eggsactly

this morning, my company treated its employees to a catered breakfast in honor of all the hard work we did last week. i queued up with other coworkers and patiently waited my turn to grab some eggs and bacon and fruit. i found myself across the buffet table from a temp who has been with the company for three or four months. the group around me was conversing about vegetarian preferences, the temp leading the banter.

"well what to do allow yourself to eat? all i see is carnivorous fare here," one of my coworkers said to the temp.
"well, i'll eat eggs, but definitely NO dairy... i'll eat fish and blah blah blah blah..." and she went on ad nauseum about her self imposed diet restrictions. when the temp got to the eggs, she took an abnormally small scoop and made some irritating remark about being starving.

"you know, i think scrambled eggs have milk in them," the guy next to her said. she paused, then very unceremoniously tilted her plate towards the egg pan and shook the offending fare back into the public domain. i think she started whimpering about never having anything to eat at "these" types of offerings...

it was at that point that i grabbed my juice and scurried away, trying to get as far away as possible from her incessant whining about food. frankly, although i found the whole exchange to be like nails on a chalkboard (seriously... HOW MANY TIMES DO WE NEED TO HEAR THE WOES OF THE VEGETARIAN?? KEEP IT TO YOURSELF, YOU FOOD MILITANTS!! yeah, yeah, yeah... you're so much better than the rest of us meat eaters... but you don't hear the rest of us preaching about how our lactose intolerance or our gluten issues or our plain old dieting problems should be cause for you to take alert, too!!) i digress... the thing i found interesting is that this was not the first time that i happened to be graced with the presence of this babbling veggie crusader.

i came across her a few weeks prior at an all-staff meeting. she was at the catering table, decrying the baseness of the pastries and muffins for their general unhealthiness and sugar content to anyone in line who would listen. (as a little bit of background, this gal is relatively young - maybe mid to late 20's, very thin, and very much a stereotypical l.a. hipster. in an office that demands business formal, she comes to work looking like she's wearing the same duds she went out in last night... lindsay-lohan-style leggings under an off the shoulder, ratty t-shirt and cowboy boots. god love l.a.) this girl already sticks out like a sore thumb in the office. what's worse is that she offends everyone around her with her holier-than-thou loud judgement of food at the catered meals.

this really bothered me at first. i chalked it up to her just being a loud, bitchy, attention-needing, angstful youth who was unaccustomed to a professional office environment. but after listening to her blather on about her herbivorous tendencies this morning, i realized that ohmygod, she's probably just as freaky about food as me! both times i've run into her, she's been milling around catered tables full of "inadequate fare". i imagine that a person with a normal relationship with food (whatever that is) would peek at the offerings, know instantly if there is anything appropriate for their diet and simply walk away if they don't see something that fits the bill... not get in line and very loudly bitch about the free food. that the temp falls in with the rest of the line and starts calling attention to her own eating habits screams "i have a problem with food. and if i talk loud enough and with enough judgement about what you're about to eat, you won't notice my issue with food."

yes. i know this one well... i know it well because i have been in that same boat... it was high school and college when i was so painfully aware of being seen having anything to do with food in public... i thought that all eyes were on me and the food i was about to eat. (which is really a very narcissistic thing if you think of it.) how painfully wrapped up with my own fragile self esteem and poor body image did i have to be to think that everyone would be waiting, watching to see what i ate, how i ate it, the technique i used to eat? seriously. thank you, therapy, for helping me pull my head out of my ass on that one. (i'm quite sure that my head is still very much securely lodged up my rear when it comes to a great many other things, but i don't fear eating in public anymore.)

i wish i could say that my negative feelings towards the trash talking temp have dissipated now that i've committed my thoughts to paper (or rather, the digital ether), but i'm not that noble. what i can say is that i do have a little more compassion for her now. it's gotta be tough to be young and impressionable in this whack-a-doodle town - where drug problems are completely acceptable and eating at all, especially in public, is frowned upon... i'm grateful that the suffocating pressure to be thin out here has not consumed my very being... ok, maybe just a little.

or i could be completely wrong about the temp... perhaps i am totally off base and she has a perfectly healthy relationship with food... in that case, her irritation factor stems from her constant and insipid whining about food... even better!

