"Nothing's as obvious as what is lost; Nothing's as painful as the cost." - Blue Rodeo

Well, I suppose I have been quiet long enough.  It’s time for another blog post.

I’m hesitant to write anything because I really hate being misunderstood.  Being misunderstood is one of my greatest frustrations in life.  And I know this post is going to sound somewhat depressing and self-pitying.   Look, in many ways, I am extraordinarily happy with myself.  I’m thriving - physically and emotionally.  This is the healthiest I have been in my entire adult life…and I mean that in the truest sense of the word “healthy”…..and I know I’m just going to keep getting healthier.  Every day I greet the world with nothing but confidence and joy and I know I have absolutely no good reason or right to feel sorry for myself.

But the truth is I’m suffering a bit of an identity crisis.   So, I suppose I AM feeling a bit sorry for myself, even though I have no right or reason.  There are a lot of really, really great things happening and I'm celebrating those things...while I feel sorry for myself.  I pretty much find myself thinking “woohoo!” and “this sucks!” all the time.....sometimes in the same moment.    Apparently I can't just allow myself be happy.  That would be too easy.  I’m working on that….but I’m not there yet.

I’ll start with some great stuff.  Yesterday, I wore heels to work….a hot, Italian pair of four inch heels – office appropriate, with amazing stitching, stylish details and gorgeous distressed leather.  My feet were KILLING me, and I didn't care.  I strutted around the office like I owned the place.  You see, it’s the first time I have worn heels for an entire day in years and years and years….possibly EVER!  Do you understand??  Let me spell it out for you.  Because of my weight, there are a great many simple little things that I have never been able to do before.  One of those things is wear heels.  Could not before .....and now I can.

That, my friends, is a mofo NSV!

It would not have even occurred to me to attempt such a thing if this other little thing hadn’t happened last weekend:  I was parked behind Sam in the driveway.  He wanted to leave so I needed to move my car.  All my shoes/boots that I normally wear were upstairs so I threw on a pair of sandals that I had not worn since last Summer.  They’re Birkenstock type sandals with adjustable straps across the foot.  I just threw them on and started walking, and, I could not believe it………they slipped off my feet as I started walking!  I literally tripped over them.  My freaking shoes were so big I could no longer wear them!

Things like this happen ALL the time now and when they do, they catch me off guard EVERY single time.  I know I should not be surprised.  I’m losing weight….a lot of weight.  Things ARE going to change!  Lots and lots of things will change.  But I swear...I see myself naked and I don't really think I look all that different (except my neck and shoulders). So I forget that I have lost weight all the time……and then when something happens that reminds me, THEN I notice something’s different, and I’m like, "Hey…..You!  Check out this thing that changed!”.    I just HAVE to tell someone.  I want to share my joy…I want them to start screaming and jumping up and down just like I want to do.  But usually I just get a blank stare or a half smile in return.  I get it….unless you’ve had the experience of being trapped in a cage, how could you possibly understand what it feels like to be free?

But this shoe thing is especially exciting for me.  It’s exciting because I have a collection of shoes…. Heels, actually.  Sexy, pointy, strappy, gorgeous, amazing heels that I bought over the years even though I couldn’t stand up in them, or even put them on my feet.  I bought them because I loved them and wanted them.  I bought them because I could completely see the real me in my head and the real me is the kind of woman who sometimes wears heels.  I like heels.  They make me taller.  They’re beautiful.  They’re stylish.  They’re sexy.  They make legs and asses look amazing.  I kept buying more and more heels and I’d keep them shined up and sitting on a shelf like art while I yearned to be able to wear them.  I never gave up on the idea that the day would come when I could actually wear heels.  That day, it seems, is upon me.  Or at least…..I can see the sun rising on that day. 

