“I Am Just a Dreamer, and You Are Just a Dream.” – Neil Young

A couple weekends ago, I spent the entire weekend getting rid of a bunch of junk.  While I was going through stuff, I found a box containing essays I wrote for school, articles I wrote for my local newspaper while I was on their Community Editorial Board, some erotic fiction I wrote just for fun…and a bunch of poetry I had typed – on a typewriter - on crumbling pages. 

It really surprised me to find this stash of writing, especially the poems.   I had completely forgotten that I used to write so much.  But as soon as I saw them, I remembered there was a time when I carried around a notebook everywhere I went.   I’d scribble things down as they came to me and then piece it all together later. 

Poems were my very favourite thing to write (and read, actually!).  I was obsessed with technique, with literary devices, with transforming the imagery in my head into words…… inspired by my muses, encouraged by acid trips, fed by the fantasy world I prefer to live in.   My imagination is very visually driven.  Beautiful pictures and images constantly flood through my mind….and, I love writing, so poetry is the perfect vehicle for me:  lush language expressing what I see in my head without having to worry about practical things like plot, character or dialogue.

Back when I used to write poetry, I always had my hand on a creative pulse:  I designed and made clothes; I sketched and painted; I wrote; I played musical instruments.  I remember always thinking how terrible everything I created was.  I destroyed so many pieces because I just thought they were horrible, and who did I think I was trying to be an artist of any kind.   I was certainly too embarrassed to show my creative work to anyone I knew, which is silly, I now realize.  The only way to improve is to be criticized, so what was I so afraid of?  I tried a few times to get publishers interested in my written work, but the only things I ever sold were a few erotic pieces to Penthouse, which is really funny considering my complete lack of sexual experience at the time.

I don't know why, but when I found my poems, I was surprised to see how sexually suggestive my poetry is.  Again....I had very limited experience when I wrote these poems.  What I had was an extravagant imagination, an overactive libido and the unfortunate habit of falling madly in love with people I was attracted to.   By the time I finished my first year of university, I loved 3 male friends and one female friend….some more platonically than others.    I didn’t abandon one as I found another…I had plenty of adoration for the four of them.  They were my muses and the hardcore love I felt for them lasted for years.  I still occasionally see two of them and even now, 20 years later, my heart still skips a beat for them.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love and sex – relationships in general – for a long time.  This has been a significant focus for me for a while.  Oh, who am I kidding…..it’s always been a focus for me!  I really am a very love/sex motivated person and, for me, they are one in the same……one is not very satisfying without the other.  And when both are present, well…there’s no greater high.  That is an uncomfortable thing for me to acknowledge, but I might as well just accept it.    I know it’s true.....I have all these poems that reveal my true nature staring me in the face so I really can't deny it.

I wrote a lot of poems inspired by love and - for me - profound love and intense, erotic sex are a package deal.....that was the expectation I had for my life.  So I guess it should be no surprise that my poetry is sexually charged.  It also should not then surprise me that I have engaged in casual sex throughout my adult life.  I know that sounds contradictory……but to me it makes sense that if I can’t have love without great sex then I may as well find out right away whether or not great sex with someone is a possibility…… each encounter as almost like a job interview.  If it’s not there, then I need to move on to the next candidate.  Why waste everyone’s time?  Outside of sex, there are plenty of ways to build a connection and find common ground.  Sexual chemistry just cannot be forced…it’s there or it isn’t, so for me, it makes sense to start there.

There’s a part of me that loves the idea of being single forever.  I can imagine it.  I don’t really get lonely by myself.  I enjoy my own company.  In fact, I need time alone....I actually crave it and feel smothered when I don't get it.  I can go to a restaurant, to the movies, travel….wherever….. alone, and not feel awkward about it at all.  I can definitely take care of my own sexual needs.  It feels very comfortable and natural to me to be alone. 

But I know this isn’t really what I want in life.  That feeling of wanting to be single is a reaction to the expected "practicalities" of relationships…..the way coupled people have more disposable income together, more benefits, live longer, are “respected” by society, can travel more cheaply, etc.  These practicalities really piss me off.  They fly in the face of my romantic view of relationships.  I hate the pressure to couple up for practical reasons.  If I commit to someone, I want it to be a choice based completely on love…where only the free will of both people makes them want to be together.  I hate the idea that someone would be with me or I with them for some sort of tangible gain.

I don’t have the same desire for a steady, predictable, safe life like many people I know do.  Not that there’s anything wrong with a steady, predictable, safe life….it’s all about what makes you happy and that does not make me happy.   Ever since I was a kid, I would infuriate my parents by asking them how they can stand “normal” life:  Get a job, get married, have kids, pay bills, get up at 6am, go to bed at 11pm, take out on Saturday nights, TV every night before bed, live with the same person for the rest of your life, same boring routine week after week…..I just didn’t see how anyone could be inspired by that life.  What is there to live for?  Every day is the same as the next.  Where’s the excitement…the passion…the adventure......the stuff of poetry?

Now that I'm an adult and have to face the realities of relationships and life just like everyone else, casual sex kind of helps me insert that adventure and excitement into my otherwise regular life.  And the last of my recent casual sex partners has, unexpectedly, become one of my biggest cheerleaders, one of my greatest friends and one of my best lovers….a truly unexpected gift.  I met Rick right after Christmas…right before my sleeve surgery. We had an easy rapport when we met online...we had a lot to talk about.  And it turned out he had a pretty important role to play in  my life.  The guy who raped me was black.  It kills me to admit this but since then, I was afraid of black men.  I was never interested in them sexually or romantically.  Rick changed all that for me. 

