About 10 years ago, I lost about 65 pounds. I was on top of the world. I felt the best I had in years, and I was ready to take on the world. Except that I didn't. Life intervened, and I lost myself again.
I lost myself to the grief of 3 miscarriages within a year, a malfunctioning gallbladder, a child who was lost in her own little world of anxiety, who took it out on me physically for over 2 years, and the loss of my church family somewhere during all of this. Things were just starting to get on track when we found out Scooter needed to have a spinal fusion, followed by the death of my dad just 5 weeks after being diagnosed with lung cancer, the suicide of my nephew 5 months after that, and the imprisonment of a nephew, just a few years younger than me, for the death of the driver of the car he hit when he was driving drunk sent me into a tailspin.
In the midst of the paralysis of my grief, the basement flooded, and we had to deal with mounds of stuff and how to get rid of it, followed by a winter consumed by the swine flu, several allergic reactions to medications, and the stresses of hospitalizations with the kids and dealing with Hopper transitioning out of high school as well as the whole guardianship debacle.
Needless to say, I haven't really concentrated on me, and all the weight has returned and brought extra friends to the party. Creeps. Each and every one of them.
Anyway, a memory of something someone said to me after I'd lost the weight several years ago came back to me yesterday, and that's what started me along the line of thought of my weight. It just takes me awhile to get to my point.
I have a friend that used to live just a few blocks away but has since moved out of state. A few months after she moved away, she asked me, if I'd gained the weight back yet. She seemed like she was actually hoping that I had failed at it. Granted, she's heavy herself, and I'm sure that played a role in it. She was hurting. I totally and completely get that. But I don't know that I'd ever known anyone I'd considered a friend who had actually wished for me to fail. I'm sure that there have been plenty of people, both friends and others, who have waited for me to fail, but I'd like to think not many have wished it.
And I realized that after she said this, our friendship was never quite the same again. That's just how it is with some friendships. Some of them just fade into the mist like a distant memory, and others are still just as wonderful and vibrant no matter the distance and years between you. I have the compassion for her that I lacked as a child, and I understand that part of her wishing I would fail has to do with the fact that she, herself, hasn't had any real success with losing weight. And I honestly feel no ill will toward her.
However, I realize that's part of the reason I've been avoiding my blog. I know that if my friend can wish me to fail on my weight loss, that there are those out there who are wishing me to fail on my dehoarding. That there are those out there who want me to fail, because they don't want to think of me as anything but a slob, because they hate hoarding and what it means to them, whether they're a hoarder themselves, or whether their a family member of a hoarder.
And you know what? I'm not angry with them. Because I don't know what things in their lives have caused them to feel that way, and I don't know what they've been through. All I know is that I made a commitment to myself all those years ago, when I realized I was a hoarder, that I am going to make it through this in one piece.
I am not beaten. I have not given up. And I will not leave this for my family to deal with once I'm gone. Not only will the hoarding not get the best of me, but the weight won't either. I know in my heart it will happen, and I will be successful. It may not be on anyone else's timeline, but it will happen.
To those who are wishing me to fail, I'm sorry you're going through whatever you are that makes you want to see me stumble and fall. I'm sorry you're hurting. I pray you find peace.
And to those of you who are silently and not-so-silently rooting me on, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Remember when...
I'm not a skinny girl. I never have been. I haven't always been fat, either, but I've never been skinny.
When I was a kid, we had our weight and height checked once or twice a year at school. At the time, we'd also have to bare our backs wait while the nurse checked us for curvature of the spine. It was just more fun than a kid should be allowed to have. By the time we hit the 6th grade they added in questions about our menstrual cycles. I dreaded this time every year.
We'd line up in the gymnasium/cafeteria/all purpose room, and step on a scale while our weight was announced aloud by the nurse while the other adult in the room recorded it. They'd also check our height and ask us whether or not we had started our periods. The questions were embarrassing enough on their own, but then we'd have to take our shirts off and bend over and hold onto our ankles, so they could check our backs.
It didn't matter that there were screens set up for privacy, because there were always areas where the other students could peek in and see you in this most undignified position. I mean, it's not like we could actually hold our shirts over our developing bodies and hold onto our ankles at the same time. It was mortifying.
