tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32796644889660199162024-02-18T19:10:23.867-08:00Recovering GraceFinding Grace, one blog at a time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-86282559295247798022015-01-08T06:50:00.002-08:002015-01-08T06:50:42.989-08:00Ennui<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
Not exactly a thought of the day, but I loved this cartoon SO MUCH! From <a href="http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?db=comics&id=1543#comic">Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal</a>, of course!</span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCl16f0v-IQbn9l2ImbwEyuaR7u9OsfHcM3qIfoqRNDXO5miKOqwrCcqFMJ_yqTVMEY4maa5Y3CEU1_DTBe5eQNCqY-oKfpVIT-xKFc3GWE2RZNvn6PiqJymyvkOdhRkKXx-Lbc-TI2-h/s1600/Ennui.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCl16f0v-IQbn9l2ImbwEyuaR7u9OsfHcM3qIfoqRNDXO5miKOqwrCcqFMJ_yqTVMEY4maa5Y3CEU1_DTBe5eQNCqY-oKfpVIT-xKFc3GWE2RZNvn6PiqJymyvkOdhRkKXx-Lbc-TI2-h/s400/Ennui.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-73293868067962322212015-01-08T06:42:00.001-08:002015-01-08T06:42:39.770-08:00Link Sharing Time: Getting Started with HAES<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
Ragen Chastain from Dances with Fat gives us a brief intro to HAES in <a href="https://danceswithfat.wordpress.com/2014/12/30/transitioning-from-dieting-to-health-at-every-size/?utm_content=buffer7f125&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer">Transitioning from Dieting to Health at Every Size</a>.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">She says: "<i>For those who choose HAES, our activities are chosen based on our prioritization of our health and the path that we choose to get there, and are focused around nurturing our bodies and increasing our odds for good health, rather than trying to make them a certain size or height/weight ratio</i>."</span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgJeI5dCQ-ZH77ncwA4QmLfe7JbJ9UHXdPkH271zBwUmDsZCMdZKFMzYAAhGvdPazVpgkAS4VrS06_rAi_NccQDlnmOZ6WBpjkUsOwgQ21Wj9nGuealk9GydB0f08PI56KQx5FjQESBdZ/s1600/IMG_20140107_132632.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgJeI5dCQ-ZH77ncwA4QmLfe7JbJ9UHXdPkH271zBwUmDsZCMdZKFMzYAAhGvdPazVpgkAS4VrS06_rAi_NccQDlnmOZ6WBpjkUsOwgQ21Wj9nGuealk9GydB0f08PI56KQx5FjQESBdZ/s400/IMG_20140107_132632.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">HAES has been a large part of my ED recovery work for the past several years, or at least the core ideas of it. My exercise is still pretty erratic and I'm not healthy at my current size - yet - but I have been focusing mostly on my relationship with food so far. I don't binge any longer, but I still have high blood sugar (or insulin resistance or metabolic syndrome or whatever it's called this month). I still have to balance Intuitive Eating with the restrictions that are necessary for <a href="http://lindabacon.org/pdf/BaconMatz_Diabetes_EnjoyingFood.pdf">diabetes</a>. It's kind of tough to separate yourself from the diet mentality when, essentially, you still have to diet. But, like everything else it's a process, and I'm working on it. My weight has stabilized; I haven't lost any weight, but I haven't continued to gain it either. I'm starting to learn how to care for myself with physical movement, learn how to exercise without punishing myself, without hurting myself. Maybe I'll lose some weight now; maybe I won't - either way, I'll be proud of myself for being able to run (a little) where I couldn't before, being able to climb stairs and ladders and still be able to breathe, and being able to hold my balance, move gracefully, be comfortable in the body I have NOW.</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-18553420641558624302014-12-11T15:59:00.001-08:002014-12-11T15:59:43.030-08:00Thought of the Day: 12/11/2014<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
On Facebook I've been posting little "Thought of the Day" posts. I just find these things that speak to me in the morning and go back to it a number of times during the day to remember something good.</span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfqeNmd2Rg7Vy0sQ-prOuERFhHxzuOqoih46glT81aRgsSU5fZ6vi1F9ld8SKBK5ZRKTrfIhhDIKj8KcLfLLFOpNAdgDUd6PMuaOZ9BxJH6DUkPSBF0T_St6fDeTPBeXTCw3xS5gwTh2MW/s1600/Thought+for+Dec+11th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfqeNmd2Rg7Vy0sQ-prOuERFhHxzuOqoih46glT81aRgsSU5fZ6vi1F9ld8SKBK5ZRKTrfIhhDIKj8KcLfLLFOpNAdgDUd6PMuaOZ9BxJH6DUkPSBF0T_St6fDeTPBeXTCw3xS5gwTh2MW/s400/Thought+for+Dec+11th.jpg" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-43033273062267642102014-12-10T10:41:00.000-08:002014-12-10T10:41:07.395-08:00Thought of the Day: 12/10/2014<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