On our first date, we exchanged stories about other people we’ve casually met.  I mentioned a guy I had met a couple weeks earlier who wasn’t interested in me when we met.  I talked about how silly I felt because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.  I would lay awake at night thinking about this guy.  Rick decided to make it his personal mission to make me forget about that guy.  And he has tried.  He's been way more supportive, loving and selfless to me than I have been to him….if anyone could make me forget about “my ideal man”, it would be Rick....he's amazing and I love spending time with him.

Unfortunately, I’m still into the other guy, and, understandably, it’s a huge source of tension between Rick and I.  I won’t commit to Rick, for many reasons, but one of them definitely is this other guy.  Regardless of what this other guy chooses to do, it seems wrong to me to commit to Rick when I know how I feel about someone else.  I know to most people it would be ridiculous to make that choice.  I’m spending quality time with a fantastic man who truly cares about me, meanwhile this silly infatuation for someone else I barely know…someone who could not care less if I live or die…completely pre-occupies me.  I can practically hear Katy Perry singing “Teenage Dream” every time I think about him…it’s so embarrassing, which is of course why I had to talk about it here. 

My penchant for fantasy gets the better of me sometimes, I think. But in this case, I'm not so sure it's such a bad thing.  Somehow, and I'm not really sure how or why, but this other guy  brings me right back to a time in my life when I wrote poetry.  He brings me back to a time when I loved myself and felt like I could do and be anything.  He brings me back to a time before I was raped, before I experienced a lot of the ugliness in the world.  I walk around giggly and smiling because of him.  He makes me feel 16 again. 

I've talked to Sam and Rick both about this other guy.  Sam told me that my problem is I decide I want something, I get it and then I want something else.  I’m never satisfied with what I have.  Rick implied that I am fickle and keeping my options open for “someone better”. 

I can see why both of them think what they do but I really don’t agree with either one of them.  I have been completely and totally satisfied in a relationship.  And I certainly don’t think there’s anyone “better” than the men who have been and are in my life.  I’m not “settling” for “lesser” men until I can upgrade.  That implies that my wanting to end my marriage with Sam, that my unwillingness to commit to Rick shows that they are deficient somehow, which is not the case.  And I don’t think I’m deficient either.  I can't help how I feel, I can only be honest about it.

I have always felt a kind of restlessness.  Some people are really good at one thing, or they become interested in doing one thing, and that’s what they focus on and pursue.  Not me.  I have always felt pulled in a million directions.  Jack of all trades, master of none……that’s me.  I learned to play the flute for the band in high school but got bored with it so I switched to sax.  I am fascinated by the law…so in university I wrote the LSAT just to see if I could pass it…and I did.  But law school seemed too much of a commitment.  So I dropped out of university and went to college for fashion design.  Then I missed literature so I went back to university.  Then I hated school so I started working at the adult novelty store across the street from my house. I grew up in a family business…..being self-employed has always been super exciting to me.  So I started a web design business.   And on and on it goes.  I don’t know how else to describe it except to say that I have a lot of interests…I’ve been exposed to a lot of different people and ways of life…. and I want to pursue them all, so I end up doing none of them for long or very well.
This restlessness makes me a bit of a chameleon.  I can talk to anyone.  I can do anything (not in a super hero kind of way).  I can feel at home anywhere with all kinds of people.  Every person I'm attracted to appeals to me for a different reason…appeals to a different side of me.  If I decide to move on, it isn’t because I’ve found someone “better”, it’s because I’m ready to explore a different side of myself.  For me, spending time with someone is a fantastic way to explore parts of yourself.  I don’t like to feel that parts of me are being suppressed by a relationship.  I suppose that’s why, in general, I don’t believe in monogamy.  Finding someone I can relate to on all levels is difficult….but not impossible.  My romantic self tells me it IS possible. 

I realize I am pretty alone in this way of thinking.  Most people’s idea of love and sex and relationships seem different than mine.  And I have to admit that my romantic leanings took a big hit when one of my muses declared himself my enemy and then the rape happened.  1994 was just not a good year.  After that, my romantic ideals of sex, love and relationships were quite tainted, so maybe I am completely off base approaching love, sex and relationships the way I do. 

But I’m starting to get those ideals back.  You know how you can hear a song or smell something that immediately takes you back to a specific moment in time?  These poems do that for me.  I remember what each and every single one of them is about and how I felt writing them.  As soon as I saw the poems, I remembered that I wanted to “preserve” them so I decided to type them all out instead of just letting them live in my notebook full of scribbles.  I didn’t have a typewriter, so I used my friend’s.  I’d go to her apartment and she’d play the Proclaimers over and over while I typed away.  Little did I know as I sat there typing that in a few months my life would completely change right there in her very apartment, and that she and I would ultimately  never speak again.

The poems aren’t dated, sadly, but I can tell from their content when I wrote which poems.  When I found these poems and started reading, I realized I haven't written a single poem all since I was raped.  That realization made me incredibly sad.  But it also reminded me of the creativity I am capable of….reminded me of the longing and desire that is so much a part of me and I felt reassured about the direction my life is now headed. Sam and I ending our marriage was the right thing for both of us. 

