What's your secret?

I'm getting to the point in my weight loss where alot of people are starting to notice. That's not to say that people didn't notice before, but I'm hearing an increase in the comments about it. Some of my customers have noticed.

So, inevitably I think, I'm getting this question: What's your secret? And as soon as I begin to explain my answer, I see a look of disappointment followed quickly by disinterest. Because, no one wants to hear the real answer. There is no secret.

Real, permanent weight loss comes from changing the way you live your life. You have to eat less and change the foods you do eat to healthier foods that are full of the right nutrients your body needs and have much less of those bad things that will make you sick. You have to live an active lifestyle that includes aerobic activities not only as "working out" but as part of your fun time. And you never, ever stop. As an overweight person, I actually had to learn to watch every single thing I ate until I became used to exactly how much food my body, not my mouth, wanted. And eventually I grew to like whole grains, fruits, veggies, and lean meats much more than the deep fried, chocolate covered carbs I was eating before. I learned that food shouldn't just taste good, it should feel good too.

So no miracle diet is going to work forever. And I don't understand how someone is willing to eat nothing but dill pickles for a week or take laxatives like candy to loose weight but they aren't willing to put forth the effort to make a real, permanent change. Of course, a year ago I was going to let someone cut me up and rearrange my insides to loose weight. We get into a place where we will do anything to escape. Anything to get out it. And we don't feel strong enough. We cause our own failures.

But there is no secret. I weigh and measure and count nearly everything I eat. Sometimes, I make bad choices and go out to eat or have cookies, but then I have to go to the gym an extra day and trim my calories the rest of the week. I make up for it. 

I've learned so very much that I could talk about it for hours. I could write pages. But this stuff is only interesting to those people that already know it. If you haven't gotten here than the words are probably frustrating and disappointing. You might feel not strong enough and you wonder how I am. 

Its not about changing your whole life in a day. Make small changes that you can deal with. One thing at a time. Continuous improvement. As long as you are better today than yesterday or last week, you are making progress. Learn patience and don't expect miracles. Its a long journey, but the rewards are so much bigger than you even anticipate. 

But there's no secret.

If money grew on trees, we wouldn't have any leaves to rake.

My parents got their income tax return on Friday. It took me two days, but I've come to the conclusion that this means they'll be high until the money runs out. Really, really messed up. It makes me sad and angry. I'm dissapointed and I don't understand the part of me that always expects them to get better. That always expects the best out of them. I think it would hurt less if I anticipated the slurred speech and slack faces and general zombies walking around pretending to be my parents. And I have to walk around pretending to not notice.  If I say anything they are "just tired." Yeah, because tired looks just like that. They sure have a funny way of being tired.

I just want to go away.

But more, I want to be able to stay, and everthing be okay.

But its not.

And it rarely is.

And another. (It takes ten nice things to erase every mean word spoken.)

I don't like conflict. I avoid it at all costs. I hide my own feelings of hurt or dissapointment or anger most of the time, when they occur, just so no dissagreement happens. So no unpleasant words are exchanged. I would much rather be unhappy all by myself, then tell someone else that they are making me unhappy somehow and then we get unhappy together. That sucks. I hate conflict.

It makes me feel all wrong inside when my relationships aren't all going well. It crawls under my skin and makes my heartbeat seem off balance. Something is missing. What is it? Harmony? That seems to high a word but what I mean is that I don't like discord. It grates on me all day long. Yesterday and the day before it made me sick to my stomach. It made me cry. My fingers wouldn't hold steady and food sounded awful and I couldn't concentrate on my reading. I hate conflict.

Even when its over, its like the reverberations of it are still moving across the surface of my mind in little ripples. I replay all the events and every word and try to figure out what I might have done to make it not happen. I could have said this, I could have agreed here, I could have apologized here. But that meek, apologetic person is dying in me. I'm not going to agree and acquiesce if it means lying to myself and other people. I'm not going ot pretend that everying is okay when everything is most certainly not okay. And for the first time in my WHOLE life, I'm not going to assume that everyone else is worth more than me. I deserve to be heard. I deserve to be seen (accurately). And I deserved to be loved for who I really am.