sew much fun

i've been totally enthralled with the sewing classes. on monday, i signed up for an additional class on tuesday evenings. we're not quite finished with the babe-a-licious drawstring pants, but i've been having so much fun that i decided to pony up for the shirt making class. much to my delight, this class is substantially smaller - only five of us total. even after the horror of getting measured in front of the whole class, i was so tickled by the idea of tackling shirt construction that i was willing to go through the embarrassment once more - after all, i'd done it once. i knew what to expect. it would be fine! and i would be sewing a real, live, honest to gosh shirt!!


still riding the high from monday night's class, i was anxiously awaiting the delights of tuesday's class. since we were no longer beginners, i expected the instructor to hand out the patterns, measure us, and get right into it. ho no... this time we were going to use a pattern generated from a program and based on multiple measurements INCLUDING WEIGHT AND BRA SIZE!!! kill me now. thank god there were only four other gals in the class... somehow the agony of having to bear the agony of publicly announcing my weight and bra size was lessened by the fewer number of class participants. and once again, i was the absolutely biggest gal in the bunch. i could feel the tightness in my chest start as the instructor measured his first victim... i gotta say, the single measurement of the previous class was small potatoes compared to this round of measuring... the fullest part of our chests, our waist, between the legs from belly button to the top of our ass cracks, neck, and bicep. the first gal handled the measurements like a champ. i could tell she was very uncomfortable - lots of nervous laughter and self deprecating comments. i mean i don't really understand why since she had the whole room silently staring at her, listening to the measurements as the instructor read them aloud. while witnessing this whole horror-measurement scenario play out, i realized that it was likely that every single one of the gals in there was filled with the same dread that was rocking around in me. i made up my mind to just say fuck it and get over the nerves. when it came to my turn, i had a little fun with the instructor... i took the tape measure and pulled it back and forth between my legs while shimmying my pelvis. i think that was the pressure valve everyone was looking for because we all started laughing... and i started blushing... but sure enough, talk of stripper poles sparked light conversation in the room and the tense tone dissipated. i didn't even mind giving my honest to god real weight and bra size. of course, i was as discreet as i could be, but again, i figured fuck it. i'm going to make this godamned shirt and it will fit because i've provided accurate measurements.


before getting measured, i was acutely aware of how hot and bright the shame of my weight burned inside of me. horrible catastrophic fantasies began to take shape and i felt like i would be lost to my peers as me, belly, and known only as a number. i imagined that once they knew my measurements and my weight, i would be forever reduced to numbers, i would forever be known as '51 Inch Hips'. "hey, 51 Inch Hips, could you pass me the pinking shears?" "Please say 'present' when i call your name. Hips, 51 Inches?" yet, this time i refused to be transfixed by the bonfire of my insecurities. fuck it. yes, my hips do measure 51 inches. so fucking what? yay me for being able to provide current, exact weight and bra measurements. yay me for having the courage to playfully poke fun at the tense situation by doing a little stripper dance with the tape measure. after all, if i'm going to continue sewing for myself, i'm going to have to acknowledge the shape of my body!


by the time i got home i was so energized, so full of delight and productivity. i gave myself over to the process of being measured and in return, i received a hella good time. i can't wait for next week's classes.


the real beauty of taking these sewing classes lies not in the fact that i'm learning a craft, but in the fact that i'm learning about me. some of my most vulnerable sensibilities around body image are being challenged. and IT'S OK. i'm discovering that the truth of my weight, the size of my hips, my bust - it's simple fact. these numbers are not charged with emotional anthrax. they simply are. i simply am. i do not crumble when forced to reveal my weight. i choose not to lose myself in the inner whirlpool of anxiety and insecurity. i choose to sew, baby!

when the best thing ever gets sullied by the worst thing ever... in front of 11 strangers

tonite i had my first sewing class. i've been looking forward to this class for months... i've tried to sign up for it twice and twice it was full. i thoroughly researched this place and even though it was a bit more expensive, i just knew it was the right place for me.

i moved my whole day around so i could get to this class on time... got up extra early so i could leave work early, planned an outfit that would have enough comfort and longevity to get me through a full work day and a three-hour class, ate a large, late lunch so i wouldn't be hungry during the class...

and when i finally got there, it proved to be awesome. only 12 students so the instructor can spend lots of one-on-one attention with each student. the instructor is a fabulous old queen with more sass in his little finger than one would find in a cranky kindergarten class. and the other students were all gals... of various shapes and style sensibilities.

