Untitled but worthy nonetheless

Once upon a time I was joyful, athletic, and free.


And then one day when I was running barefoot on the sidewalk, I skinned my big toe.


And then one day when I was playing on the merry-go-round, its rotted wood slashed my leg.


And then one day when I was riding my bike I hit a bump and flew face first over the handle bars.


And then one day when I was playing softball I caught one in the face and broke my jaw.


And little by little I learned that playing hurts.


But my soul isn't really that of a spectator.  I like running.  I like biking.  I like playing softball.


Life will hurt sometimes, but do I really want to let fear of physical hurt be my prison?




Once upon a time I was trusting and relaxed.


And then one day someone broke that trust profoundly.


And then day after day, school after school I was emotionally battered.


And then I believed the lesson "Don't get your hopes up."


Do I want to let fear of emotional hurt be my prison?






Do I want my life to be a shrinking cell of false safety?


No. 




And so I risk again and learn again.  I rebuild my self.


And I feel the spark of Hope.


And I understand that with Hope there is always Joy.


And I fight the urge to fear Joy.


And I discard those lessons which have failed me and I turn to those that speak to me.


And I approach the world again.

Judge Not

Something else went click today.  "Judge not, lest you be judged" has long been a familiar warning to me.  And while it's familiar, I confess that it's not an instruction I consistently follow.  There are times when I become so judgmental of myself and others -- so sarcastic and snarky -- that I can fully understand not wanting to be around me.

Last week I was jogging along happily on the treadmill at the gym.  My heart rate was in the high 160s and I was working hard.  And then I caught my reflection and saw what (I presumed) others must see: a fat woman waddling along.  And I didn't think I was doing so well after all, and I enjoyed my workout less.  I didn't even celebrate it when I got home.

Judge not, lest you be judged.

So much of the harm I do to myself has come from judging and plugging my judgments into others -- I'm ugly / unlovable / inadequate.

With the help of my counselor, I'm learning to examine without judgment and criticism.

And here's what struck me today.  I've always thought that the "lest you be judged" part had to do with the "Do unto others" karma rule, an eye for an eye.  I judge them, they'll judge me.

But I was wrong.

"Lest you be judged" is not entirely about being judged by them but by me and then building on those negative thoughts.


So if I ever get around to writing my Ten Commandments, one of them will certainly be: Though shalt not pass judgment.

I don't know what possessed me

Incredible.  That's what it is: absolutely incredible.  Who'd have thought I would come up with such a good idea?   I was divvying up yummy rum cake leftovers after a party.  It was a potent cake, best consumed in small quantities, so there was a hefty amount left.  I looked longingly at the cake as I cut it to send home with guests.


And something clicked.


I knew I didn't want to eat the whole thing, or worse to deal with the temptation of having it in the house and not wanting to throw it away.  That would surely be a difficult battle and one that I don't need to fight. 


SO I got the brilliant idea to get a small container to keep a small amount for my husband and me, so that I wouldn't feel deprived, and gave all the rest away. 


Fighting the food addiction war one battle at a time.

Thank goodness THAT'S over

Watching the finale of The Biggest Loser last night, I was hugely relieved that the season was over.  Since I spent a good deal of the season unable to compete from home - in my mind anyway - with the contestants, I didn't get my usual motivation out of the show.  I didn't connect with anyone and I was barely rooting for anyone, certainly not for me.


But then they showed scenes from the upcoming season which begins airing January 3 -- oh happy day!  I get to start over!  With surgery well and truly behind me and a new fondness for jogging, I can learn new successes, building on those I already have.


Again and again I think "I wish I could be a contestant on the show".  And again and again I think "Just do it here - it can be done, you can do it!"


I can't wait!

A listy blog

As evidenced by lack of blogging, I've been reluctant to blog lately.  If I'd blogged, I'd have had to write things like "That was delicious! And so was the next and the next!"  Or "My back hurts from lack of exercise."


Because I've been


Too Busy to write


Too Busy to exercise.


Too Busy to plan meals


Too Busy to take care of me


Too Busy to be a loving member of my family.


I've been very busy doing Important Things: helping at three schools, attending my children's performances, sneaking food and shopping via the 'net.


Fortunately I have things like


* the guilt of not writing this blog (people notice)


* the frustration of falling into bad habits (do people notice?)


* an appointment I'd have been embarrassed to cancel (she'd have noticed)


to remind me that I've got to schedule time for me, too. 