I know that anger is a secondary emotion. It comes from things like hurt and dissapointment. It is a defense mechanism meant to drive away the person or events responsible for the hurt and dissapointment. Meant to stop it from happening again. But anger is rarely the healthy response and forgiveness nearly always is. I can rationally choose to forgive, but I can't make the hurt stop with a decision and so the anger is still there, lying in wait.

I must be extra kind. I must be extra friendly. I must be extra agreeable and a better listener and smile as much as I can so it doesnt show. I must learn to lie. I can't show that it hurt more than it ever should have. Can't let it show that now I doubt every good thing about myself. I doubt other people that seem to like me. Cant let it show that I'm not okay. That it will take me years before I could ever let someone get that close again.

Because, I don't want anyone else to hurt because I'm hurting. I don't ever want that.

One thing leads to another.

I think all I wanted to say is that I want to be heard. I really hope one day I'll find a person who will want to listen to everything I have to say. Someone who'll read what I write, even when it sucks. Someone who will want me to listen to everything they have to say. And he'll have some passion that I won't quite understand but I'll listen and observe and support him in whatever ways I can. And we'll argue sometimes. And we'll discover amazing things about each other. And time will pass too quickly. And we'll discover flaws in one another we never knew we had. And we'll discover layers of beauty no one else has ever noticed. And when its just us, we'll be safe from all the world and anyone else that might want to hurt us. We'll be a team. We'll be a partnership. At least, thats what I'm hoping for.

I imagine this is how it feels to be hit in the side of the head with a flying stapler.

My self-image has recently been . . . cracked. I picture it as the image I saw underneath my skin when I looked in the mirror. The girl behind the body. And the crack didn't shatter everything, but rather ran down the middle and split into a thousand other lines like a river and its tributaries, branching out further and further. Every crack moved the glass just enough so that the pieces of mirror no longer reflected a unified whole. I'm looking a collection of attributes that don't add up to me.

I've been searching and searching this person that I think of as me, trying to decide if what I see is the same as what everyone else is seeing when they look at me. Because recently, someone presented to me a picture of myself that was completely different than my own self image. And it broke. And now I don't know what to do.

So, I made a list of everything I could think of that is wrong with me. Maybe not everything. I didn't list things like: I can't park my car straight or I'm sort of afraid of the dark. I tried to list things I thought were important. Things that matter. And I'm sure I missed things. I even asked my mom to give me, without consequences, her list of things that were wrong with me. I wasn't surprised by her responses. I knew about all those things. What bothers me is the idea that there are things terribly wrong with me that everyone else is aware of and no one is telling me. I just recently began to fear that the people that seem to like me don't really like me at all. Its awful. I know. I'm really trying to fix that quickly, but thats where I am. I'm just a little broken.

Then I made the list of good things, which was harder. I don't want to seem vain. I don't think I AM vain, so making a list of things right about me seems, well, vain, and therefore contradictory to my own list. Nevertheless, I took some time to make that list too. Because the bad list couldn't stand alone. Because I am not just made of the bad things people tolerate. I think, more importantly, I am made of things that make the bad things worth tolerating.

So I made both my lists, thinking they would make me feel better. They didn't. Writing usually helps me solve problems and thats why I wrote this whole mess. But the problem isn't solved and I feel kind of lonely even around other people because I'm not fully participating. I'm trying to figure out what I might be doing that might be upsetting other people. And its not fun. And its not healthy. And so this note was born.

And I don't know who on earth would stick with me long enough to get to this part of the note, but here you are, I suppose. I just wanted to ask for affirmation or validation or some kind of honest feedback from anyone at all. Because right now I feel confused and hurt and lost and broken.  I don't want to stay here.

