If you grew up in the 50s, 60s and 70s, chances are you saw a cartoon or two with the main character, be it Foghorn Leghorn or Elmer Fudd, who would come to some kind of spirtual or physical crossroads in the cartoon and have to make a decision. Just as they were about to do whatever it is that they wanted, an angel would pop up on one shoulder, counseling the gentle, loving and wise choice, while the devil would sit on the other side, urging the cartoon character to do what made him the happiest, regardless of how it would affect others. It was somewhat like having ObiWan Kenobi on one shoulder and Darth Vader on the other. Use your powers for good, or for evil, who do you listen to?
I go through life with my own personal demon, whom I've dubbed FFW, for Fat Failure Woman, always riding on my shoulder, whispering in my head (and shouting when that doesn't get my attention)"Quit it all, stop working so hard, it's not worth it! Pick up that cookie and go to town, girl! You know you want to, and you NEED to relax and enjoy something that tastes good for a change. Come on, it will all be fine, just succumb!" While on the other shoulder, my angel, who looks suspiciously like my instructors at WIO gym, keeps urging me to get a grip and move forward. "You have done so well, why dive bomb yourself now? You can do this! You are not a coward! Nor have you failed at everything you have tried! Don't give up, tough gal!" I like to think that my grandmother Gail and my best friend Muff, both of whom have passed on, are also working angel detail, sending me supportive and loving feelings when I am down for the count, which has happened a lot lately. Today, on the first anniversary of my friend Muffs death, I'd like to think I have even half the courage and fortitude she showed others during her all too short lifetime.
Though I do try to be brave, in the face of this pile-up of one more bit of bad news after another, I have crumbled and given in to my favorite escape of eating sugary foods like home made oatmeal raisin cookies or vegan bannana bread. While I've kept up with work outs, I am sure I've gained back a bit of the weight I'd lost...perhaps 2 or 3 pounds. That sends my FFW into full screech mode, yelling at me to quit while I am behind. "What happens if your gut explodes and you die, will it matter that you have a few extra pounds to lose?" No, probably not. But since I am still alive, I gotta keep trying, I must move forward and learn to forgive myself, and dodge the fear/anxiety that is around every corner in this terrible economic recession.
I've been praying a lot lately, and that is one plan that I will continue for awhile.
I will deal with each days' struggles as they come, and try not to project my fears into a future I cannot know.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
The Great Stress Circus and Cookie Caper
I've been using home made oatmeal and raisin cookies to assuage my stress and fear reactions to all the craziness going on at my home.
Seems that I need an operation on my intestines, to cut out a scarred stricture with adhesions that may close off and cause my bowel to rupture if it's not taken care of. I am not done raising my son, so I really don't have time to die of perotinitis, nor can I bleed out. I have more to do, dang it, and I will not go gently into that good night.
Meanwhile, I've had to write to all my local political representatives and senators to get my husbands unemployment to go through so we won't starve to death or freeze because they cut off the power. We have also been trying to get me on a basic health or medicaid program so that I can have my operation, which is too expensive without insurance. Hubby is seeking a new contract, and I am seeking a new career, now that journalism is proving to be impossible for making a living (120 newspapers have closed since this economic recession has hit, and more will close soon. One major paper has already closed in Seattle, and no one is sure if the Seattle Times will follow, as it is on life support). We have had to borrow money to get a couple of weeks of my Crohns medications, which are hideously expensive (and yes, we have tried to get them for free, to no avail). My son is acting out in school, doing things he wouldn't normally do, I assume because of the tension at home, and the first anniversary of my best friends death is this Sunday. Yeah, no stress at all, right?
What does all this have to do with my upholstered belly, you might ask?
Well, in addition to the daily stress of dealing with life, now I have the stress of trying to deal with life with no money, or very little money, and still manage to get decent food to live on, and work out regularly while trying to stay on the diet I've been on since November.
When under fire, my standard reaction is to soothe myself with a cookie. I've been doing that since I was a child, when my mother, an excellent cook and baker, would make cookies or cupcakes or brownies or cinnamon rolls at least 3 days a week, and I would come home to delicious smells and experience these sweets still warm from the oven while I told mom all about my day. Granted, her cookies were not vegan, like mine have to be, and therefore I am sure they had more calories than mine do, but still.
I am aware that this is not a good coping strategy, but trying to face the stress without sugar just doesn't seem possible to me.
So I made the vegan oatmeal raisin cookies, complete with soynut butter, and though it took me a week to eat them, I still gained two pounds. And yes, I exercised for 7 days in a row and did some extra cardio on the machines, just to try and even up the calorie burn. It hasn't helped very much, but then it may have and I just don't notice it. Still, I have to keep the exercise habit going, otherwise I will lose muscle tone.
