hour doing something you love, on the other hand, is only fourteen minutes long. Sitting in traffic for twenty minutes is seven years of boring, but twenty minutes of connection with someone you adore goes by in five seconds.

Bendy. Bendy and tricksy, is time.

I have been at my new job for one week. I'm still finding my routine, obviously, both at home (different hours, very different circumstances in many ways) and at work (negotiating through the day, trying not to aggressively step on anyone's toes), but this week? Went by in about, oh, three days. It zooooooomed by me. It may have been doing a sun salutation or happy baby when it did, too.

One week of really good stuff is something to be happy about, I think.

Here's to time well spent.

What Am I Even Doing?

So, I sometimes have the idea that The Fella and I should eat healthy things. I cook a lot? But I don't always ... um. There's a lot of cheese involved with a lot of my cooking. We actually may have decided that cheese is the fifth and most important food group, to be honest. Cheese for everyone.

He doesn't eat meat, which is okay with me, but I don't love salads. I hate lettuce and other raw leafy greens.

I know, we're ridiculous.

Anyway.

Pretty much every week I think that I'm going to try harder to make sure that veggies find themselves as the main component of some meals. (I also remind myself regularly that, even though I think potatoes should count as a vegetable, they really kind of don't. CURSES!) To the "more veggies, omnomnom" end, I put stir fry on the weekly menu all of the time.

Guys. I never make stir fry.

Oh, I buy the stuff. I have all of the ingredients for stir fry in my house at all times. I just never build them into a stir fry. Like, EVER.

You -- because you're all smart and stuff -- are probably wondering: What's the deal? Stir fry is EASY. Pan. Oil. Veggies. STIRRING. Yellie, you have to be kidding. It's so user friendly.

I KNOW. I know it is.

You're probably also thinking: AND IT'S TASTY.

I know that too! I have never once eaten a stir fry and thought, well THAT sucked. I mean, it's yummy things cooked and served with rice. I like yummy things! I like rice! I like soy sauce dribbled over a combination thereof!

So what's my damage?

I don't even know. Here's what I do know: I had stir fry on the menu for Monday. The Fella and I went home for work and ate sandwiches and french fries instead because reasons. I was very stern when I said: Okay, but sandwiches and fries were on the menu for Thursday, so on Thursday we are having stir fry. I AM MAKING IT. IT'S HAPPENING.

It's Thursday.

I just popped my head into The Fella's office and said: "Can we stop at the grocery store on the way home? Because NO with the stir fry. Just no."

He may have laughed at me, but we're going to the store anyway.

I may be the world's worst grownup.

I'm Multilingual! (J/K, LOL)

Because I am a doofus, when I change jobs, I don't just, you know, change jobs.

I like to jump entire industries.

But wait, you ask. What do you mean?

I mean I went from teaching to ... commercial leasing. In case you were wondering, those two fields are in NO WAY related to each other.

How did I end up in anything remotely related to finance? The short answer is that they hired me. I was on the move and they were kind of a churn and burn outfit when it came to staff, so it was a match made in heaven!

Or, maybe, kind of hell. Hell-ish. In the words of a former co-worker there, "It's not actually hell, but you can see the gates from here." Every day, those gates seemed a teensy bit closer.  At any rate, I got divorced and moved to North Carolina and promptly took a job in ... wait for it ... equipment and insurance inspections.

Because CLEARLY that was a thing. And actually, to be honest, that was KIND of related to the finance job, so ... yeah. But still. Field jump!

Then? I went to work for a shed company. I was working on the theory that I was organized and good at scheduling, and they needed an organized schedule-er. So what if none of my previous background was in construction? This was do-able! I could learn construction stuff! Like, where the pork chop is on a shed. (That is really the name of a part. I kid you not.)

And then things went ... sideways. So I got a job in recycling. As you do. Well, I mean, maybe YOU don't, but that's what I did. One of my former ShedMates was working for the super cool recycling people and she gave me a heads up that they had a position and I interviewed ... and interviewed ... and INTERVIEWED. OH SO MANY INTERVIEWS.

Recycling! Wheee!

And now? I'm working at a web development company. As I've said, I'm the flighty job hopping friend. It's a thing.

You know what else is a thing when you change not just jobs, but entire fields?

Vocabulary.

Whenever someone asks me if I speak a foreign language I say, with some degree of nerd shame, "No, I took Latin." However, I now speak: Education, Finance, Logistics, Construction, Recycling, Industrial Waste, and I'm starting to learn Development. Not code, mind you -- I don't understand code -- but Development, and Marketing, and today I spent a lot of time -- a lot a lot -- learning to speak Public Relations. (And taking Aleve. Because holy hannah, does my head hurt.)

You'd think that after the first couple of times of "jump fields/learn all the new words etc" I would find jobs within fields that were ... what's the word ... RELATED. But nope. Apparently, my love of all of the word extends to feeling like I need to learn entirely new vocabularies every time I change jobs.

Either that or I'm just starting to recognize that I'm completely nuts.

No, it's definitely the words.

I hope?