If I am completely honest, my relationship with Sam has always been overshadowed by a secret I was keeping about him from most of my friends and family.  Sam is transgender.  He was born female and transitioned to male many years ago.  The fact that I kept this secret  - not that he is transgender - made me feel horrible, from the time I met him to the present day.  I have been really uncomfortable throughout the course of our relationship because I was keeping this secret and it bothered me that I chose to deny something so important about my partner.   It felt like I was ashamed of Sam, which I was not.  It felt like I didn’t trust my family and friends, which isn’t true.  The truth is much simpler…I was just a coward and didn’t have the guts to deal with the complication of how people would react.  I didn’t want to spend my time talking about it with people.  I knew the day would come when I was no longer ok with keeping this secret and that day has come.
The relationship with Sam was, for me, also a way of making amends.  As I have mentioned in a previous post, I volunteered at the K-W Sexual Assault Support Centre after I was raped.  When I left there, I didn’t leave just because I was burned out from volunteering full time for 3 years, although I was burned out.  I was asked to leave.  I had unintentionally outed a transgender woman who had recently started volunteering there with me.  I thought everyone knew she was transgender.  But they didn’t and my outing her caused her major grief and started a chaotic mess at the Centre that resulted in other volunteers going to the media.

So, in some twisted way, Sam did fulfill a very specific role for me.  Being with him somehow helped me feel better about outing that woman. 

I mentioned earlier in this post that I fell in love with a female friend when I was in university.  I have always been "bisexual"…..although I don't really call myself that. I don’t like to label myself because I find labels really.....misleading, I suppose.  But I have always known I was attracted to men and women. I knew it since I was a kid, I’m pretty sure my parents knew it, although we never talked about it, and some of my friends knew it too.   All my earliest sexual experiences were with other girls.  For me, being with women feels safer…and that is not because I was raped by a man, I’ve always felt that way.  I can’t imagine sharing my life with another woman though….the attraction is really just sensual and safe….very different than the feelings I have for men.

With Sam I felt like I was getting the best of both worlds….a guy who knew what it was like to be a woman.  A guy who understood the complexities of sexual orientation and gender and how those two things are completely different.  A guy who describes himself as a feminist.  A guy with a steady, predictable job and his own house and car who I could feel secure with.  It’s not that I wanted to use him….I loved him.  I love him still.  I thought the balance of the practical and all the things we have in common would help me feel good about being in a “real” relationship.  I put all my silly fantasies away and tried to be a respectable married woman. 

It is such a weird thing to be doing what I’m doing right now.  Unless you have a reason to do it, I’m not sure many people put themselves through a process like this where you take stock, challenge  every thing you own, every person you know, every thought in your head, every belief you have about yourself and the world, every bite you eat, what you see in the mirror, reveal to everyone all your secrets and hidden places, examine every thing you have ever done…all  to find the real you and make sure the life you’re living is the life that reflects who you really are.  For me, that’s what this weight loss surgery experience is all about.  Maybe for other people it’s different but for me, this is it.   I can’t really imagine having long term success after surgery without doing this.  I’ve tried that…it didn’t work. 

Even though my life and my relationships have largely resembled a steady, predictable life much more than I am comfortable with, I have not given up the idea that someday, my life could be as exciting, passionate, and beautiful as poetry.  I think if I could get out of my own way, it could be.  In fact, that ideal is more firmly planted in my head than it has been in years.    But that’ll never happen if I don’t stop bullshitting myself and I keep on ignoring what I know to be true about myself and what I want from a relationship.

I know poetry is not everyone's thing, but if you're so inclined, take a look.  I've published it all here on three separate pages.  And if you're out there reading, let me know what you think!  About poetry......mine or anyone else's..... love, sex, relationships, whatever! 

 

Random Stuff:

·         In high school, I could play the saxophone, flute, guitar and piano…but still I always wanted to be a singer. 

·         I HAVE to have my phone or iPod plugged in to my car while I’m driving so I can access my playlists.

·         I sing in my car while I’m driving.  Loudly.  This is how I avoid road rage and play out my fantasy of being a rock star.  Sometimes people think I’m yelling at them while I’m driving, but nope…I’m just singing.

·         For me, one of the best parts of a road trip is the opportunity to listen to hours and hours of music.  Whenever Sam and I took a road trip together, whoever drove got to decide what to listen to and Sam always picked audiobooks, which put me to sleep in two minutes flat.

·         I still have my tonsils and all my wisdom teeth. 

·         I never had braces.  I got the great teeth, my brother got the great eyesight.

·         I have a very serious boot obsession.  I suppose shoes too, but the boots I like are more kick-ass than shoes.

·         Sadly, tall boots never fit me because of my calves.  This was true even when I was a kid.  Years of English horseback riding gave me huge calves, I guess.

·         I am addicted to Aveda products and have been for 25 years.  My faves:  Rosemary Mint Bath Bar, Hand Relief and Confixor.  You know, just in case someone wants to buy me a gift or something.

·         I also love getting flowers, but not lilies.  Those are funeral flowers and they smell like death to me.    Plus, they’re bad for my cats.

“This is a man’s world, but it would be nothing without a woman or a girl.” – James Brown

For the last 10 years or so, all I’ve really wanted was to be Nigella Lawson when I grow up. 

In case you don’t know, Nigella Lawson is, among other things, a food writer from England.  She refers to herself as a “home cook” but she has had many TV cooking shows on the BBC over the past decade and is a genuine celebrity in England.  Now, after years on the Food Network, she has a prime time TV show on a major American network called “The Taste”.

I can’t watch “The Taste”…I find it really inane, but I still love Nigella so much.  Her charisma, her obvious distain for “rules” and “authority”, her reverence for the classics, her passion for Italy and her attitude towards cooking and life in general all speak to me.  I admire the fact that although she grew up rich and “upper class” (which still means something in England), she has overcome childhood abuse, many painful losses, and several humiliating recent events, and still she manages to be grounded, strong, humble, authentic and unashamed. 

