Destination Discipline

When I was a child I used to dream that one day I would grow up and be beautiful. I often felt like the ugliest child in my class. I was often told how odd I was and I tended to be a tomboy. I liked hiking in the woods and catching frogs. I enjoyed playing soccer. But I will never forget that moment at church camp where a boy asked me, “Are you a girl or a boy?” He was serious. And it stung.

When I reached highschool I carried a lot of that baggage with me. I desperately wanted to fit in and look like the other girls. Some of the hairstyles I tried make me cringe to this day. But the one thing I never could manage was looking thin. I remember drinking slimfast shakes for lunch and doing low impact aerobics in a mad attempt to be thin and “beautiful.” I remember losing 20 pounds and feeling great, only to gain it back within a few months and feel horrible about myself. It still makes me sick that I was more worried about what I looked like than learning.

I went to Homecoming my Sophmore year with my friends and dressed up in a beautiful dress my mother picked out for me at Dilliards. I felt so special in that black dress. I liked it because it hid my lumpy belly and thighs and was covered with ruffles. It was the perfect dancing dress because I could twirl around and all the ruffles would flow out around me. For that one night I felt special.

Since I have grown up I have learned that my self worth does not come from what I look like. My children love me whether I have makeup on or not. Which is a great thing because I really only wear it to work. My husband loves me even when I pull my hair back in a ponytail and lounge around in decades old jammies. Real love looks at the heart, not at the dress size.

If there is one thing I could teach women today it would be “Stop worrying over what you look like and just be who you are.” But this is easier said than done when marketing companies are so focussed on diminishing our self worth in order to sell us a product we “need” to look “beautiful.”

A friend told me recently that she loves my beautiful heart. It is probably the best compliment I have received in years. No matter what I look like on the outside, as long as my heart is beautiful, that’s all that matters to me. My body is aging. Pieces of me sag and I am starting to see silver sprinkled throughout my hair. But I am learning to love the worry lines on my face. They give me character. They tell a story I don’t want to destroy with cosmetic surgery.

When I first set out to get healthy I knew I wanted to lose weight. But I also knew I needed to address the heart issues that had plagued me for years. I felt worthless, inadequate and weak. So much of this had to do with my size. How I wish I could go back and tell myself that no matter what size I was, I was still the same person inside. Skin deep beauty is no beauty at all.

I will never look like a model. I will never wear a size 6 dress. I will probably always have chunky thighs. And I’m okay with all those things. My body is a temporary dwelling place. And while I do feel it is important to take care of it, my whole self worth should not be determined by what it looks like at any given moment. If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, rather, let everyone see my beautiful heart.

I am learning to love myself and that is one of the most challenging projects I have ever undertaken. But it is well worth the journey.

I don’t know why I saved that dress from highschool but I did. For some reason I couldn’t bear to part with it. I recently pulled it out and dusted it off. Then I made my 15 year old son, who is a Sophmore in highschool, take my picture in it. It fits a little differently but it fit nonetheless. As I stood and posed I thought, this is just a dress, nothing more, nothing less. For that matter, I feel just as good in my workout clothes. It reminded me that inside I am not who I was back then. And while I am extremely proud of fitting back into it, I know my current size does not define who I am. But what really stuns me is this. I am the same size I was my Sophmore year in highschool. Back then I thought I was the fattest and ugliest girl alive. But today, at that same size, I know I am just as beautiful as I was back then. And that is something to be pround of.

Let me begin by saying yesterday was purely dreadful. I felt like Br’er Rabbit after his fight with the tar baby. If you haven’t read that story, you should. There were no winners. But the thing about bad days is, they eventually end and the sun comes up and we get to start over.

And today was glorious! Although it was a little humid I didn’t complain. It was the first time in what felt like many moons that my bones weren’t frozen solid and I was feeling bouncy. I hopped up my hills with Br’er Rabbit’s energy and thought warm, Springy thoughts. While walking I thought about how good it is to be alive, and how lucky I am to be mobile and mostly carefree. After my shower I moved to put pants on and discovered they were a little big. This would put anyone in a good mood but to me, that’s as good as winning the lottery.

So I stuffed my youngest beast-let into the car and we raced off to the babysitter and whammo! Red light. And another. And another. We hit every single red light on the way. But I was still in a good mood and I just kept bopping along thinking, nothing is going to rain on this parade. And then I hit traffic on the highway. So I’m sitting there under an overpass, blaring some 90’s grunge music and thinking, “This is the life. Sitting in traffic, listening to my favorite singer who died from a heroin overdose wail, while I wait to be late for work. This is great! I love my life.” I was so happy I began to wonder if the exhaust pipe in my car was clogged.

I finally arrived at work, 30 minutes late, and my boss, who is supposed to be in a meeting at another campus greets me, “Good morning, Margaret.” And a song starts to play in my mind…. “It’s a pretty good day and I’m looking forward to tomorrow.” Because sometimes my life runs on a soundtrack. I don’t know why.