And I have to admit I have been closer than ever to quitting the whole thing and just giving up. After all, there is no Gwyneth Paltrow lurking beneath my adipose tissue. There's only a careworn 48 year old woman who could use a good plastic surgeon and lots of hair color. Every time I eat something that has MSG or onions or some other allergen like lemon grass in it, my face breaks out in hives, which is even more attractive.
I struggle every day to figure out if this is worth it. And I have a different answer every single day. Do I go underground with the cookies, or do I try to nap the stress away? Do I go to work out and hoist my flabby abs around the floor with all these other women who have smaller bellies than I do, or do I beg off, sit in bed and read a good book, drink some tea and have a cookie? Which will make me less want to cry and tear out my hair in frustration?
I feel like I have a limited time to get my life together, and I don't think I am doing a good job of it. I can't look forward to being hungry, or more hours, months, years of lifting myself off bikes, off the gym floor, or over a Pilates ball. I just have to accept that as the way it is going to be, and move on.
Seems that I need an operation on my intestines, to cut out a scarred stricture with adhesions that may close off and cause my bowel to rupture if it's not taken care of. I am not done raising my son, so I really don't have time to die of perotinitis, nor can I bleed out. I have more to do, dang it, and I will not go gently into that good night.
Meanwhile, I've had to write to all my local political representatives and senators to get my husbands unemployment to go through so we won't starve to death or freeze because they cut off the power. We have also been trying to get me on a basic health or medicaid program so that I can have my operation, which is too expensive without insurance. Hubby is seeking a new contract, and I am seeking a new career, now that journalism is proving to be impossible for making a living (120 newspapers have closed since this economic recession has hit, and more will close soon. One major paper has already closed in Seattle, and no one is sure if the Seattle Times will follow, as it is on life support). We have had to borrow money to get a couple of weeks of my Crohns medications, which are hideously expensive (and yes, we have tried to get them for free, to no avail). My son is acting out in school, doing things he wouldn't normally do, I assume because of the tension at home, and the first anniversary of my best friends death is this Sunday. Yeah, no stress at all, right?
What does all this have to do with my upholstered belly, you might ask?
Well, in addition to the daily stress of dealing with life, now I have the stress of trying to deal with life with no money, or very little money, and still manage to get decent food to live on, and work out regularly while trying to stay on the diet I've been on since November.
When under fire, my standard reaction is to soothe myself with a cookie. I've been doing that since I was a child, when my mother, an excellent cook and baker, would make cookies or cupcakes or brownies or cinnamon rolls at least 3 days a week, and I would come home to delicious smells and experience these sweets still warm from the oven while I told mom all about my day. Granted, her cookies were not vegan, like mine have to be, and therefore I am sure they had more calories than mine do, but still.
I am aware that this is not a good coping strategy, but trying to face the stress without sugar just doesn't seem possible to me.
So I made the vegan oatmeal raisin cookies, complete with soynut butter, and though it took me a week to eat them, I still gained two pounds. And yes, I exercised for 7 days in a row and did some extra cardio on the machines, just to try and even up the calorie burn. It hasn't helped very much, but then it may have and I just don't notice it. Still, I have to keep the exercise habit going, otherwise I will lose muscle tone.
And I have to admit I have been closer than ever to quitting the whole thing and just giving up. After all, there is no Gwyneth Paltrow lurking beneath my adipose tissue. There's only a careworn 48 year old woman who could use a good plastic surgeon and lots of hair color. Every time I eat something that has MSG or onions or some other allergen like lemon grass in it, my face breaks out in hives, which is even more attractive.
I struggle every day to figure out if this is worth it. And I have a different answer every single day. Do I go underground with the cookies, or do I try to nap the stress away? Do I go to work out and hoist my flabby abs around the floor with all these other women who have smaller bellies than I do, or do I beg off, sit in bed and read a good book, drink some tea and have a cookie? Which will make me less want to cry and tear out my hair in frustration?
I feel like I have a limited time to get my life together, and I don't think I am doing a good job of it. I can't look forward to being hungry, or more hours, months, years of lifting myself off bikes, off the gym floor, or over a Pilates ball. I just have to accept that as the way it is going to be, and move on.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Quick Belly Ruminations
I've lost another 5-6 pounds, so now I am down 55 pounds, hurrah!
I took the Sparkpeople advice from my last post and I went through my closet and tried everything on, discarding the stuff that was too big. I ended up with two garbage bags full of clothing and a half empty closet! I have to admit I was also going through my closet to try and find something to wear to yesterday's All Access Pass event, sponsored by the local chapter of the SPJ, society of professional journalists.