On Facebook I've been posting little "Thought of the Day" posts. I've done several days worth now, and I thought I'd also start them here on the blog as a way to post more frequently. I just find these things that speak to me in the morning and go back to it a number of times during the day to remember something good.</span>
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<b>"You’ve been busy trying to satisfy everyone else’s expectations.</b>
Way too many people are living a life that’s not theirs to live. They live their lives according to what others think is best for them… they live their lives according to what their parents think is best for them… to what their friends, their enemies, their teachers, their government and the media think is best for them. They ignore their inner voice and intuition. They are so busy pleasing everyone else, with living up to other people’s expectations, that they lose control over their lives. They forget what makes them happy, what they want, what they need… and eventually they forget about themselves altogether.
You have one life – this one right now. You must live it, own it, and above all, NOT let other people’s opinions distract you from your truth."</span>
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Source: <a href="http://www.marcandangel.com/2014/09/10/9-signs-its-time-to-take-a-step-forward/">Marc and Angel Hack Life</a></span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-15701518786582698702014-12-09T08:18:00.001-08:002014-12-09T08:18:35.402-08:00Thought of The Day: Catching Up<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
On Facebook I've been posting little "Thought of the Day" posts. I've done several days worth now, and I thought I'd also start them here on the blog as a way to post more frequently. The past couple of days have been images for some reason. I just find these things that speak to me in the morning and go back to it a number of times during the day to remember something good.</span>
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Yesterday, 12/8/2014.</span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmUHKcTrhyphenhyphenYTJwlIhyphenhyphenmKZr5TG0kDUdyy6AZMNZgkIomB4bMpE_b2UW4M6VxVI3VohO_3tm512u67Ane29c64Ry5AAeK8aJHP1jxliv-C1HWYFQXLXWtVbGWy2dUimLEAwRIfLl1LZjTTM/s1600/Thought+for+Dec+8th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmUHKcTrhyphenhyphenYTJwlIhyphenhyphenmKZr5TG0kDUdyy6AZMNZgkIomB4bMpE_b2UW4M6VxVI3VohO_3tm512u67Ane29c64Ry5AAeK8aJHP1jxliv-C1HWYFQXLXWtVbGWy2dUimLEAwRIfLl1LZjTTM/s400/Thought+for+Dec+8th.jpg" /></a></div>
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And today's, 12/9/2014.</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-82797477062103768892014-12-09T08:12:00.000-08:002014-12-09T08:12:00.189-08:00Keep Calm and Sew on<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
I had a thought while sewing yesterday. A few thoughts.</span>
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I think I'm drawn to sewing (and crafting in general) because there are neat, straight lines. It's quite tidy when things are done correctly. The neat perfection seems to give me a feeling of order...and safety.</span>
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Perfection = Order = Safety</span>
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Interesting.</span>
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Follow up thoughts: My sewing is rarely neat and never perfect (except for those button holes on the Thanksgiving baby dress, squeeeee!); therefore, I also get to learn that imperfect things are still beautiful and valuable.</span>
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Boom!</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-43678473490785100442014-09-14T12:38:00.002-07:002014-09-14T12:38:40.021-07:00Things That Make Me Inordinately Happy in Comparison to Effort Expended, In No Particular Order (2014)<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
