Breakfast Alone

My husband went to breakfast with his best friend this morning. They haven’t seen each other in 6 months, so I was glad that they did. Being the introvert that I am, I was also glad for the time alone. But then it occurred to me, what am I going to eat for breakfast? I could go grab take out or to the local breakfast fast food place. My husband texted me that our favorite bakery/cafe had a key lime pie doughnuts on special. Key lime is my favorite. This place is about 15 minutes away from my house, so driving there and driving home to eat seemed silly, since the rest of my breakfast would be cold by the time I got home. There was one problem. Eating alone somewhere triggers my anxiety hardcore. I thought this might not be a good idea. Then I reminded myself that I’ve been working on my anxiety. If I stayed home, the anxiety won. If I didn’t, it could bring on an anxiety attack.

So I did the scary thing. I checked to make sure my anxiety meds were in my bag and brought a book. I drove there, took a deep breath, and walked in. I got the last doughnut. The girl at the pastry counter was a tad bit judgemental (and this is not me being anxious). When I go with my husband, they ask if we want our pastries for there or to go, but she saw me alone and packed it up in a to go container and told me I was all set. I looked at that doughnut in its to go container and considered paying and leaving. Maybe I should just take my shame and go. Then I remembered this was an exercise in challenging my anxiety. I smiled and said I’d like to order more please. She waved me on down the line toward the cash register, where you order your hot food and drinks. I ordered myself a latte and some fancy toast. I thought about sitting at the bar and hiding amongst the other people eating alone. I decided to sit at a table instead. It was right in the middle, in a high traffic area. I sat there waiting for my order and read. I’d look up every so often and no one was staring. The rude girl from the beginning was off working. When they called my name for my order, I got my food and ate. I continued to read my book.

I can’t say I was 100% comfortable. When I felt really uncomfortable, I dug my head deeper into my book. Ultimately, there was no anxiety attack, but I think I need to do this a few more times before it becomes enjoyable. But for me, it was a big step. It’s a step that I will take again. I’ve spent a lot of time allowing my anxiety to rule my life. I’m ready for that to be less of a thing.

This is the Best It’s Going to Be

I don’t have any pictures from my
honeymoon that I’m not hiding my
tummy in.

“It’s just downhill from here, you know. This is the best it’s going to be,” my therapist told me not too long ago. She was relaying something a therapist had told her when she was a teenager when discussing body issues. Out of context, this sounds odd, so let me put it in context. I have some pretty bad self image, weight, and food related issues. My therapist was trying to get me to appreciate the body I have and pointing out all the things my body allows me to do. I kept going back to all the things it couldn’t do and the many ways it had betrayed me over the years. I couldn’t see one positive thing. Finally, she said, “I would recommend moving toward embracing your body. You’ve spent so much time fighting against it, why not embrace it now?” I shrugged, knowing she was right, but not quite sure how to get out of my own way. That’s when she said, “Our bodies age. No one can escape it. Mine does, yours does, everyone’s does. It’s just a fact of life. It’s all downhill from here, you know. This is the best it’s going to be at any point, going forward in your life.” I nodded in agreement. We couldn’t stop time’s march forward. I could work toward embracing my body that I have in the here and now or I can always like back to the body I didn’t embrace, but should have. I’ve done that my whole life.

My honeymoon was coming up and I needed new bathing suits. I bought a safe one piece and then I bought a high-waisted bikini. Nothing crazy, but 100% out of my comfort zone. I hadn’t worn a bikini since I was a preteen. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. I went back to therapy and told her what I’d done. She was proud of me for taking that step toward embracing my body. I left her office feeling empowered. I proudly packed my bikini into my suitcase until my honeymoon came.

I pulled it out of the suitcase and put it on and immediately started to second guess myself. I’m fat. I should be wearing a tent, not a bikini. This isn’t me. What was I thinking? Even though it doesn’t show a ton of skin, it shows more skin than I’m comfortable showing or should be showing. Everyone will stare and whisper about me. This is a mistake. My husband saw me dancing nervously in front of the mirror and inspecting every inch of myself. I told him I thought buying it was a mistake. He asked,  “do you love the bathing suit.” I said, “yes.” He asked, do you feel good in it.” I told him, “ I did when I bought it, but now I think that was a mistake. I don’t think I belong wearing a bikini.” He said, “if you love it, wear it. We don’t know anyone here, so who cares? Wear your bikini.”

Here you can see it is indeed a bikini. Please excuse the
messy guest room behind it. This was right after my wedding.

I put it on and walked to the beach. When I took off my cover up, no one stared. No one whispered. No one called animal control thinking I was a beached whale. No one even looked in my direction. No one cared about what I was wearing. I didn’t even do that thing where I hear people talking and laughing and assuming it’s about me. I just enjoyed my time on the beach with my husband. That bikini brought so much fear for no reason. I alternated it with my other bathing suit throughout the week for utilitarian reasons, more than self esteem reasons. Was I just laying on the beach? Bikini! Was I snorkeling and didn’t want to worry about the ruffles on my bikini floating in my line of sight or having to much of my fair skin exposed to the sun? One piece. Back and forth it went like that, all week. I felt great!