I adore people who have some tragic story to tell and yet you’d never know it.  They don’t act like victims……they seem to have it all, but you just know that all that pain has built an interesting, strong character with great stories to tell.  Plus, in Nigella’s case she’s sexy as hell and has that amazing accent.  What’s not to like?  She seems to have the ideal life and be the ideal woman.

I met Nigella once in 2005 in Toronto at a cookbook signing at a book store.  Indigo’s website said that Nigella would only sign one book - her newly released book - and only if we bought it there at Indigo.  I did buy her new book for her to sign.  But I also brought along with me a huge box filled with all seven of her previously released cookbooks – all First Edition hardcovers  – hopeful that she would also sign all of those for me. 

The fact that I dragged all these books with me to meet Nigella is classic Laura.  I know the rules; I know the limits……and?  Rules and limits are for everyone else……I can do whatever I want.   I was the first child of two pretty conservative, young parents who had no idea what to do with a willful child who questioned everything and would not obey or take no for an answer.   They both always said “no” to everything, all the time….it was just their automatic reflex to say no - out of fear, I think.  They were both extremely protective and wanted to shelter me.  But I had no interest in being sheltered and I wasn’t afraid of a damn thing.  So when they said “no”, I heard “yes” and it became my mission to get them to say it too.  Unfortunately, I never outgrew this.

Anyway, my aunt Joan went with me to meet Nigella, and we waited in line, with me pushing the box of books up the aisle with my Doc Martens as we got closer and closer.  Joan is quite an eccentric, bold, loud woman with her sky high heels, expensive clothes, bright red hair and giant hats.  She has a habit of creating a scene wherever she goes.  She is my godmother and was my hero growing up…I always wanted to be just like her, flaws and all.  And age has not mellowed her one bit.

When we got up to Nigella, she asked me what I had in the box.  So I showed her the books I had brought with me and she thought it was hysterical.  Much to the annoyance of everyone behind me in line, she didn’t blink twice…she signed each and every one of those books with a personal message and talked with me while my aunt attempted to take pictures of the two of us together with my camera.  My aunt kept “accidentally” turning off the camera instead of taking pictures so it turned into a scene from a bad comedy with Nigella’s people helping my aunt take the pictures and everyone behind us in line completely frustrated by the both of us. 

Luckily, Joan always wins everyone over with her “ways” even though they are usually cursing her while she does it.  That’s exactly what happened on this occasion.  While she hammed it up and played quite dumb with the camera on purpose to delay the line from moving, she got the people at the front of the line involved and in the end, they all loved her.  This gave me a lot of time to talk with Nigella and she did not disappoint me.

I don’t know when I first starting thinking of myself as a feminist.  It’s been pretty much a part of my identity for as long as I can remember.  Even when I was young enough that I didn’t know the word or what it meant, I was determined to hang out with my dad in his garage while he fixed cars; and be an apprentice in my grandparents’ plumbing business; and never get married but if I did, I would keep my name and have my own separate bedroom; and definitely NOT stay home and raise the kids and let my husband tell me what to think and how to act and make all my decisions for me. 

Many women, including my aunt and Nigella, have really been living examples for me of what it means to be a feminist.  I adore “strong” women (and men!) and that strength shines in so many different ways. 

March 8 was International Women’s Day.  March is Women’s History Month (here in the US and in some other parts of the world; in Canada and others it is October).  Between those two events, my birthday last week and all the changes I’ve been experiencing lately, I have been thinking a lot about what feminism means to me now, at this point in my life.  My feminist ideals are near and dear to me, but I have been realizing that “being a feminist” has lost meaning for me and it’s time to re-examine that. 

I haven’t really thought about this for years….probably not since I volunteered at the sexual assault support center in the 90’s.    When you are involved in a non-profit organization, whose goals are to specifically help women, you tend to get very involved with the politics of feminism.  The whole time I was in university, I belonged to the Women’s Centre and I also chose Women’s Studies as a minor.  I read a lot of feminist theory, I studied the history of the Women’s Movement, and then I volunteered at the sexual assault center.  So throughout my 20’s, I was pretty entrenched in feminist ideology and surrounded by other people who were also entrenched in it.  The language, the dogma becomes second nature…..I really didn’t even think about it ‘cos I was IN it.

I know the word “feminist” scares/bothers/repels a lot of people.  It can be a really divisive word.  Even among feminists it can be really divisive.  A lot of people feel “feminism” is only for white, liberal, middle class, heterosexual women and there’s no room for anyone else.  Then there’s the whole question of whether or not men can be feminists.  A lot of women – both young and old - don’t want to identify as feminists because they’re afraid of being seen as extreme.  As astounding as it is to me, there is still this idea that all feminists are femi-nazi man haters who want to push men down while they build themselves up.   I’ve always been kind of an extremist so I’m not afraid of being labelled that way…but feminism is not about hating men or being an extremist.  It’s not about taking anything away from men and it’s not about women being able to do whatever they want and get away with it in the name of “girl power”. 

I think people would be less afraid of the word if we all spent more time actually talking to each other about our beliefs and our lives instead of letting one word loaded with assumptions do our talking for us.  People can get so worked up about the silliest things – like the weather, traffic, whether or not McDonalds has the McRib or Shamrock Shake right now - but when it comes to important issues that could literally change our society, people just can’t be bothered.  Unless we’re talking with a bunch of like-minded people…then of course we can really get passionate.  But that’s not how we change the world, or ourselves. 