I did this kind of list once before, in time for <a href="http://recoveringgraceblog.blogspot.com/2013/01/things-that-make-me-inordinately-happy.html" target="_blank">New Year 2013</a>. This isn't a New Year's Day list, and I don't make resolutions, exactly, but I want to bring more focus on joy and fulfillment toward the end of this year. Therefore, in no particular order, here is a list of things that make me ridiculously happy.</span>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> When my little kitteh, D, snuggles up on my shoulder and snurrs (snoring/purring)</span></li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_vBY-m8zu7CTfr2AU7umDoYDRh60BUKrne0ZQyBlkYbMImzPGmwdqqN4FRkSsXYynyFdH37XeKdOEWdLXZg4myL-KojrKdW42s1I9GxrJjkPqaFLv2mDlRAL5mZ2WjoOgFSPVke1Fwts/s1600/Demeter+Dining+Chair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_vBY-m8zu7CTfr2AU7umDoYDRh60BUKrne0ZQyBlkYbMImzPGmwdqqN4FRkSsXYynyFdH37XeKdOEWdLXZg4myL-KojrKdW42s1I9GxrJjkPqaFLv2mDlRAL5mZ2WjoOgFSPVke1Fwts/s320/Demeter+Dining+Chair.JPG" /></a></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Also when she finds stinky shoes or workout clothes and wallows in them in complete unfettered joy</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">When a song comes on that I once loved but haven't heard in a decade or two</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Checking things off a list; I am so bad that I will add stuff I've already done to a list just so that I can mark them off</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Getting a zit to pop, even though I know I'm not supposed to do that</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">When the kittehs sleep on their backs and leave those fuzzy tummies exposed</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Colorful veggies all washed and chopped and ready for snacking</span></li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFYkE2bS_uAKeks-UOcAGM8jRq5CKCmLmelt4qqjCwkOIlYhQgAV9spg-SxM6Ec8dhgxuLAT5f1SSxjsNCfjuwg8lji2_uPzxF0MN3_6n9InBdiWw5zDJrERPOmgD0E3y3T6a9GPYo-JE/s1600/sliced+peppers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFYkE2bS_uAKeks-UOcAGM8jRq5CKCmLmelt4qqjCwkOIlYhQgAV9spg-SxM6Ec8dhgxuLAT5f1SSxjsNCfjuwg8lji2_uPzxF0MN3_6n9InBdiWw5zDJrERPOmgD0E3y3T6a9GPYo-JE/s320/sliced+peppers.jpg" /></a></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Getting cold enough to actually enjoy wearing a sweater</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Hearing my beloved's voice from another room</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Bad puns</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Making B laugh</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I'm certain there's more, but you get the idea. For a change I want to look for good things instead of only looking for the bad things, because if that's all you look for, that's all you will ever see.</span>
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</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-35494098584078999902014-09-07T15:09:00.000-07:002014-09-07T15:09:54.657-07:00Backwards<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
I'm having conflict again. Confidence, self esteem, diet thoughts. I keep getting close to the place where I can take care of myself - eat right, get some exercise, control the blood sugar, get off the meds, whatever. But something always seems to throw me at the last moment, upsets my balance. Perhaps I'm throwing things in my own way as a delaying tactic, at least some of the time, though this time I think it was purely accidental.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I did so good through DragonCon! My confidence was high, I went out and mingled with friends at meetups, did the Disney fairy photo shoot and some other costumes, wore my sundresses and short skirts without shame, I even talked to strangers and told a bully to fuck off late one drunk night. I even came out of it with a couple of photos of me that I really love. I felt good. I felt pretty. I got con crud, but I was even ready to wait that out and get started on taking care of blood sugar as soon as I felt well again.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">So one night I was looking around, Googling for costume ideas and accidentally wound up on a pretty hateful fat shaming site. I read around at some posts and comments in growing horror. I quit the internet for the night, watched the Hobbit and tried to think about happy things, spent the next morning looking at pictures of adorable animals, just in case. I have pushed it into an appropriate pit and locked the door behind me. But....