I tried on my much loved pleather pants that I bought at Lane Bryant years ago, and always felt I looked hot in, and they were so huge on me that I couldn't keep them up around my waist...as they puddled on the floor, I reflected on the end of an era in my body's life. I am creeping up on 50 in the next two years, and I know that I should be letting go of the need to feel sexy and attractive to the opposite sex.
I am a married woman with a child who will soon be taller than his mom, so you know I've had time to get used to being matronly and sexless.
Unfortunately, the more muscle I build, and the more I can feel the fat melting off my bones and muscles and sinew, the more waves of passion seem to crash over me, and I find myself looking at men like a ravening lioness looks at a juicy Thompsons gazelle.
And I have nowhere for those feelings to go, as my husband is not interested. Insert huge gusty sighs here.
But that doesn't mean I will give up and go back to hibernating under my thick padded comforter of fat. Not going to happen. I've worked too hard 6 to 7 days a week at the gym to give up now.
Still, I wonder if it is worth it sometimes, merely from a looking good on the outside perspective. I have no one to look good for but myself. I don't like the kind of shallow people who only look at outsides anyway. I prefer people who think, have more than a modicum of smarts/wit and who wrestle with their souls to find life's answers. Not that I don't like looking at handsome, even gorgeous men. There's nothing like a little eye candy now and then to remind you why humans are still a renewable resource.
But its the smart guys, the charming, brilliant, manly guys who get to me every time.
At any rate, I was delighted to discover that my bib overalls, which used to be so tight I had to stuff myself in them, are now loose and roomy and fun to wear for this old Iowan. I also found a pair of black yoga pants to wear with my too large black velvet shirt, and I think I pulled off a halfway decent look for the All Access Pass event...at least no one shouted "GEEK ALERT" when I walked by. I found myself briefly flirting with a scruffy journalist and had to laugh at myself for enjoying the moment so much. I sometimes feel so isolated as a freelancer that when I do get together with my brethren, I get a little too excited at all the energy and ideas flowing around.
Yet it was a hopeful, good evening that made me feel a little less lonely, and a little more normal.
Now I just need to get that somber, sober matronly thing down to a science before the next 40 pounds come off.
I took the Sparkpeople advice from my last post and I went through my closet and tried everything on, discarding the stuff that was too big. I ended up with two garbage bags full of clothing and a half empty closet! I have to admit I was also going through my closet to try and find something to wear to yesterday's All Access Pass event, sponsored by the local chapter of the SPJ, society of professional journalists.
I tried on my much loved pleather pants that I bought at Lane Bryant years ago, and always felt I looked hot in, and they were so huge on me that I couldn't keep them up around my waist...as they puddled on the floor, I reflected on the end of an era in my body's life. I am creeping up on 50 in the next two years, and I know that I should be letting go of the need to feel sexy and attractive to the opposite sex.
I am a married woman with a child who will soon be taller than his mom, so you know I've had time to get used to being matronly and sexless.
Unfortunately, the more muscle I build, and the more I can feel the fat melting off my bones and muscles and sinew, the more waves of passion seem to crash over me, and I find myself looking at men like a ravening lioness looks at a juicy Thompsons gazelle.
And I have nowhere for those feelings to go, as my husband is not interested. Insert huge gusty sighs here.
But that doesn't mean I will give up and go back to hibernating under my thick padded comforter of fat. Not going to happen. I've worked too hard 6 to 7 days a week at the gym to give up now.
Still, I wonder if it is worth it sometimes, merely from a looking good on the outside perspective. I have no one to look good for but myself. I don't like the kind of shallow people who only look at outsides anyway. I prefer people who think, have more than a modicum of smarts/wit and who wrestle with their souls to find life's answers. Not that I don't like looking at handsome, even gorgeous men. There's nothing like a little eye candy now and then to remind you why humans are still a renewable resource.
But its the smart guys, the charming, brilliant, manly guys who get to me every time.
At any rate, I was delighted to discover that my bib overalls, which used to be so tight I had to stuff myself in them, are now loose and roomy and fun to wear for this old Iowan. I also found a pair of black yoga pants to wear with my too large black velvet shirt, and I think I pulled off a halfway decent look for the All Access Pass event...at least no one shouted "GEEK ALERT" when I walked by. I found myself briefly flirting with a scruffy journalist and had to laugh at myself for enjoying the moment so much. I sometimes feel so isolated as a freelancer that when I do get together with my brethren, I get a little too excited at all the energy and ideas flowing around.
Yet it was a hopeful, good evening that made me feel a little less lonely, and a little more normal.
Now I just need to get that somber, sober matronly thing down to a science before the next 40 pounds come off.
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