Since I moved to the States, I have realized just how many words there are that have that same polarizing effect as “feminism”.  The word describing almost any religious or political group:  “Christians”, “Muslims”, “Conservatives”, “Libertarian”, “Liberal”, “gun rights advocate”….and on and on it goes.  These are really all just labels and don’t tell the whole truth or story about the human condition.  We assume - based on one word - that we have nothing in common with someone or have everything in common with someone.  If we could ignore these labels and try talking to one another, we might find we have more common than we thought and these words would seem less extreme.

I don’t want this to turn into a feminist theory lecture, but I think it’s important to identify what exactly feminism is.  A feminist supports the rights and equality of women.  That’s it.  If you think women should be treated fairly, then guess what?  You’re a feminist!  Feminism is the movement that supports this work.

Both men and women all over the world work hard so women have choices about how they live their lives and have access to opportunities just like men do.  It doesn’t matter what choice I, as a woman, make with my own life…the important thing is I have choices.  I suppose this is debatable but, men don’t benefit from sexism.  And men are very much affected by feminism.  It’s not about men and women being the same and equal in every way, or putting one down so the other can benefit.  It’s about making sure that everyone’s rights are protected.  So it’s really important that men are also involved in feminism. 

For me, the most important quality I can possess as a feminist is strength….having a strong mind, a strong body, strong emotions.  I admire this in other women, I admire it in men.  But to just say that is not enough.  Talk is cheap….what matters is action.

Up until now, I always looked outwards to find my muse.  For the last 20 years, I didn’t see anything inspiring about myself at all, probably because I couldn’t bear to look at myself and see anything positive.  I could only see flaws.  But last week, I turned 45 years old.  That is a very surreal thing for me.  Like a lot of people my age, in many ways I still feel like I’m 16, but – if I’m lucky – half my life is gone.  The years have flown by and some of the stories from my life seem like a movie I watched on TV.  Did that really happen?  Why did I allow that thing that happened to knock me down and keep me down for so long? Why am I still dragging all that around? 

I can’t worry about all that though.  What interests me at this point is how I choose to live now.  From this point forward, I just refuse to have regrets.  Jessica and I talked about this the last time I saw her a couple of weeks ago.  It was the first time I had seen her in 6 weeks and she suggested that we should have one more appointment on May 8 and then, if I was feeling ok about it, she would discharge me.  She asked me how I felt about that.  I thought for a second and realized I felt great about it!  No more therapy….that’s awesome!  Six months ago, that would have terrified me. 

But while we were talking, it occurred to me that all the things I admire about Nigella and my aunt and all the other women and men I admire, I could say about myself too…… if I could see past my flaws.  I’m starting to understand that although other people can provide us with inspiration, it becomes a slippery slope from inspiration to hero worship if we’re not careful.  If I simply admire someone else and don’t allow the inspiration to move me into action then what is the point of being inspired?    Then I just start to live vicariously through those who are just simply living their lives….they’re living, I’m watching and before I know it, another 20 years has passed.  Most heroes don’t set out to be heroes…they just live their lives and make mistakes and get up and try again and sometimes something beautiful happens as a result.

So yes, my aunt and Nigella do provide a strong feminist framework for me.  But I am also now realizing that I need to be my own muse.  I need to allow my strength to shine and have the courage to live my life the way I want to and appreciate myself the way I admire other people. 

This realization is instigating quite a shift in my life…in the way I think, the way I live and the way I treat other people.  I find I have more patience, more compassion and am less judgmental, and much more tolerant, especially towards people who have different opinions than me.  I find I am way less interested in television, even shows I have watched for years.  I am just suddenly really not interested in pretend people living their pretend lives and am much more interested in real people living their real lives. 

One thing that I have become very aware of in recent months is just how insecure I am about my looks and body, which completely conflicts with what being a feminist means to me.  Now, because I hate seeming vulnerable in any way, I am aware I don’t allow that to show very often.  Only people who know me in certain situations might believe it, but it’s true.  I am desperately insecure.  I am a bottomless pit when it comes to flattery and compliments.  I can never hear enough and I never really believe them anyway.  But I find insecurity to be a really unflattering quality in a woman my age, with my awareness…it just is.  Don’t I have anything better to think about?  Nope, nothing else on my mind today….. just how pretty I look.   At this moment in my life, this is the quality I am the most intolerant of about myself and it has got to go.  I am just not that vacuous a person and this quality makes me feel like I am.

Part of being a strong woman, for me, means being in charge of my sexuality.  I’m a really sensual person so sex is really, really important to me.  In spite of my addiction, sex actually matters to me.  But it’s good sex – no, GREAT sex that matters to me.  When I treat it like an addiction, it’s just to feed my insecurity.   I know, it’s a shocker….I’m a feminist but I really like sex and I really like men.  And…get this…..I like men to be dominant.  I’m not really into bondage – not that kind of dominant - but I like the kind of guy who takes charge.  That does not threaten my feminist ideals in any way.  I’m not going to pretend otherwise.  I own my sexuality.  It’s mine.  I’ll make choices about my own pleasure and hold my head up high while I do.  From now on, I don’t make choices about sex from a place of shame or lack of respect…..for myself or my partner.

And lastly, being physically strong gives me the confidence to both kick my insecurity and be in charge of my sexuality.   I mean, I am nowhere near where I want to be in terms of physical strength but the important thing is, I am working on it…actively going for it, not just sitting around dreaming about it.  ROC Boxing is seriously one of the best things in my life right now.  I can’t even say how much I love being there.  Everyone is so supportive, friendly, helpful and inspirational.  And having aching muscles at the end of the night is ridiculously gratifying.