Yesterday on my way to Someplace Important I stopped for a moment.  In the course of the last month or so I'd lost the little note pad I keep in my purse.  I like to have note pads with me so that I can write


* the titles & artists of songs I hear


* titles of books I want to read


* ideas that arise from nowhere.


So I stopped and bought 2 note pads.


And I remembered that I really enjoy exercise, and that 8 times out of 10 I really enjoy cooking healthy, tasty dinners (even if certain People I Love turn their little noses up).


And I was shocked to realize I enjoy jogging around that track.


And I remembered how good I feel when I lift weights.


And I accepted that I want to be in shape to jog some 5Ks next summer.


And I put My Self back on the top of my list.

My deadly portkey

If you've read J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, you're familiar with portkeys.  For the uninitiated, a portkey is an ordinary object, like a boot, which transports anyone touching it to a specific place.



My portkey is food.



Take chocolate or Christmas cookies for example.  All it takes is one bite and suddenly I'm no longer alone and insecure.  For as long as it takes to chew and swallow, I'm surrounded by acquaintances who accept me.  Who wouldn't like that feeling? 



Lately when I've reached for my portkey, zombie-like, a voice in my head has sung to me a line from A Chorus Line's "At the Ballet".

Up a steep and very narrow stairway,

to the voice like a metronome.

In mid-dose I asked myself why I was doing this to myself when I knew it wasn't fixing anything.  And then I'd take the dose anyway.

Yesterday I reached out to my counselor, who offered that perhaps a need was not being met.

And that's all it took.  Suddenly, literally like the illumination from a bolt of lightning or a camera's flash, I saw in my mind's eye that every time I put a treat in my mouth, I was experiencing the sensation of being in a Christmas party.

I realized how lonely I am, and I realized that goodies are my portkey.

I need to find a way to be comfortable in my loneliness.  The few friends I have are busy with their families' lives.  My own family members are busy being who they need to be.  The one who was always there for me, who had no obligations such as employment or school or errands, who spoke no judgment, and who offered unconditional there-ness, died on the beach just over two weeks ago.  He took with him a place I hid from my loneliness.

I'm reminded of a song which struck a cord with me as a child, and has stuck with me ever since.  It's "Just When I Really Needed You" from Fame.  I remember singing it over and over, preparing myself in case a loved one would die.

Now I'm lonely 'cause I could only count on you

When my troubles got the best of me,

You found something in the rest of me.

You pushed me just as far as I could go.

I'm alone now

On my own

It's like standing in the shadows

Watching as the play goes on

And from the musical Chess:  "No one in your life is with you constantly, no one is completely on your side, and though I moved my world to be with [them], still the gap between us is too wide."



Loneliness, for me, is death.  Like a dog, I need my pack.  Loneliness reminds me that each of us is born and dies alone.  Religion teaches a host of thoughts to comfort away the awfulness of one's lifeless body decaying and rotting.  Pictures I've seen of ghosts offer me hope that my sprit will not die with my body, but will my spirit find its way to those of my most dearly beloved?



There's no one in the world who can guarantee that mine will not be a lonely eternity. 


It's up to me though, as it is up to all the living, to not let fear of death, of loneliness, blot out the joy of life.  It's up to me to stop killing myself with my portkey.

Labels

Just when I think I've got myself all figured out -- labeled, packaged, and ready to go -- my counselor comes along and peels off the label, causing me to reexamine the package of me.  Ever since the day I was blaming myself for something and she observed that blame is an avoidance tool, I've been thinking about that along with other avoidance tools.  Like labels.

Labels help us to understand things which cannot speak for themselves, like a jar of pasta sauce or a running shoe.  When applied to people, labels replace relationships with prejudice.  And when I apply a label to myself, I turn myself into a finished product with no opportunity for growth or change. 

I ate a cookie because it was the last one in the package and I told myself  that I was Obsessive.  No doctor ever diagnosed me, but I found those labels which would give me an excuse for everything I didn't like about myself.  I hid behind them, falsely safe.

I labeled myself as fat, so I wouldn't go to the gym.  I labeled myself as unloveable, so I wouldn't reach out to others.  I labeled myself as awkward, so I wouldn't dance at weddings.  I labeled myself as ugly, so I wouldn't smile.

But labels have an achilles heel: the adhesive.  Sometimes the adhesive wears off and the label starts to peel away.  Sometimes, like a bandage, it starts to itch and I just want to rip it off. 

It's a little scary to not have myself all wrapped and labeled like a gift under the tree, but there is joy in discovering the gift within.