And then I see him. No, not my boss. Another guy. Let’s call him The Sultan of Swagger. He’s cocked back in a chair, wearing his winningest smirk all the while pontificating about “the business.” And it’s not what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it that catches my attention. His shoulders are relaxed, his neck is loose, and by the way his shoulders move as he speaks I know that he knows everything about anything. He is just one smooth guy.

Juxtapose this with me making my morning trip to the restroom to make sure my underwear isn’t showing because I forgot a belt(baggy pants, remember?) In there I meet a coifed and casual woman who gives me the standard “How are you today?” greeting.

I should have said fine and moved one. But instead replied, “I’m feeling a little Annie-ish this morning.”

“Pardon me?” She says.

“I’m feeling a bit like Little Orphan Annie this morning.” I say. “You know, (and I begin to sing with exagerated arm movement) It’s a hard knock life for us…” (because as I mentioned earlier it’s humid and now that my hair is dry I feel that I look like a grown up version of the sunny little red haired girl, even though I don’t have red hair).

My co-worker says, “You’re cute.”

Which is exactly what I want to be in the work place. Not Professional, but Cute.

Back to The Sultan. He is new in our area and in reality knows very little about anything. But you would never know this to have a conversation with him because he is so self-confident he could impress a donkey. And for one fleeting moment I wonder if I should be more like him. I mean, I could hold my shoulders that way and cock my head to the side and give off quirky little grins. I could nod my head and use big words. People might even look at me and say, “Look at Margaret. She is one professional lady.”

Alas, that is not who I am, but sometimes I like to think I can swagger. Usually it comes off as more of a goofy grin, wherein my nose crinkles and my eyes get lopsided and I end up looking like a reject from an episode of Seinfeld, but that’s not the point. It’s the attitude that counts. Even if I am just the Matron of Malarchy, when I walk down the hall I hear “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Jees and I am every bit as cool as John Travolta was over 30 years ago. And that’s saying something.

I may never be rich. I may never be glamorous. I may never find the cure for the saggy baggy tummy. BUT give me a warm day filled with sunshine, and the satisfaction of knowing I did the very best I could(even in adverse circumstances) and I am one happy girl. Sometimes we have to experience the bad days to really appreciate the good ones. Even if the reason my pants were too big was because I accidentally picked them out of the pile of clothes I slimmed out of months ago.

There are times when I am like a runaway train careening out of control. The bridge is out and the breaks are burned up. I can only stare in absolute horror as I crash into the abyss. This is how intense my physical cravings are. These moments come because I have indulged in sugar more than I ought and I have to start the cycle of weaning myself from it again. These are not simple, “I want a snack” cravings. These are, “I need a chocolate faucet with unlimited access” cravings. Today the cravings are amplified by work stress which has turned them into Gargantuan Cravings of Doom. Meaning, it’s probably only a matter of time before I give in. Which leaves me feeling helpless, hopeless and utterly broken. I have been reading a book called “The Addicted Brain.” I am learning a great deal about addiction and beginning to understand why I use food to calm myself. I have used food this way since I was a child and fighting against it is a brutal and bloody battle. I lose many battles but I continue to fight the war, and probably will until the day I die. Reading this book is helping me to understand that I am not fundamentally flawed. Sure, some of my “need” for relief is psychological but I am utterly relieved to know that much of it is physical. Dr. Michael Kuhar says “Research has taught us how drugs and other pleasures affect the brain. It turns out that drugs, gambling, Internet use, and chocolate all affect the brain in similar ways. The importance of this discovery extends well beyond knowing about drug abuse and pleasure; it impacts on ethics and morality, the nature of the brain as a survival organ, the evolution of the brain, and the good, the bad, and the ugly of human nature.” This war is not for weenies. I am not a failure, even when I give in to the cravings. I am human. Today is a day where I try really hard to limit myself to foods I know won’t trigger impulse eating but also satisfy my “need” for something sweet. At lunch I thoroughly enjoyed my orange. It’s kind of hard to overeat an orange. And I have my other crutch, Trident Sugar free gum, which I can chew to my heart’s content. I may be inhabiting a smaller body now, but the war is the same today and every day. My encouragement comes from knowing I am forgiven when I overeat. I am not condemned. God loves me just as I am. I don’t have to beat myself up, I just need to be diligent and forward thinking. I also know that if I resist the cravings I can get past them. If I go without sugar for at least 3 days, the cravings subside and go away. I just have to get over that hump. It’s hard to break the cycle but Christmas is over and all the goodies are gone. I am tempted to stop by the store and refuel but that would be counterproductive. Because here’s the deal… I am master of this ship. I have a choice to indulge or deny. And today, I deny. Because I know the cycle. I know I can get over the hump. I choose triumph over tragedy, hope over despair, forgiveness over hate. And while I hate these cravings and what they represent, they also give me courage. Because if I’m fighting, that means I haven’t given up.