I gotta say, the last two weeks have been really hard for me in terms of diet.  There have been a LOT of birthdays, parties, events.  While I haven’t necessarily eaten too much, I have been eating all the wrong things and it has been difficult to get my head back into the right way of eating.  I have gained 5 pounds in the last two weeks.  I have a follow up appointment with my surgeon tomorrow and I’m going to keep the appointment, and take the ass kicking I know Dr. D is going to bestow on me.  Not only should I not have gained 5 pounds but I should have lost another 10 so I’m not showing the results I did at my last follow up.  Six months ago, I probably would have postponed the appointment until I lost the 5 pounds.  Then I’d start telling myself what a failure I am and I might as well give up.  And then I’d never lose the 5 pounds…in fact I’d gain 5 more.  But that’s definitely not happening right now.  And I could not be happier.  I no longer want to be Nigella when I grow up…I just want to be myself.

The return of Random Stuff:

·        I love the smell of rubbing alcohol.  It’s a throwback to my childhood.  (My dad has type 1 diabetes.)

·        I hate the smell of insulin.  That is also a throwback to my childhood.

·        I love the smell of diesel.  Makes me want to go on a road trip.

·        I love kissing someone who just drank Jack Daniels. It’s even better than me actually drinking Jack Daniels.

·        I love sipping Hennessy cognac in front of the fireplace after work.

·        The gastric sleeve is my fifth surgery

·        I don’t have my appendix or my gallbladder

·        I’m missing half my thyroid

·        My stomach is now ¼ its previous size

·        I have my first tattoo idea all ready to go and I know which studio and artist I’m going to use….excited!!

·        Don’t be surprised if in a year from now I have many more tattoos.  I love body art.

 

 

 

“Don't Say You're Easy on Me; You're About as Easy As a Nuclear War.” – Duran Duran

I am addicted to magazines.  It’s true….they are one of my many addictions.  Since psychologists can’t even agree on whether or not someone can be addicted to food or sex, I’m pretty sure they would question whether or not a person can be addicted to magazines, but my “collection” is all the proof I need.  At least, it was…..until Tuesday. 

On Tuesday, the recycling guy came and took away 5 liquor boxes full of magazines.  The week before, he took away two.  I still have about 8 more to get rid of.  That is a lot of magazines.  But the pile is getting smaller, not bigger, and that’s the important thing here.

This addiction was born out of a love for music……or, at the very least, teenage lust.  In Summer 1982, my mom took me to my first concert ever – Blondie, at the CNE in Toronto.  Duran Duran opened.  I was 13 and that day changed my life.  Debbie Harry was my hero, but that day I became a true blue Duranie and started spending my allowance on Smash Hits, Creem, Tiger Beat and Rolling Stone so I could plaster my bedroom walls with posters of John Taylor.    

Then as I got a bit older, after I fell in love with NYC, I discovered Details.  That was way before it was a men’s style magazine.  Back then it was a low budget, black and white, non-glossy magazine dedicated to the underground music/party scene in New York City.  When Conde Naste bought Details in 1988, they turned it into something totally different and that killed my obsession with that publication but got me started on Vanity Fair, which continues to this day.  But eventually, I would buy any magazine if it had the right cover or byline…..I don’t care if it’s about celebrities, film, art, houses, horses, books, travel, food, cigars, liquor, music….I like them all.  

Listen, I can read some heavy duty, hard core literature.  I have read Stephen Hawking, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Tolstoy…..all kinds of “serious” books, and many of them have encouraged my substantial fantasy life, but magazines are a completely different animal.   Books are about deep, respectful, beautiful love.  I take care of books and display them on bookshelves so I can admire them every day, and I certainly do not lend them to anyone…they’re mine alone.  Magazines are about lust, desire, and envy.  They are a guilty pleasure and stored in boxes hidden away from view until I go looking for them.    I bend their pages back, use them as I wish, rip out pages if I choose and toss them when I am done with them.  The printed word is totally unnecessary in a magazine…. I don’t really care what it has to say to me, unless of course it’s occasionally amusing……It’s all about the images.   Oooh - look at all the pretty pictures!   Shiny!!  Sparkly!!! 

There is something ultra-seductive about the allure of a beautiful cover; the smooth, glossy pages; the gorgeous photographs;  the high end product ads; the fluffy, meaningless articles you can’t take seriously (some of which are occasionally well written, but who cares?); and the easy banter of the one page, “Top 10” features of every magazine.  The artifice created in the pages of a magazine provides nothing less than hedonistic gratification.  You are immersed in another world you’ll never experience in your real life – a world that is whatever you want it to be. Pretty, fun people without a care in the world; creatively designed houses; beautiful, well-made furniture; the unattainable, well dressed  partner with a great car; spectacular food and cocktails; expensive  handbags and shoes ….all of it completely, perfectly staged and reassuring that yes, Utopia does really exist and you COULD have it if you wanted, ‘cos see….. it’s all just right there, ready for you to reach out and take it.

Or maybe that’s just me.

I thought had been able to keep my magazine “collection” down to what I considered to be a reasonable number.  But when I moved to Rochester, I brought with me 7 boxes of magazines, and I knew I had been kidding myself about how “reasonable”  that was when I realized how embarrassed I was that the people helping me move would have to lift and move all these heavy boxes clearly labelled “MAGAZINES”.  I thought if it were me, I’d be like, “move your own damn magazines, you hoarder.”  But that didn’t stop me from getting a whole bunch of subscriptions when I got here.  Magazine subscriptions are REALLY cheap in the States compared to Canada.   