we started off with a bang. a few jokes about being the next project runway contestants and introductions on sewing 101 how to.

things were going great until we took a short break around 7:30. i went to the restroom only to come back to the instructor talking about how important 'fit' was. "forget size! have you seen what banana republic is calling a 12 these days? GEN-ER-OUS." shee-it. things started to go downhill from there... words from his introduction a few short hours ago were ringing in my head, "i can tell every single one of you what your measurements are - trust me. i've been doing this for that long." i wear a size 22. what the fuck do you think was going through my head after he basically just declared 12's to be ginormous?!

it was at that point that i became acutely aware of trying to not shift in my seat... the least amount of attention i could bring to myself the better... don't let the chair squeak, don't sip from your water, don't look up... just smile... smile... don't betray that anything else is going on.... i was SO uncomfortable. it seemed as soon as the size vs. fit diatribe started, an unmercifully hot, bright spotlight focused on me. i was so paralyzed that i couldn't even look around the room to confirm my suspicions that i had become the center of intense, boring gazes.

the instructor went on to evidence his 'fit matters most' bit by giving a couple of examples of famous women ... who are larger... who always look meticulous. "i've met queen latifah in person and believe me, she ain't a petite gal... but she always looks like a million bucks!!" true, but why use her as an example? why not talk about how bad kirsten dunst looks when she wears rags that hang off her tiny frame?

just when i thought i couldn't take another moment, it got worse. we were handed patterns and told that we were going to be measured for the patterns... right then and there.

WHA????

NOOOOoooooooooo!!!

the instructor started going around the room measuring each gal's hips. he was quick. he gave each woman's number to her under his breath. very polite. very sensitive. when he got to me, he had trouble reaching around me... so it was taking longer than everyone else. and then, when he finally gave me my number (51.5 in a VERY hushed tone) i didn't know what else to do but say out loud, "28?! how lovely!!!" get this... EVERYONE laughed. even the folks on the other side of the room. was everyone waiting to hear my gargantuan waist size?

i was dying from the mortification. i think at that point he was talking more about how to read the panel on the pattern packet... i have no idea what was told to us because i was busy falling down an inner spiral of shame. the fun didn't stop there, though... once he told us how much fabric we needed i realized i was a full inch and a half bigger than the biggest XXL measurement on the package. holy christ. now i have to ask what to do in my situation??

i summoned all the courage i had left and waited till the end of class and asked the instructor. again, he was completely nonplussed by the question and said something about 'wear ease' and how i would be just fine.

i have never bolted from a place so fast. thank god that's over. i'm actually kind of glad i didn't know that there was measurements-taking in store at our first class... i think i would have psyched myself out of it had i known that we would actually have to be measured... out loud... in front of strangers.

despite the utter humiliation, i'm glad i went. i'm glad i didn't lose composure when faced with a surprise measuring... there were definitely unsavory elements about this evening. but i refuse to let it tarnish my long standing excitement about learning to sew.

shelves are for books... not for butts

i'm having one of those yucky days where i don't quite feel like my clothes are fitting. i've been uncomfortably tugging and pulling and trying to cover myself up all day. i was 45 min late to work because i couldn't find a suitable outfit combination that felt good (even my weekly pre-determined options weren't working for me).

i waffled unnecessarily and extraordinarily long about whether or not i should get up and go to subway. my stomach got the better of me and when i finally got to the parking lot, i pulled into a spot, got a little overwhelmed and PULLED OUT TO LEAVE, then pulled back in again... i was so consumed with this idea that i looked SO bad today, that i nearly talked myself out of going into subway for five minutes to get lunch. cuckoo! fortunately, a shinning moment of crystal clear sanity broke through the dense fog of my poor self esteem. confidence! exude confidence and that's all they'll see! besides, seriously? unless you've sprouted a third arm, you look FINE.

after i got back to the office and finished lunch, my neurosis got worse. only now all of my attention was focused on my butt. there is a full length mirror in the ladies room and everytime i went in there, my eyes immediately dropped to the silhouette of my derriere. i carry most of my weight in my ass and stomach and depending on the clothes i'm wearing, sometimes it looks like i have a pseudo shelf-butt. from a side angle, it looks like theres a little pooch that sticks out past the round fullness of my hip/lower back/butt. i cannot stop thinking about my shelf butt. about who's gonna notice my shelf butt. about how all the kids are going to make fun of me and play pranks like set a vase or a gramaphone on my shelf butt when i'm not looking! behold the mysteries of the human body! behold the shelf butt! AHHH!!!