Another great thing happening for me - Writing.  I am getting paid to write.  I still have my full time job at Pictometry but in addition to that, two agencies now hire me freelance to write for them….it’s called ”content marketing”, but it’s writing.  I am super stoked about getting paid to write, being published (even if it's ghost writing and I don't get credit for it), and the fact that it’s a side job where I have a great deal of control.  I say when, I say where, and how often.  I finish an assignment; I say I want another one…..so they give me another one.  No matter where I go, I can keep doing it.  It’s awesome that I don’t need to sell my soul to make some extra money and I get to do something I feel happy and confident about doing.  I’m still pretty slow and very new to the whole industry so it’s not like I’ve had a lot of assignments or am getting paid a huge amount of money per assignment.  But I’m working on building my skill, speed and experience and then it will become a bit more profitable.

I also have a work trip to Florida coming up in February for the next National Sales Meeting…Amelia Island.  I’m very excited about that.  I have always really enjoyed the road trips down to Florida to visit Sam’s parents, so I’m going to use a week of vacation time and split it up before and after the NSM so I can drive and make a couple stops along the way.  I really loved Charleston, SC but only saw a bit of it once so I may stop there for a night.  Also, there’s a really interesting large retail space called Tamarack in Beckley, West Virginia where all different kinds of artisans sell their creations.  It's an amazing place.  I have picked up several gorgeous pieces there over the years so I’ll definitely have to stop there on the way….for me, no road trip to Florida would be the same without stopping there. (There’s also something pretty magical about the West Virginia mountains, especially when the sun is rising…the mist is intense. Always cool to stop there overnight and experience the WV sunrise.)  Then there’s Nashville, TN which has been calling me for years…..I really want to go there.  It’s more out of the way so that may not happen, but I’m excited to think about the possibilities and make some travel plans.

And….Felix action!  Suddenly I’m getting calls about Felix again.  Tonight I’m checking out two leads after work. 

Ok, so now onto the identity crisis I’m having.  I’m not even sure I can really articulate it, but I’ll try. 

To start with, too many things are uncertain in my life right now and it’s making me crazy.   The number one most annoyingly uncertain thing is my Green Card.  What happens with my Green Card has repercussions in other areas as well so not knowing what’s going on means I can't plan, which screws up my life as well as Sam's and leaves us both in limbo.

You may recall I needed to apply for a 10 year card back in July.  I did so, I got a year extension on my GC and had my biometrics appointment in August.  I haven’t heard a thing since then, which is, sadly, normal for USCIS.  You don’t hear anything until you do.  The timeline for these types of applications is supposed to be 6 months, so - in theory - by January, it should all be decided.  However, Sam and I have used VisaJourney, an online community dedicated to helping people navigate the immigration process, from the beginning……and there are people on that forum who applied over a year ago for their 10 year card and are still waiting.  Their extension letter has expired.  Maybe that won’t happen to me.  But what if it does?

In the meantime, what will USCIS decide to do with me?  Will they ask for more information?  Will they make us do an interview?  Will they deport me?  I  know, I know…just wait and see.  I’m getting ahead of myself.  Except, not really.

Sam and I are at the point of our relationship where we are both ready to move on.  We both NEED to be able to move on.  I need to move out.   We need to get divorced.  I am tired of my ambiguous marital status.  Sam wants to just move on.  But we can’t do a damn thing until the GC issue is settled.  If we divorce in the middle of the process, I need to reapply for my 10 year card and start all over again, pay another fee, as a divorced person.  I’m not completely sure I can move without screwing up my application, but let’s say I could…. I don’t want to move into my own place and then have USCIS come back and say, no you can’t stay in this country.  Then I’ll have to move again. 

Thinking about what happens if USCIS does tell me I need to leave......I mean, it’s not so bad…I’d go back to Canada.  So I find myself kind of “planning” a life in Canada – because there’s nothing left of my old life, I’d be starting all over again there - while also simultaneously figuring out what to do next here in the US.  I have no idea which life I’m going to end up with.   In my weakest moments, I question where it is I even belong.  It’s municipal election time in Canada and I am no longer eligible to vote there.  But I can’t vote here in the US either.  I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.