After two years, it had gotten to the point where there were magazines in every room of the house.  They were everywhere…… I was constantly knocking over piles of magazines.  It’s not like I even made the time to read them or cared at all to read them, but still I “saved” them.   It became a really overwhelming problem, which is what happens when you don’t take responsibility.  If you aren’t responsible, then you have no control over this thing that happens to you.  You turn yourself into a victim.  Even if you want things to be different, you feel powerless to change.

I have said in previous posts that in the almost 10 years since I first got my lap band, I haven’t changed all that much which is why I didn’t pass the psych eval a year ago for the sleeve and why everyone, including myself, connected to my sleeve surgery was concerned that in the long term, I would not be successful with my second weight loss surgery.  I know that sounds defeatist and overly pessimistic, but consider this:  perspective isn’t what happens a few months after surgery, or even a few years.  My lap band surgery was considered successful for 4 years.  It is only in hindsight, after all the facts are revealed, that an assessment can be made. 

Personally, I do believe every single person having weight loss surgery should go through long term therapy.  I’m not saying everyone who is obese has the same story/history as me and that’s why they gained weight, but I do think the process of stopping and evaluating who you are, what you want out of life and how your thoughts and behavior help or hinder you in attaining those goals is a pretty worthwhile endeavor, and if everyone did that, then the stats for people who re-gain their weight after WLS would be much lower.  But it does take time to really grow from the process. 

I started my therapy over a year ago and even though the first 10 or so months gave me some great tools for growth, when I look back now, my actual growth didn’t start happening for me until a few months ago when I started to really pay attention to what I was thinking and doing, not just with food but with everything.  The stuff I learned from Jessica in those initial months helped me realize that I do need to pay attention and take responsibility for my own life and not just sail through and leave a mess for others to clean up while I skip on to the next adventure and in the meantime expect to be happy or find greater meaning in my life.  If I wanted my life to be meaningful, I would have to work at it and find the meaning.  It wasn’t just going to fall in my lap if I wasn’t living authentically.

This whole post makes me really uncomfortable to talk about because I am not talking about stuff from my past or stuff that I have no control over.  Suddenly I’m talking about right now…. within the last six months.  It’s easier for everyone, including myself, to say, “oh we’ll forgive her for ‘X’ because that was a long time ago, before I knew her and I don’t know that person.  The person I know is a good person and has battled those demons.”  But I’m saying, no – I hadn’t.  I hadn’t changed since I got my lap band!  Nothing about me had changed and I hadn’t grown and so naturally, when confronted with conflict and discomfort, I reacted the exact same way as I have in the past.

One of the biggest concerns with weight loss surgery is transference of addictions.    Weight loss surgery supposedly takes away your food addiction and you can become addicted to something else in the place of food.   This is a challenge for me for sure.  I have long believed that being addicted to food is the same as drug, alcohol, sex, cigarette…..ANY addiction.  It doesn’t matter the substance or behavior you’re addicted to, the behaviours are the same.  If you’re desperate enough, you’ll do anything for the next fix….lie, steal, cheat, beg, whatever degrading thing you have to do.  It’s really not an empowering thing to realize your entire life is centered on an unhealthy relationship with whatever thing you are addicted to.

Interestingly enough, last year John Taylor, my teenage crush, published a book about his fight to overcome drug and alcohol addiction.  The whole time I was staring at his pictures on my bedroom wall, he was fighting his own demons.  Addiction really is a universal challenge and I think there is no one right way to deal with it.  As they say, the first step is realizing you’ve got a problem.

About four months ago, in spite of my marriage breaking down, I started to feel really good about myself.   Finally, my sleeve surgery was going to happen and I was high on the promise of my future.  My therapy was going great.  I loved my job.   I had lost a bit of weight from my highest weight ever – without the lap band or the sleeve – so I felt pretty good about that even though I had a long way to go.  Things at home were awkward with Sam and I, but it felt good to have things out in the open and I really believed the decision I had made would be best for both of us.  Basically things were going very well.

However, I was ready to move on before Sam was and it did cause some friction between us.  Winter was setting in and the fears and worry I felt over losing Felix and not knowing what happened to him were again very raw.  While I should have been growing and thinking about myself, I was instead trying to squash my worries and fears and continue to feel good.    I thought I had done the hard work already and had earned some excitement.  I was wrong.  It should have been obvious that I was wrong when instead of food, I once again turned to casual sex to make me feel better.

It was history repeating itself.  Again, it wasn’t all that fulfilling. Again, I thought I was empowering myself and taking charge of my sex life.  And, again, I was sleeping with people I really wasn’t that interested in.  I talked to Jessica about what I was doing and she didn’t judge me but said I needed to think seriously about whether this was going to help me accomplish my goals.  I left my session that day not feeling great but not yet motivated to stop what I was doing.

A few days later, I met someone who stopped me in my tracks.  He was the personification of my ideal man….like he was put together just for me and I was powerfully drawn to him.  Within 5 minutes of meeting him, I could imagine him having dinner with my family and fitting right in.  But there were several problems.  I didn’t want to have casual sex with him…I wanted to know him and for him to be a part of my life and for me to be a part of his.  I couldn’t bear the idea that I would just be a nameless, faceless casual partner to him.  And then I started to imagine how I must look in his eyes with all the stuff going on in my life. Not that any of it mattered anyway, since he wasn’t interested in me.  This is when the idea that I don’t deserve to have the partner I want came up.  I had absolutely nothing to offer him. I was overwhelmed by my feeling of unworthiness......this had never happened before.