you know that film that my guy did the soundtrack for? it was accepted as part of this local film festival. tonite we are attending a viewing. i'm freaking out, people! FREAKING OUT! what if my shelf butt destroys the place? what if it doesn't fit into the seat? what if someone at the reception mistakes my shelf butt for a side table and tries to place their drink on it?? what if it tries to TAKE OVER THE WORLD??

breathing... breathing... serenity now.

for all my hysterics, i actually feel a lot better having written down all of these feelings... like i just vented all the 'insane' out the cargo doors, leaving the calm to reclaim me. i won't have much time to get ready when i get home, but i've got a plan... just a quick change of blouses, a jacket and some accessories and i'm sure i'll walk out the door feeling 100% better than i do right now...

are you losing weight?

is it just me or is this one of those questions that sends shockwaves of fear through others, as well?

one of my coworkers approached me recently and said, "are you losing weight?" the rational part of my mind knows that her tone was innocent enough, that she was likely proffering a compliment, but here's what the irrational, and in-control part of me (at the time) saw and heard:

i was minding my own business, happily humming a peppy little tune, waiting for the copier to churn out all 5 trillion color copies of my latest project, when one of my coworkers approached, stopped mid-stride, turned to me. she scanned me up and down like a cylon assessing whether to blast my human ass away or identify me as similar to her: a non-threatening run of the mill cog. noting her pause in my peripheral vision and sensing possible danger, i abruptly stopped humming and slowly reached for my trusty side arm, a terrifyingly swift stapler.

suddenly the skies darkened, the roof violently flew off the fourth floor of the office building. thick red clouds started churning overhead. i looked over at my coworker who was morphing into a fearsomely, huge demon with an evil, knowing smile slowly spreading over menacing, yellowed teeth.

she pointed a long, gnarled, accusatory talon at me. "ARE YOU LOSING WEIGHT?" she boomed. i could feel myself shrinking, wilting in the face of this horrifying accusation. i could do nothing but tremble before the creature, mouth agape in sheer horror.

"ARE YOU LOSING WEIGHT?!" the beast screeched again, louder than the din of the surrounding hellfire.

"i... i... i... "i quietly stuttered.

the loathsome beast just glared down at me with piercing, red eyes.

"well i guess i've lost a little weight... ab-b-b-bout eight pounds or so..." no response. i was snared in her all consuming judgment-filled gaze. "i've b-b-b-been doing weight watchers for a few months," i stammered on, trying to fill the silent void. "i mean i know it's been a few months, and if i were really following the program the right way, i would probably be down a little more... but it's been good so far... i mean i have so much more to go... but you know, it works for a lazy-ass like me..."

my self deprecating spiral was suddenly halted by Joe Poke, another coworker. instantly the roof returned to the building and my coworker magically resumed her original shape.

"um, excuse me - are you almost done with the copy machine?" Pokey, Office Shlub interrupted.

"uh... yeah - almost done here." i said, still reeling from the terrifying exchange moments ago.

Pokey wandered off, leaving me with my shape-shifting coworker. without skipping a beat, she said, "well, whatever you're doing, you look good. i can totally see it in your face." then she walked away.

what the hay? what was that? was i just complimented or slighted? and by who? did i just totally insult myself for like five minutes??

i'm pretty sure (rational me here) that my coworker was only passing on a nice compliment. i don't think that she was saying wow. your face used to be so fat before that we had an office pool going as to whether you were smuggling puppies or lawn furniture in your neck folds... btw, deck chairs won.

i realize that i also need to subscribe to the less is more camp... not only with portion control, but with diarrhea of the mouth. a simple "i have" would have been a perfectly acceptable response to 'are you losing weight.' i need to remember that i don't have to defend myself for my diet. i don't have to disparage my successes or my body. nor do i have to go into extended detail about how i got a few pounds down. (besides, who really wants to hear that tedious crap, anyway?) finally, i need not forget about my trusty stapler, which, in a pinch could really help me 'zip it'... or, er... staple it?? (the mouth... not the stomach... you know, just to be clear.)