As I think about the possibility of returning to Canada, I am heartbroken over Felix.  I think, as long as I stay in Rochester, there’s always a possibility I could someday get him back.  It’s possible.  Or maybe staying close to the last place he was seen just makes me feel less guilty for allowing my absolute worst fear about moving to the States – something happening to one of my cats – to come true.   In any case, "feels" about Felix have flared up big time lately.

My road to fitness is going really, really well.  I am constantly amazed at the things my trainer asks me to do and even more amazed when I can do them.  And…the last time I went to the gym, I walked 3 miles for a warm up.  3 miles!  And I wasn’t even hot or tired or sweating for the first mile.  Remember in May when I walked my first 5K and I barely finished it?  I was the very last person to cross the finish line and I was so proud?  Um yeah….now my goal is to be able to walk 5K five days a week….every time I go to the gym just for a warm up…and that goal is within reach.  My trainer wants me to enter a beginner Kettlebell competition in December!  Say, what??   I thought she was talking to someone else when she said this.  I was busy trying to lift a 35 pound steel ball above my head so I wasn’t really paying attention to her, and when I realized she meant me, I started laughing.  So surreal.  Is this my life?  It’s amazing but so weird.  I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone all the time.

Another thing is I’m lonely.  I am truly, heartbreakingly lonely.  There are a lot of different things contributing to this.  I miss my family.  I miss having a partner.  I don’t feel like my friends can really understand what I’m experiencing in my weight loss journey.  And….I do have a lot of friends, but I’m kind of a loner.  I tell myself I want to be alone…I like it, then I feel lonely.  I never used to be like this when I was younger….I was always the social planner.  I brought groups of people together to go out.  I made sure everyone was included.  I was a social butterfly.  When did that change?  You guessed it…after I was raped in my 20’s.  I feel like I need to embrace my need for people instead of just secluding myself all the time.  And this is messing with my sense of self.

Not to mention the fact that most of the people I know in Rochester were Sam’s friends before they were mine and although they have also become mine, I don’t want to put them in the uncomfortable position of “choosing” Sam or me.  I feel obligated to back away and let him have his space with our friends…because if the situation were reversed, that’s what I would want.  Right or wrong, that’s what I would want.

The idea that I will be divorced is another big hurdle for me.  I just feel like such a disappointment and failure.  I feel an overwhelming sense of loss associated with the entire thing, not just for the relationship itself but for the loss of Sam’s family in my life, the knowledge that when I move out, our dog Ladybug stays with Sam, the loss of “home”…these are my people and this is where I belong.   I have no one to take care of…except myself, how dull.  With Halloween approaching, this feeling has been amplified.  Sam and I had two weddings, both on Halloween.  We both love Halloween.  We always decorated the house and it has always been our tradition to watch scary movies and eat candy together on Halloween.  So I’m feeling kind of sad over the loss of that tradition.  And in spite of everything I said above about the GC issue, we have set a move out date for me of April 1.

I have not weighed what I weigh now in at least 15 years.  I haven’t been this “physically fit” (and I put that in brackets because “fit” is relative to my experience) since I was in my early 20’s.  Yet, my body still reflects the damage done by obesity....stretch marks, extra skin, really flabby arms, thighs and belly.  This is all uncharted territory for me.  I don’t know how to act, how to live, how to be and I'm trying to not freak out every second of every day.  I'm trying to handle it with grace and dignity.  I’m stumbling my way through, trying to make good, healthy decisions for myself.  But this is a mindfuck in the first degree.  I know other people who have been morbidly obese for their entire adult life will understand the struggle here and that mostly everyone else will not.  Which just makes it all the more a mindfuck.  I constantly feel like the only one who has smoked weed at a party…and I’m going around to everyone else going, “can you believe that just happened?”  No one else sees what I see.  I just look crazy.  And maybe I am.  I certainly feel crazy sometimes.

I find myself constantly plagued by self-doubt.  I doubt that I’m really losing weight.  I doubt that it’s really happening for me.  I doubt that I will ever be able to do everything on my “list” that I want to do.  I see myself naked and honestly, I don’t see the difference in my body, I really don’t.  I only notice the difference when I put clothes on or I step on the scale or try to do something new.