So here are the lists:

What’s wrong with me:
I’m impatient.
I’m stubborn.
I’m selfish.
I’m too honest, especially when others don’t want to hear it.
I’m not sympathetic.
Sometimes I’m uncaring.
I’m slow to forgive those that hurt me.
I’m slow to trust anyone at all.
I forget important dates like birthdays and anniversaries. And actually, they don’t mean anything to me anyway. I hate birthdays and holidays with mandatory behaviors.
I’m a terrible judge of character.
I’m sensitive, even when I pretend not to be.
I’m picky and particular about all kinds of things.
I’m grumpy in the morning.
I’m spoiled.
I’m under the impression that eventually someone will think I’m amazing.
I’m not generous.
I’m not a good listener.
I talk a lot, but only when I feel comfortable.
I always feel out of place.
I need a lot of personal time, away from all the people.
I don’t like animals or babies.
I don’t floss.
I don’t usually believe the nice things people say about me.
I’m terrible at math. And reading clocks. And understanding world politics.
I don’t pick up on non-verbal cues very well. It has to be spelled out in words for me.
I’m irresponsible with my money.
I’m uncomfortable with silence if someone else is in the room.



What’s right with me:
I’m friendly.
I’m polite.
I’m joyful.
I’m unassuming.
I’m agreeable.
I’m honest.
I’m brave.
I’m genuine.
I avoid any kind of conflict.
I’m reassuring.
I’m hopeful.
I’m strong.
I’m optimistic.
I’m open.
I’m always trying to be better.
I’m finally becoming the person I want to be.
I like everyone at first and it takes me a long time to see the flaws.
I’m safe.
I’m affirming.
I’m all about hugs.
I’m uncomfortable with negativity.
I’m okay with whatever it is you choose to do.
I’m open-minded.
I’m accepting.
I’m good at telling people how much I like them.
Sometimes I’m funny.
I’m a good writer.
I don’t make sneaky plans or play games with anyone. I’m forthright.
I’m smart enough.
I’m much more comfortable with sharing my flaws than the things I actually like about myself. That is, to say, I think I’m modest.
It takes me a long time to love someone, but when I do it is completely, the good parts and the bad.
Instead of flesh and blood, I am actually composed of awesome itself. Okay, that one is a joke.

Umm . . . thanks.

I used to look at the mountain and cower in its shadow.

I'm changing. I've changed. What scares me is the idea that these changes aren't permanent. Am I going to fall down and roll back down to the bottom? This journey has been all up hill. And I don't ever want to go back to the valley. Yes, its easier there: the sun isn't cruel and the legs never tire and harsh winds only whip through every once in a while. But here, I can feel the welcome burn in my muscles telling me I'm making progress. Here I can see my future stretch out for miles in the brilliant sunshine. Here, I am out of reach of those waters that would soon flood the valley and carry me away. But what if I fall? What if I stop climbing? Because these last three weeks two weeks I haven't taken one step forward. I haven't stepped backward either, but progress is the tool by which I measure my happiness anymore and I've been standing still.

Standing still feels good for awhile, but that leads to stopping altogether and the next step still beckons with increasing intensity. This can't go on. I'm moving forward again. Complacency is no longer who I am.

Little things are changing too. I'm trying to like salad and I absolutely hate salad. Its all wrong. Its cold and crunchy and foreign. My mother never fed us salad, what is this monstrosity? But I've been eating it, trying to think of something else, trying to chew fast and swallow faster. I hate salad.

And fruit. I tried fruit cups. No good. They are so full of sugar and syrup its not fruit at all. Fresh fruit feels funny in my mouth. All stringy and seedy and running juice. So I drink smoothies. They taste excellent. They are low in calories and high in calcium, vitamin c, and other good stuff. A little protein powder makes them a meal. And slowly, the seeds become part of the experience. This is what fruit is: seeds and juice and sweet bitterness. And I like it. 

Maybe I'll learn to love the lettuce and strawberries. Maybe it will always be work. But I know that I used to hate the gym and now I love it, so this is what progress feels like. This is how it feels to be successful. 

One more step.