my body is a temple, or, i ain't no mobile home

it was only recently that i felt like we have FINALLY settled into our 'new' apartment. there are no more visible cardboard boxes signifying our transitory status. there is organization and order in all the rooms. images and art are hung instead of heaped against an out-of-the-way wall waiting to be displayed. it took a little more than a year, but i finally feel completely moved in.

the funny thing is that everything in los angeles still feels so new... or maybe it feels more like impermanence?? yes, that's it. there exists this pervasive temporary feeling that still nags the back of my mind, even after a year. at first i thought the feeling stemmed from knowledge of an impending home purchase in the near future. there are no firm plans right this moment, but buying a house and getting out of apartment life is one of those big goals on the horizon. but this ephemeral sense is rooted deeper: my guy and i don't plan stay in los angeles forever. but when we left the comfort of chicago, we didn't think further than 'hey! let's move to l.a.!'

...and then what?

this seems to be the question that keeps me calling my apartment new, that allows me to consider myself as having 'just' moved here, that makes me feel nonplussed about this town and its inhabitants. signing the lease for another year is probably a good indication that i should probably drop the 'new'.

i've been thinking about how i live with 'temporary', how it feels to view my life as 'temporary', how it feels to know that my current job isn't permanent, that my apartment is not truly my space, that this town does not engender a sense of belonging within me. temporary does not feel like mine.

when i think of my home in chicago, i am overwhelmed with nostalgia, with a fondness for a city rich with culture, intellect, savvy. i think of the beauty of the seasons: bitter and unforgiving in the winter, delicate and innocent in the spring. i think of the home i owned for a decade, the modifications and renovations that i did with my own hands. i think of my truly amazing girlfriends, who inspire me, who challenge me, who accept me as i am. i think of my dysfunctional, lovable family. my heart swells with pride when i think about 'home'.

pride.

i recently read that the body usually fluctuates between three and five pounds from its normal weight. what an unexpected, harsh slap in my face this bit of trivia was. three to five pounds is what i have been dancing around with for the past three months, fooling myself that "it's" working! i am down 2 lbs! up 1:( down 1.5lbs!! up 4lbs.

what the fuck am i doing?? i'm not committed to dieting. i'm not sticking to the plan. i've been foo-fahing around with weight watchers online, dancing around a nice, neat structured system and telling myself, genuinely SELLING myself on the idea that i'm doing this! i'm really in it to win it!! i'm full of shit. i'm starting to think that a smart slap is exactly what i need to help me snap out of it.

as i examine the myriad of excuses, of broken systems that i live by, as i poke around my inner workings, i am drawn to this idea of permanence and sense of pride. i realize that right now, right this very moment, my relationship with my body feels temporary. one day my body and mind are buddy-ole-pals and the next day, my mind is leaving my body in the dust. for a week or two, i feel centered, whole. i am conscious of how my body feels, if it's hungry, if it wants exercise and i lovingly attend to its needs. in one afternoon, this groovy symbiosis is dashed on the jagged rocks of too many drinks and late nite greasy food. my relationship with my body feels temporary. my body does not feel like mine and therefore, i am excused from taking care of it.

i need this to change. i need to feel like my mind and body are engaged in a permanent and exclusive relationship. i need to know with every fiber of my being that my body is my temple. i need to know that regardless of the impermanent state of external forces in my life, my relationship with my body is constant. i need to feel proud of my body. i need to feel like i belong to my body, like it's my beloved home.

so here's what i've come up with so far:
change is good
change is necessary
my constant, my permanent lies within me
my body is permanent
my relationship with my body is permanent
i can endure change because i can always rely on my body

...and then what?

i'm not really sure. i don't know what comes next.
hard work? ok. but what does that work look like?
self love? yeah. that sounds great. how do i do it?
awareness? mindfulness? self respect? yes. yes. and yes. sign me up!
what? no instruction manual?!?

Body, i guess it's you and me, kid. we're gonna have to figure this out together. are you in this with me? are we in this to win this?

yes.