In addition to that, I have also been having my first physical problems since my surgery.  I’ve been REALLY sick a couple of times in the last few weeks.  (As I write this, I have realized these problems may well be stress induced.)  

The physical changes I am experiencing as a result of my surgery….the loss of the weight, the loss of the comfortable miserable identity I hung onto for so long.   As I lose more and more weight, everything becomes more and more possible and there’s nothing I don’t want to do, nothing I don’t want to be.  It’s all very overwhelming.

Which leads me to my dating life.  Dating should be the easiest, light hearted thing happening in my life right now.  It’s supposed to be fun.  I know this.  But it’s not.  It’s stressful.  I don’t want it to be stressful…it just is.  There are just so many weirdos out there.  So many people with questionable motives.  So many reasons to distrust someone.

And it’s difficult for me to “be myself” while I’m suffering an identity crisis and don’t know how to “be myself”, because I don’t know who “myself” is right now.  I had my first experience with a man telling me if I lost too much weight he would not be attracted to me.  I had to ask him to repeat himself – twice.  I just could not believe what I was hearing.   OK I get it….not everyone appeals to everyone else.  Some men are only attracted to large women, some men are only attracted to thin women.  I get it….but who exactly will be attracted to me right now…the guy who likes larger women or the guy into fitness?  ‘Cos I’m both, and don’t really fit neatly into a physical category.  Just like my hair color, my body is going to change.  So if you're into fat redheads, and you think I'm it, I've got bad news for you buddy.  I need someone with more...... flexible tastes, and that is just not easy to find. 

But seriously, if you are a man who is only attracted to large women and you know a woman has had weight loss surgery, why would you even ask her out?  Why would you waste any time at all trying to get to know her?  Why would you spend the entire first date spewing your hatred for weight loss surgery and trying to feed that woman cheesecake all night after she’s told you how meaningful having this surgery has been to her and telling you how sick she’ll be if she eats it? 

Sometimes it feels like people don’t date to get to know other people.  They date to impose their views on you, their life on you.  They know they want a partner and they don’t care who that partner is…they can envision the life they want and they want to just slot someone they are physically attracted to into that life to complete the picture.  They don’t care who you are, they only care who they can make you be.  You’ve got the look, now they want a puppet who they can tell how to think, how to act, what to say so they get their perfect little life.  If there’s one thing I know I’m not, it’s a puppet.  If there's one  thing I know I do NOT want, it's a puppet master.  If there’s one thing I know I am, it’s a romantic, and the romantic in me doesn’t go for crap like this. Dating is really hard on a romantic.  Dating is a very cold business.  It’s use or be used. 

But the larger issue with dating for me is much more embarrassing.  Truth is, it almost feels like I’m on a quest.  It’s hard to enjoy anyone when you want everyone to be the same person.  There’s a scene in the movie “Love Actually” where a kid confesses to his father that he’s in love and proclaims that there’s nothing “worse than the total agony of being in love.”  Ah yes, unrequited love.  This is the problem I’m facing. 

I mentioned many posts ago that I met a guy - months and months ago - I called him my “ideal man”.  That was a superficial, shallow way to explain how I felt about this person.  Truth is, this is the closest I have ever felt to “love at first sight”.  When I met him, he started talking, and really didn’t stop.  I barely got a word in, he talked so much.  He didn’t just go on and on about himself…he was interesting and did ask me questions and answered my questions when I was able to ask…..and everything he said just made me want to know him more.  But the fact that he talked so much gave me a lot of time to observe him and I have never felt so drawn to a man before, so instantly fascinated, so powerfully attracted, so pushed to challenge myself and be better so I could deserve him.

It’s not just that he is physically beautiful, although in my eyes, he is.  More importantly than that, I could see all the men in my family in him….my dad, my brother, my grandfather, my uncles….all their gifts, all their skills and talents, all their flaws…plus his own unique characteristics, and because of that I instantly trusted him, liked him and wanted to be near him.  I didn’t want to leave.  I didn’t know him very well, I had no idea if we were compatible or not but I knew I wanted to find out.