It was like a big red STOP sign had been put up in front of me, and I realized I kind of need things like that to happen.  When they do, instead of taking it personally and wallowing in my feeling of unworthiness, I need to pay attention to what’s going on and learn and grow from it.

That got me thinking about my relationship to alcohol.  My hard partying days of my early 20’s seems like another lifetime ago now…and I really have no desire to go back to that.  I was never truly into drugs or cigarettes - but I used them anyway back in those days – so it didn’t feel like “giving them up” when I stopped.  I just simply stopped using them.  But alcohol was something different….I loved drinking, almost as much as I love magazines, sex and food.  But still, I stopped drinking completely for a number of years – no AA, no therapy, nothing…I just stopped because I got angry that the police blamed me for the rape because I was drunk.  I stopped drinking out of spite, basically.

Years later – after I had started dating Sam - it occurred to me that I could probably handle having a drink on a social occasion and not let it consume me.  So I had a drink and it was fine.  I enjoyed it and didn’t feel like I needed to keep drinking.   I’ve been fine with alcohol ever since.    If I can do that with alcohol, then why couldn’t I take that same approach to magazines, sex, food or any other thing?  It’s not that difficult a concept.  It’s about really enjoying whatever it is.  Don’t do things just “because you can”, or because you’re bored or whatever.  Don’t “use” people, food, sex, magazines or anything else as a coping mechanism.  
 
At this point in my life, I am ready to be done with addiction of any kind.   And it makes sense to me to work on stopping ALL addictive behaviours now.  It doesn’t matter if it’s food, sex, drugs, alcohol, magazines…whatever the vice, I don’t want it to have control over me.  Having casual sex does not prove how liberated and in charge I am…just the opposite.  Overeating doesn’t prove how much I love food…it shows my lack of discipline.  Hoarding magazines doesn’t prove anything except that I like to waste money and collect dust bunnies.  I can and should enjoy all of these things for the right reasons and not be so desperate to consume.

Just before my surgery - it occurred to me that I didn’t need magazines.   Having this huge collection of magazines no longer reflected who I am.  I let that idea kind of swirl around in my head while I recovered from surgery.  I couldn’t lift anything anyway so the magazines sat there and I grew more and more resentful of the space they were taking up in the house.  One of the techniques I have been working on with Jessica is, “What if…”.  Any time I find myself confronted with a feeling of discomfort, instead of trying to make myself feel better using whatever unhealthy instant gratification I can find, I ask the question, “What if…?”  in relation to whatever is happening.    You keep asking until you get to the root of the feeling. 

So:
What if I got rid of all these magazines?  Then I’d be upset.
What if you were upset?  Then I’d want to eat something or sleep with someone inappropriate.
What if you ate something or slept with someone inappropriate? 

You get the idea.  You keep asking, “what if…?”  until you uncover the truth of what’s going on.  This exercise really has been especially helpful to me in the last few months and it has been really empowering.  I have done this often enough now that I have realized that things are never as hard as they seem and that I have the confidence to confront really anything now.  And so, magazines and piles of clothes and all kinds of other crap I don’t need or want has been finding its way out of the house.

On Monday I had my meeting with my new lifestyle management guru and it didn’t go exactly the way I thought or hoped it would.  Normally that would have really disappointed me, but during the meeting I found myself adjusting my expectations and going with the flow and keeping an open mind and I think it’s still going to work out.  They will not actually be my personal trainers nor do they have a private gym but they have built me a depressingly boring but healthy diet.  Apparently, people who are in excellent shape eat the same kinds of simple things all the time.  I should have known this from seeing what my brother eats.  So apparently I AM the kind of person who drinks a protein shake…every day, for breakfast or a snack.  But I get to have a “cheat” meal – anything I want – once a week.

They do use a gym very close to my house - ROC Boxing - and I’m set up with a couple of trainers there.  It’s exactly like a boxing gym out of a movie and it’s a bit intimidating but also has a great vibe.  Lots of action.  I’ll be focusing on strength training, and I’m also going to try some boxing and see how I like it.  I get to hit things.  I think I’m going to like it.

On Thursday I had my 6 week post op follow up (although it’s actually been 7 ½ weeks) and my surgeon is very happy with my progress.  My incision sites are healing very well and my weight loss is average.   I kind of plateaued a bit in the last couple weeks and my surgeon was sure that would change with the new diet and exercise I am starting.   I’m feeling very energetic and am headed in the right direction.    

Everything in life really is timing.  I am here right here, in this emotional and physical space, at this point of my life and it all coincided perfectly with my moving to the States.  I admit, I never wanted to move to the States (even when I wanted to move to NYC as a kid – I didn’t think of that as moving to the States). I loved my life in Canada and did not want to leave my job, my house, my friends, my family, my doctor, my car.  It felt like when I moved here I gave up a lot.  Although I already had a lot of friends here and I tried to see it all as another adventure, it really felt like a sacrifice. 

But the people who have come into my life since I moved here have been instrumental in helping me rediscover my life and myself.  My new job, my friends, my health care providers, and everyone else I have met along the way have really touched me and offered me so much support even when I did not deserve it.  A bunch of Yanks have completely changed my perspective.  It no longer feels like moving here was a sacrifice…it feels like it was a gift that I will need to spend the rest of my life earning.  It feels like home now.  Timing.  It’s a beautiful thing.