20 lbs in a week just ain't right

i just found out that my guy and i are headed back to our home town at the end of april for a grand celebration. my guy has numerous tracks included his buddy's indie movie. when we went to the premier out here in l.a., we were overcome with excitement. we watched the final edit in a real movie theater with 250 of the producer's friends and colleagues. we delighted with recognition every time one of my guy's songs faded in. we squirmed with glee when we watched the credits roll and my guy's name scrolled across the big screen. it was a surreal experience. it was a wonderful event. i was so proud and honored to be sitting next to this creative genius who received verbal accolades from the producer in front of the 248 strangers in the theater with us.

so after my guy told me the good news and we decided to go back home for the event, it started. this happens to me every.single.time i am confronted with an impending date of reuniting with old friends, going on a trip, any momentous occasion that will require me to be presentable. 'it' is the soundtrack from my youth, the voice that repeats over and over and over, the sickness that asks "how much weight can i lose before this event? if i starve and exercise every day could i lose 20 lbs in a week?" this tape used to drown out all rational thought - it was the soundtrack that beat with my pulse, that consumed my thoughts... this is the same voice that nearly caused me to miss the memorable experience of attending the premier of my guy's movie.

it was a wonderful woman, full of wisdom-by-the-hour, who helped me see how damaging and distorted this idea really was. the shrink is gone. the voice is back. granted, it's not as ridiculous and demanding as it once was. no, i am now able to understand just how fucked that way of thinking is. but the voice is back... only... different. as soon as i heard about a second movie screening in our home town, somewhere deep inside of me i sensed an old, familiar part press 'play'... this time, though, the voice is disguised as a seemingly rational thought:

"belly, you have two and a half months until the event. wouldn't it be wonderful to look great for it? two and a half months - if you really got with the program, you could lose at least 15 lbs in that time."

blech. when i logged my weight yesterday on the weight watchers site, i noticed that it has taken me two and a half months to lose 5.5 lbs. why do i think - wait - why would i want to sabotage myself by trying to adopt anything faster than my current pace? and FOR SOMEONE ELSE?? what about me? how did i happen to lose myself inside of a sentence??

what about me?

here i am. here i am reclaiming my new found relationship with my body. here i am denouncing the idea that i want to lose weight for anyone but myself. here i am picking myself back up off the chuckwagon from the past weekend, dusting off my knees and the cheez-it crumbs, and getting back on the path. here i am reminding myself that my body is sacred and beautiful exactly the way it is RIGHT NOW.

it's times like these, when i can hear the old, sick tapes playing, that i have to give pause to my life and reclaim it. i have to restate my purpose here. i need to remind myself that those old voices don't guide me. i will make peace with them. i forget to look for the beauty in these falling down places... for it is in these moments of weakness where my truth lies. it is in these moments of weakness that i am truly aware of my strength. i don't wallow in my broken places because i am strong enough to pull out. pull up. get back to center.

so here i am. here i am struggling to be tender with the old voices. struggling to let them know that it's ok now. i've got this one. i'll take it from here and i'm strong enough to do it. in the past two and a half months that i have been with weight watchers, i have been more successful in getting to know my body and adopting healthy habits for weight loss than ever before in my life. i like this pace i'm keeping. i like discovering my self. i am falling in love with my body.

in the coming months i will build success for myself through weekly goals. i will continue to post with regular frequency. i will be aware of my body and my food decisions. i will go back to my home town in a couple of months and i will revel in the celebration of my guy's creativity. i will cherish the time laughing and talking with friends and family. i will meet new people with open arms and a warm heart. and it won't matter a lick what i weigh.

kickin' ass and taking inventory

great week. successful week. but before i get into the thick of it, a quick goal recap:

week 1 goal: document all of my food intake. goal met.

week 2 goal: stay within my weight watchers point range for the week

yikes! did i really just give myself that much hangin' rope for week 2's goal? i have to admit that as a weight watchers online subscriber for two and a half months, i have not had one week where i've come in under my weekly points. until now, i have lived in terror of this goal. mostly because a very large part of me isn't sure that i can do it, but there is also an equally fearful part that i will do it. for days i mulled over a good second week goal for myself - it has to be something tangible, within my grasp, but not too scary and hard that i'll land face first into a giant vat of chocolate chip cookie dough. staying within my point range seems like a natural progression from accurately journaling my food intake - but still, this idea strikes a really fearful chord in me.

in the past, i could sense the fear creeping in, gnawing at the periphery of my consciousness until i was so consumed with holding it at bay, whatever it really is, that i would lose control of my true voice... seemed like no one was running the show because my true self was lost in a cacophony of confusion and denial. i don't want to head in to my next goal with this much fearful chatter whispering in my ear.