Unfortunately for me, none of those feelings were mutual.  I don’t give up easily and I definitely believe in the whole “if you really want something, you fight for it until you die”/ Say Anything School of Romantic Thought, but after someone tells you several times they are not interested in you, you risk becoming a stalker if you continue to pursue.  You don’t look like a passionate person fighting for what they want, you look crazy.  So I was forced to accept I had reached that threshold. 

Since that time, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this guy.  Yes, I know, it's been months.  I have been known to carry a torch for a decade.  I don't get over people easily.  I want to know him.  I want to date him.  But since he won’t date me, I try to move on.  I don’t expect every other guy to be like him.  I know he’s not perfect and he's not "ideal".  But he did show me the feelings I want to feel for my partner and he showed me I am actually capable of having those feelings.   I’m not interested in dating someone I only kinda like and letting that grow into a stable relationship based on friendship.  There's nothing wrong with that, but it's not what I'm looking for.  I want to feel that spark, those fireworks, that gut-wrenching drive to discover every single thing there is to discover about the person I'm dating.

Oh man, I know how I sound right now.  It’s cute coming from a 10 year old kid with an English accent in a ridiculously mushy, romantic, feel-good movie.  Coming from a 45 year old woman going through a divorce - not so cute….desperate.  Yes, I’m desperate.  I’m desperate to get him out of my head, to feel what I feel for someone else who will return the feelings, and desperate to have a dating life without him sitting on my back the whole time.  I am desperate to not let how I feel about him destroy any more potential relationships.  This is ridiculous, but I have actually thought, hell, if I’m going to move, why not REALLY move and get away from him and his town…..’cos yeah, after 7 years of being with Sam and visiting Rochester, this is that guy’s town.  Everywhere I go, I wonder if he’ll be there.   Maybe a fresh start would help.  Pick a place I’ve never even been to…..I dunno, Austin, Texas, for example, and just GO THERE.  

It’s a nice fantasy to run away like that.  If only it were that easy.  It would serve me no purpose to just run like that.  I do have some stability in my life right now.  Work.  My trainer.  The gym.  These are the things that keep me sane.  When I have no idea what I’m doing or why, I know I have these things.  Love feels essential to me because I’m a dreamy, starry-eyed, impractical, freak and I’ll probably never outgrow that but truth is, love is not essential…not right now.  I still have a lot of hard work to do.

There are only a few things I REALLY want in life.

·         Get Felix back

·         Reach my fitness/weight loss/lifestyle goals

·         Be crazy passionately madly in love

I only have control over one of these things so I’m all in with it.  Everything I’ve got goes towards reaching my fitness/weight loss/lifestyle goals. 

The Return of Random Stuff:

·         I am obsessed with white kitchens.  And bathrooms.  In fact, I love white walls and furniture too.
·         There is no design style better than art deco.  I’m a fan.
·         I always think of myself as a coffee person as opposed to a tea person, but I love, love LOVE me some Chai, Earl Grey, Apricot Spiced and Red Zinger tea.
·         I'm neither a cat or a dog person…I am both.  I want ALL the critters all the time.  I can’t go to a pet store or animal shelter without wanting to take home every animal in the place.
·         I was deeply disappointed by the finale of True Blood.  In fact, the last three seasons were so bad, I have no idea why I kept watching.  I’m only now able to talk about it.
·         I’ve recently discovered a genre of music I can only just barely tolerate:  death metal
·         I can barely eat an entire banana.  Seriously, I’m completely stuffed after eating a banana.
·         I can’t stand tuna or salmon.  I hate the smell.  I hate the sight.  I hate the taste.  If you invite me over to dinner, you better not make me a tuna casserole or salmon on a cedar plank.  If you do, and I say I like it, I’m totally lying.
·         I could eat scallops, lobster and blue crab all day long.
·        The meme I added to this post?  Yeah that’s me.  White girl in yoga pants who loves Fall and is obsessed with pumpkin everything.  Totally.  Me. 

 

 

“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.