There was so much about all of it that was humiliating, but the worst of it happened my 6th grade year, when the nurse announced my weight. The thing is, I didn't have an ounce of fat on my body, but that didn't seem to matter a bit when everyone in the gymnasium found out that I was the first child in 6th grade to reach 100 pounds. I was instantly labeled fat by the other kids.
It didn't matter that I wasn't. In fact, I didn't get fat until after I hurt my back at age 19, started having babies a couple years later, and then had the misfortune of bad health that resulted in a broken thyroid and asthma that required dose upon dose of steroids. But in the the world of cruelty that is adolescence my fate was sealed.
It didn't help that my friends were tiny in comparison. In fact my best friends in high school didn't even break 100, so I weighed more in 6th grade than they did 6 years later. The thing is, I was a healthy weight. When I look back at pictures, I wonder why in the world I felt so fat. I know a lot of it stems from the gasps of the other classmates at my weight when I was 11 and the gossip that ensued. My weight was the topic of much ugliness over the years, and I've never quite known how to get past it.
Oh! To be able to talk to that girl I was and let her know that I was perfectly healthy. To get through to her that the girl that called me, "Thunder Thighs" was trying to get past the hurt of finding out that her mom had cheated on her dad. That the boy who sneered and called me, "Lard Ass" was acting out, because he was being beaten by his dad. That the girl who called me a "fat ugly bitch" was trying to cover that she was being molested by her uncle.
I would like to think it would have changed the way I saw myself and the way I saw others, as well. I was a compassionate kid. I could have seen through their behavior to their hurt. Instead, I've carried it around for well over 30 years and still haven't gotten over it. Then again, it didn't help that some of those same kids acted the same way at my 20th high school reunion.
It's really a shame that their lives are still filled with such cruelty towards others, and it's an even bigger shame that I still haven't gotten over the sting of their words. They're probably still hurting. And maybe I could have made a difference, if I didn't feel the need to put up my defenses and shield myself from their barbs.
Maybe someday.
When I was a kid, we had our weight and height checked once or twice a year at school. At the time, we'd also have to bare our backs wait while the nurse checked us for curvature of the spine. It was just more fun than a kid should be allowed to have. By the time we hit the 6th grade they added in questions about our menstrual cycles. I dreaded this time every year.
We'd line up in the gymnasium/cafeteria/all purpose room, and step on a scale while our weight was announced aloud by the nurse while the other adult in the room recorded it. They'd also check our height and ask us whether or not we had started our periods. The questions were embarrassing enough on their own, but then we'd have to take our shirts off and bend over and hold onto our ankles, so they could check our backs.
It didn't matter that there were screens set up for privacy, because there were always areas where the other students could peek in and see you in this most undignified position. I mean, it's not like we could actually hold our shirts over our developing bodies and hold onto our ankles at the same time. It was mortifying.
There was so much about all of it that was humiliating, but the worst of it happened my 6th grade year, when the nurse announced my weight. The thing is, I didn't have an ounce of fat on my body, but that didn't seem to matter a bit when everyone in the gymnasium found out that I was the first child in 6th grade to reach 100 pounds. I was instantly labeled fat by the other kids.
It didn't matter that I wasn't. In fact, I didn't get fat until after I hurt my back at age 19, started having babies a couple years later, and then had the misfortune of bad health that resulted in a broken thyroid and asthma that required dose upon dose of steroids. But in the the world of cruelty that is adolescence my fate was sealed.
It didn't help that my friends were tiny in comparison. In fact my best friends in high school didn't even break 100, so I weighed more in 6th grade than they did 6 years later. The thing is, I was a healthy weight. When I look back at pictures, I wonder why in the world I felt so fat. I know a lot of it stems from the gasps of the other classmates at my weight when I was 11 and the gossip that ensued. My weight was the topic of much ugliness over the years, and I've never quite known how to get past it.