"that's too hard. you'll never be able to stick with that plan."
"this plan doesn't afford you enough food or wine."
"you haven't managed this accomplishment in two and a half months, what makes you think you can do it now?"
"what if you get hungry? you can't tolerate hunger."

but my fear is sneaky - it's done a good job of creating chaos and confusion, all of which exists to mask a deeper knowing: i am not loveable and i don't deserve success.

every time i eat something that doesn't directly provide nourishment, every time i drink one more glass of wine, every time i decide to watch some stupid reality show in favor of going for a walk, every time i make a conscious decision to deny myself those things that are good for me, i prove that deep, pained part of myself right: i don't deserve success. i don't deserve a healthy body. i don't deserve to love myself.

recently, i've written a lot about accepting the small frustrations and discouragements of the day into my life. i've talked about making room for them, letting them have space, be heard. i've made room in my heart and acknowledged these daily worries and in doing so, i have given them the freedom to dissipate. "your job is done now, little worry, thanks for bringing it to my attention but i've got it covered - run along." this new revelation, though - this is a biggun'. and yet, as i write about this big, hairy, ugly underlying fear, i can feel it losing power, withdrawing, releasing it's grip on me. i am well enough to face it head on. i am strong enough to look it in the eyes and know it. if i can accept this part of me, this dark, painful part, then i can accept all of myself. i'm willing to do that. i want to be successful. i want to know the triumph that comes with hard work and dedication. if success feels anything at all like the relief and release that i'm tasting now in finding self acceptance, then i want more of it - a lot more of it!

slow and steady changes habits. i have to remember my intention for starting off with slow and easy goals: too much too soon is a known recipe for failure. but this new goal doesn't seem all that bad. when i stop and let the fear in, when i let it have a voice and acknowledge it, i realize that it is not the voice of my true self. the fearful voice is not the truest voice. it doesn't control me. i actually feel whole letting that fearful part up to the surface. i feel like i'm not denying, avoiding or ignoring me. i feel like i'm taking inventory of my inner workings and am getting to know exactly what's going on inside me. this is different. this feels like healing. this also feels a little like... success.

whaddya expect if you never take a risk?

not too long ago, my guy and i were fondly recounting his success in the last couple of years - he's worked really hard and has quite a bit to show for it - music that's noticed, a funny website, a fantastic dream job. at some point in our conversation, i wondered why i couldn't count the same kind of successes for myself- i mean i, too, am really passionate - and about so much! so why is it that my repertoire of worldly talents has gone unnoticed?? i mean i AM fabulous for cryin' out loud!

"whaddya expect if you never take a risk?" my guy innocently asked me.

blink. blink.

"you have a lot of projects and you are talented at so many things... but the difference between you and me is that i actually take the risk and put my shit out there... out there to be seen, to be judged on my creativity by an elusive anonymous." weisenheimer. ok. i get it. my guy is talented AND sensible. i'll show him i can take a risk... right after i prove it to myself...

so here i come, risk. here i come. here's my attempt at openness and blatant honesty in the face of unknown judgement. and yet, before i can start taking risks with my fashion or photography or jewelry making, before i can display those projects to the world, i've got to start with baring that which is closer to home. here's my attempt at finding peace, at gingerly tending a beautiful blossom of self - even in the dead of winter. i'm ready to be visible. i'm ready to take the ultimate risk and bare myself right down to my big ol' belly...

i have spent A LOT of my life in the throes of recurring negative thoughts about self and body... mostly, my not nice thoughts target my stomach region. i am an emotional eater. i carry more weight than my bones should have to bear. since i can remember, food has served secondarily as fuel, a means of life, and primarily as a means to sanity, safety, discomfort, and psychosis. i stuff, therefore i am. i stuff and stuff and stuff. and my belly takes it. it takes all the food and emotion i can shove down. and it holds it. my belly stretches and expands and adapts to all my neuroses. i have spent far too long hating and shaming myself, specifically my big, beautiful soft belly - symbol of feminine, mother, center of my self.

for holding me in your soft embrace for so very long, Belly, i am ready to risk vulnerability, shame, fear, and embarrassment in the name of release, in the name of health. you deserve a much needed break from holding me - holding me in, holding me up - while i've been holding you down, Belly. you deserve love and appreciation.

today i accept change. i welcome my feminine. i cherish the center of my self. i seek to nurture my self. this is the challenge i accept - to use my voice and my words to heal, to resist using food to choke. today i honor my body, my belly and will continue to so through daily posts, songs from my truest, depth - notes from my belly.