I am not, I am

I am not the keeper of your secrets.

I am not "on your side."

I am not here to suffer in silence.

I am not your comrade, your brother in arms.

I am not your defender.

I am not your friend.

I am not where you get your supply.

I am not the one who will hold you up when you fall.

I am not going to be here forever.

I am not falling for your attempts to make me feel guilty.

I am not going to back down.

I am not going to break under your hands.

I am not going to forgive you this time.

I am not weak, scared, or broken anymore.

I am not going to pretend its all okay.

I am not going to put on the happy face for your relatives.

I am not going to lie for you.

I am not any of these things.

I am your daughter, and only that.

This is what it feels like:

Today I deleted all the sites on my favorites list that had to do with gastric bypass surgery. It felt like letting go. It felt like ripping off the band-aid. It felt like standing up. It felt like the deep breath before the dive. If felt like the shaky legs after getting off the eliptical machine. It felt like staring up at the up escalator, wondering if I could run all the way up. It felt like saying good-bye. It felt like walking away. If felt like that last glimpse of the trees and streets before the airplane takes you into the clouds. It felt like finally finding the right exit ramp on some long roadtrip. It felt like taking that step when you know you can never go back. It felt like triumph. It  felt like failure. It felt like driving without a seatbelt. It felt like waking up. It felt like seeing something beautiful and dangerous for the first time. It felt like hope. It felt like the end of hope. It felt like the swinging chairs that pull you up the side of the mountain on a cable. It felt like the sudden stop when the car spins around on the ice. It felt strange.

I wish I was skinny.

I just googled "I wish I was skinny" just to see what other people are thinking/writing about the same things. They were all skinny people. I mean, they were all like 120-135 wishing they could go back to the days when they were 100.  Two things about that:

First, I was angry. I weigh 265lbs right now and that is amazing to me compared to the 320 I was a few months ago. Still, I'm not HAPPY and I keep thinking I wont be until later, until some magical day when I'll realize that I am finally not fat anymore. But how can they, who weight less than my GOAL, be unhappy? They could probably never even dream of what it means to be fat. There is no comparison. It doesn't matter if they feel insecure about the "meat on their bones". I cant even SEE my bones. What bones? I have meat on my meat. God. I'm so angry at them complaining about having the very thing I dream about. How can they be so unappreciative?

So, second thing. I realize that "happiness" isn't going to come from a number, but inside of me. It doesn't matter what I weigh if I don't like me. No thing on the scale, no pant size, and no mirror will ever be good enough unless I fix the things inside of me. Obviously, those girls haven't done that yet either and I shouldn't be mad at them for it. They are just as broken as me, and just as helpless to fix it. Maybe even more because they cannot see it. 

Oh, third thing. I'm sure there are things in my life that I not only take for granted, but complain about, that others in the world would love to have. For example, every time  the water gets turned off I get really, violently mad and I don't even take into account the fact that entire nations have no access to running water anywhere. I can brush my teeth at walmart. I can use the bathroom at the library. I can stay all night somewhere or use the laundry mat. I have options. Some people have no water at all.  So how do I have the right to get upset about people not appreciating what they have? I don't. So I'll shut up.

Another Tattoo and, of course, rambling.

I haven't written in a while. I do that sometimes. I get distracted by life and forget that I have things to say that no one wants to listen to. This time, the distractions  are weight loss, new friends, end of the semester stress, graduating stress, money stress, impending unknown future stress, and apartment finding stress. This all sounds very stressful, hmm? But no, I only focus on one thing at a time. Freaking out doesnt help anything anyway.

So I've lost fifty-five pounds now. I got another tattoo to celebrate that. Everyone seems to think the tattoo is too large but I'm quite happy with it.