I started to notice other women with “less than perfect bodies” also wearing bikinis on the beach, some more revealing than my own. Where I used to judge them, I began to feel camaraderie. We didn’t meet society’s expectations for what a body should look like; we had curves. We had large thighs, a butt, boobs, no sculpted muscles, cellulite. We were not the classic image of beauty… or were we? I majored in art and spent many hours looking at sculptures and paintings. Many of them, especially ancient artworks, featured curvaceous women with wide hips, squishy tummies, full breasts, and thick thighs. Through the 1700s, 1800s, and 1900s, the women became less curvaceous and and and more angular; more man-like. The outfits of the 1920s illustrate this particularly well. I can’t blame it all on this glamorous fashion era. I know there are other steps along the way that ultimately got us to an ideal that is mostly unattainable. There are many other places and people that can detail our arrival at this ideal. That’s not really what I’m getting at.

My point is that while I have the more robust shape that has been considered feminine and beautiful in the past, I am utterly disconnected from it. I know that I must continue to lose weight for health reasons, I must do it for those reasons and not some ideal that is unattainable for MY body. Even at my skinniest, I was curvaceous. That’s just the natural shape of me. I need to connect with those curves and this body if I’m ever going to be truly healthy. I need to embrace this body, because this really is the best it will be. And so although it terrifies me, every time I go swimming, I pack both bathing suits. I take a deep breath and put my bikini on. I run through the things others might say about me wearing it and then steel myself up for it. All the self doubt plays across my face as I consider taking it off and stuffing it in a place where it will never see the light of day again. I look to my husband for assurance. Putting it on is an emotional battle with myself. I feel exposed and vulnerable. Every time I wear it is an act of defiance, and so I wear my bikini.

I Suck At Blogging

I want to regularly share my thoughts, but I'm bad at sitting down and doing it.  I know I always say that I'm going to get better at it and then I start a million posts, only for them to be left abandoned in my drafts folder.  I want this year to be different.  I want to start updating more.  I need to be self-aware and in order to do that, I need to be accountable to something.  This is my way of being accountable.  Maybe whoever reads this, if anyone is, can help keep me accountable.  Ask what's going on with me.  Why haven't I updated in a month?  Am I still accountable for my mental health and physical health?  I think so long I've been only worried about my physical health and mental health separately, when in reality, they need to go together.

For the past two and a half years, I was planning a wedding.  It was a great undertaking and it's finally over.  I've been married for almost four months.  I think it was easy to push myself to the background because I had to meet a deadline.  My wedding was coming, come hell or high water.  I needed vendors.  I needed place cards.  I needed invitations.  I spent hours on Pinterest, worrying about seating charts, comparing pricing on decor, on message boards.  I basically ate, slept, and breathed my wedding planning.  Now that's all over and in many ways, I'm alone with my own thoughts.  It's not a bad thing.  It allows me to take stock of myself.  I've been trying to take stock of myself since I turned 30, two years ago, but allowed wedding planning to be my excuse to continue living an unexamined life.  Now it is time to examine and take stock.  So where am I at?

A year and a half ago, I was informed I was pre-diabetic.  Diabetes runs rampant on one side of my family and I wanted nothing to do with that.  I knew I had to make changes.  I was told I should consider weight loss surgery.  I'm not against weight loss surgery, but at that time, I couldn't say I'd made an honest effort.  I told my doctor that I needed to make an honest effort and he connected me with a nutritionist.  She tried to help me, but I wasn't getting a lot out of it.  She was giving me a list of products to buy, but not what kind of recipes I could be making at home.  That wasn't helping me.  I was making a half-hearted attempt at going to the gym, but it wasn't really working for me.  She did the best thing she could have done for me and told me that she didn't have anything else to offer me and referred me to the weight management center.  She said I could go back for a follow up after I met with the team there... I never went back.  I found a partner in my nurse practitioner.  She coached me through summer barbecues, my wedding, the holidays.  And now she's there for me through the setback of enjoying baking in the winter.  She never puts me down, but helps me find solutions.  Right now I'm kind of stuck, but I'm sorting through that... so that's where I'm at with my physical health.

As far as my emotional health... when I was a kid, I grew up in a state of chaos.  As an adult, that chaos has manifested as physical clutter.  I'm currently sorting through the emotional chaos and physical chaos.  It's hard and scary in a way that I struggle to put into words.  The truth is, when I donate things or trash things, it's like I have separation anxiety.  I know I don't need the things anymore, but not having those things is terrifying.  What if I need them?  I probably won't... but what if I do?  It's not like on Marie Kondo where there's a little struggle, but then they part with the things they don't need.  There are full on tears and it takes all day to sort through A box.  If you say anything that feels a little like an attack, I go on the defensive.  I will puff up and retaliate to protect that horribly vulnerable part of me.  It's not exactly productive, but it feels so much more personal to me than those around me and I don't really know how to do deal with those kind of feelings.  Don't worry, I'm in therapy and we're working on it.