Oh! To be able to talk to that girl I was and let her know that I was perfectly healthy. To get through to her that the girl that called me, "Thunder Thighs" was trying to get past the hurt of finding out that her mom had cheated on her dad. That the boy who sneered and called me, "Lard Ass" was acting out, because he was being beaten by his dad. That the girl who called me a "fat ugly bitch" was trying to cover that she was being molested by her uncle.
I would like to think it would have changed the way I saw myself and the way I saw others, as well. I was a compassionate kid. I could have seen through their behavior to their hurt. Instead, I've carried it around for well over 30 years and still haven't gotten over it. Then again, it didn't help that some of those same kids acted the same way at my 20th high school reunion.
It's really a shame that their lives are still filled with such cruelty towards others, and it's an even bigger shame that I still haven't gotten over the sting of their words. They're probably still hurting. And maybe I could have made a difference, if I didn't feel the need to put up my defenses and shield myself from their barbs.
Maybe someday.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
I wonder how much overwhelmed weighs.
So I've been busy not being busy. Well. Sort of. I've been busy selling some stuff on eBay for a little lady who just lost her house to foreclosure. She needs the money, and frankly, so do I, and I am not doing this for free. Still, it's taken quite a bit of my time, and I've found I've neglected other things that I really should be working on.
It wouldn't be so difficult, if I hadn't had to relearn how to sell on eBay. I've been away for long enough that almost everything had changed. I'm tempted to open up an eBay store, because I could list up to 2500 items per month for free, where now I can only list 50 for free. It costs about $15 a month for the store, but where listing fees start at 30 cents a pop after the first 50 being free, it would only take 50 listings to get my money back. It makes sense financially, and if I could just get them all listed at the same time, instead of having to wait for days where they have offers for free listings, it could save me a lot of time. I'll probably kick it around for a couple more days and then end up opening a store. :::shrug::: It will either happen, or it won't.
I've been dealing with back spasms in my lower back the last couple of weeks, so that's been fun. Even though it's been on the verge of spasming again today, I threw caution to the wind and worked outside a bit. I need a lot of bits to get anything accomplished, though. The front yard is a disaster after having it dug up for the sewer line replacement back in February. The backyard is a disaster full of downed trees that need cut, split, and stacked, so we can sell it this fall to someone who has a fireplace. Either that, or we need to just get someone back there who will do it for the free firewood. Then the garden dreams I dream each night have to find their way into the plans, too.
I'm trying not to get too overwhelmed. We have a ton to do, but we've also gotten a ton done. Let me rephrase that...we have at least a couple dozen tons to do, but we've gotten a ton done. I just have to remember that the ton we've already finished was finished one pound at a time.
Off to go do a few ounces worth of work and trying not to calculate how many ounces there are in a ton.
It wouldn't be so difficult, if I hadn't had to relearn how to sell on eBay. I've been away for long enough that almost everything had changed. I'm tempted to open up an eBay store, because I could list up to 2500 items per month for free, where now I can only list 50 for free. It costs about $15 a month for the store, but where listing fees start at 30 cents a pop after the first 50 being free, it would only take 50 listings to get my money back. It makes sense financially, and if I could just get them all listed at the same time, instead of having to wait for days where they have offers for free listings, it could save me a lot of time. I'll probably kick it around for a couple more days and then end up opening a store. :::shrug::: It will either happen, or it won't.
I've been dealing with back spasms in my lower back the last couple of weeks, so that's been fun. Even though it's been on the verge of spasming again today, I threw caution to the wind and worked outside a bit. I need a lot of bits to get anything accomplished, though. The front yard is a disaster after having it dug up for the sewer line replacement back in February. The backyard is a disaster full of downed trees that need cut, split, and stacked, so we can sell it this fall to someone who has a fireplace. Either that, or we need to just get someone back there who will do it for the free firewood. Then the garden dreams I dream each night have to find their way into the plans, too.
I'm trying not to get too overwhelmed. We have a ton to do, but we've also gotten a ton done. Let me rephrase that...we have at least a couple dozen tons to do, but we've gotten a ton done. I just have to remember that the ton we've already finished was finished one pound at a time.
Off to go do a few ounces worth of work and trying not to calculate how many ounces there are in a ton.
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