I'm going to do what I want to do now and not what I think other people want of me. I've spent a lot of time trying to be everyone else's idea of a good girl, hoping that would make them love me. I thought that being fat was something I had to compensate for, I had to be extra in every other category to make myself worthy of someone else's time and attention. Still, I felt, and feel, that I'm never quite as good as other people. I don't deserve your time. I don't deserve your attention. I suppose it doesnt help matters that society reinforces this message for me often enough. Still, if I cant change the way I think about me yet, I'm going to change the behaviors that stem from those beliefs. If I do it, maybe I'll believe it. So, I'm going to do what makes me happy, so long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. I'm not going to be quiet. I'm not going to be agreeable. I'm not going to let them tell me what to do.

In other news, my proffessor handed back papers today and she wrote  on mine that I am brave and unassuming. No one had ever called me these things before she did, and I had never thought about those words in associaton with myself. But I know in that moment I cared more about what she thought of me than all those other people that call me nice, friendly, cute, kind, happy, or pretty. I don't believe the cute and pretty and sometimes I'm only nice, friendly, and happy so that people will get over the fact I'm not pretty. But unassuming and brave, well, those things I am all by myself. Those things are me, apart from the weight. I was shocked. There is a part of me that isn't a direct result of my weight? There is! I am unassuming. I am brave. And one day, I'll be beautiful.

Of course, if I don't go to bed, tomorrow I'll be tired and thats not beautiful at all.

Who is this person parading around in your body? I still catch myself expecting her to be you.

Same old argument.

Me: You make me feel like I don't matter to either of you.
Her: You act like we do it just to piss you off like we do it intentionally just to upset you. You make me feel like I can't do what I want to in my own house, like I'm doing it just to make you mad and you get upset with me like I'm doing it intentionally, just to piss you off. You act like I sit around and plan ways to make you upset, just to piss you off and then you get mad about it. You try doing something your whole life and then changing all of a sudden. Its hard and you act like I'm doing it just to piss you off, just to make you mad. I've been doing this my whole life. You dont know how it is to change something like that and you get mad like I'm doing it intentionally just to piss you off.
Me: Well I'm sorry I make you feel uncomfortable in your home, I'll leave as soon as I graduate. And I just recently changed everything about my life, I know what it is to break addictions. It isnt impossible, especially if what you are doing is killing you.
Her: Then you KNOW how hard it is Sarah and you act like I'm doing it just to piss you off. I've been doing it my whole life and you think I'm planning it out just to upset you. . .

I walked away while the cigerette still burned in the ashtray next to the blender.

I guess it can't be sunshine and cool breezes everyday. Sometimes, the clouds turn gray and the wind whips sheets of freezing rain across exposed skin.

White ink, one week old.

So the blue all went away and its still pink from healing, but this is how it looks so far. I'm happy with the effect it has, but I'm definately going to have it gone over again because I want it brighter than that. Hopefully, another layer of ink will do the trick.

Lifting weights is never fun.

One of the reasons I got "STRONGER" on my wrist was because I've learned that the hard things in life are the things that make me stronger. I got it to remind myself of that when I get to those days when I feel like I cant go on, when life feels like too much for me to handle. I know that days like that make me stronger, and I am strong enough to beat them.

I also got it as part of my weight loss journey. I know that every time I eat, and everyday I have to make decisions between healthy choices and what might feel good temporarily. I have to be stronger than those temptations. So, the word is on my wrist because I will have to face it every time I decide to eat ice cream instead of yogurt, or to take a nap instead of going to the gym. Am I stronger than that temptation? I am.

Its in white because it is just for me. I don't care if complete strangers notice that I have "STRONGER" on my skin. They don't know me and they won't know what it means. I'm not trying to advertise how strong I am, that's ridiculous. Its a reminder and testament for me. And when white ink heals, it looks like a scar. This seems really appropriate to me because all these experiences: my parents, the drug abuse all around me, the obesity, the challenges of life, they all leave me with little scars. And despite all of that, I'm going to be beautiful.

So, when I came home last night and my room smelled like pot, or when I came home the day before to overhear a drug deal, or when I came home today to a house filled with cigarette smoke and strangers, I try to remind myself that these things are going to make me stronger or make me bitter. And I get to choose.