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">The evil, lying voice woke up. The thing inside that hates me and tortures that little girl in there. It's trying to make me feel ashamed and disgusted with myself again. It makes me want to try the dieting hamster wheel again.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I joined a Facebook group for people who are trying to lose weight for DragonCon and for costuming. Mostly I'm lurking, waiting to see if it's going to be too triggery for me. Right now, it probably is, until the liar goes back to sleep. There's a lot of talk about pounds lost and "being good" which of course implies that there's a "being bad" too. Someone posted a music video called "I'm Sorry I Gained Weight." I didn't watch it. </span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Now I keep coming back to the thoughts of looking gross. Spilling food. Being clean enough. Wondering if I smell bad. Being ashamed of burps and farts and acne. I'm a little afraid of getting hungry. It doesn't help that I'm still sick and coughing and snotting, so I can't breathe and I get exhausted after doing the simplest things. Like. A. Fatass.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I need comfort but I'm sick, and I feel like I'm a needy burden on top of everything else. I have spent two days trying to convince myself that B isn't mad at me for some unknown thing. But he still touches me, he kissed my neck when he came up behind me this morning, he has held me and told me that he loves me. It's okay. It's just the lying voice again. </span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">It tells me that if I eat - and eat and eat and eat - that it will go away and I won't have to hear it lying anymore, but that's a lie too. If I eat and get sick and hurt it will just shout louder about what a pathetic loser I am, wielding the proof that I am an out of control fatty. I could hurt myself and then just listen to it laugh and laugh, just like those people on that disgusting website. Think about the curve of my belly, taut and hard and full of pain. Bulging under my too big t-shirts, the ones I think hide my body, the ones littered with old stains of old binges. Sloppy and sickening.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Fuck that.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I have no room for that kind of pain any longer. I think - no, IT thinks that I deserve this pain, but I DO NOT. </span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">What did I say about that bully at DragonCon? "If you want to make me cry you're going to have to do better than that." Fuck you evil, lying voice, 'cause you just aren't good enough to get me anymore. </span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Back to the beginning - where did I start? "I am good enough, I am smart enough, and GODDAMMIT, PEOPLE LIKE ME!" </span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Bring it.</span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-63257132229330636822014-02-15T13:46:00.001-08:002014-02-15T13:46:41.157-08:00NEDA Walk Orlando 2014 - My Binge Eating Disorder Speech<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">This morning we had the Nat'l Eating Disorder walk for awareness at Lake Eola in Orlando Florida. We almost got rained out, but it passed quickly and turned out to be a beautiful morning. </span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">We had a lovely singer and then I got to do my little speech, about 9 minutes or so, about Binge Eating Disorder. If the video will post - I'm about to find out - here it is!</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I didn't get nervous until it was time to walk out on the stage, and I spend the first 7 minutes or so shifting from side to side. Feel free to scream "Be still!" at the video-me as often as you like. Afterward I pretty much just hugged the first person that I saw so that I wouldn't start crying.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Okay, here's the YouTube link. It's too big to load to Blogger...</span>
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luDSQzusUU4&feature=youtu.be">NEDA Walk Orlando 2014 Speech</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-4067576417803229162014-01-23T14:31:00.000-08:002014-01-23T14:31:12.156-08:00Coping Mechanism<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">It's nice sometimes to remember that bingeing wasn't my ONLY coping mechanism. For instance, when I was upset enough that I couldn't hide it I would go and take a very long, very hot shower and bawl like a baby. No one could hear me, the heat hid the puffiness and red eyes, and the hot water was very soothing. It still is. I don't necessarily need to go hide in order to cry anymore, but when I'm having a sad day, sometimes a good hot shower is just the thing.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">One of my sisters sometimes gets frustrated with me because I never call to "talk it out" when I'm upset. It's hard to explain, but that's not how I'm used to handling things. Sometimes I don't want to talk about IT because it will just make me cry (and I still hate to cry in front of other people) and sometimes there is no IT to talk about. Sometimes No Thing is wrong, or maybe it's just that No Thing is right.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">There's a <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2013/05/depression-part-two.html">web comic</a> that describes depression quite brilliantly. I imagine almost everyone has seen it, it went around Facebook for a while (which might tell us something about why we're on Facebook to begin with). Here's a bit of it that might explain....</span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsoJJ3W0pbwFFp50EddykDQybXiOsIcR8-PgDbKxeqLZIXyf-MpgXBzQHFWS9pq-MbrV9WslsZ422Bjc9WIHdqzpzwd5jlDelFRx9kRyhvV0BjqBpnABxPjeihYmueRabRTlSaRpfVslDG/s1600/My+Yay+Face.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsoJJ3W0pbwFFp50EddykDQybXiOsIcR8-PgDbKxeqLZIXyf-MpgXBzQHFWS9pq-MbrV9WslsZ422Bjc9WIHdqzpzwd5jlDelFRx9kRyhvV0BjqBpnABxPjeihYmueRabRTlSaRpfVslDG/s320/My+Yay+Face.png" height="320" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2013/05/depression-part-two.html</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I can have a conversation with you and try to talk about Stuff or No Thing or, sweet jeebus - FEELY Things. But when No Thing is Wrong or No Thing is Right, I can't always tell if I'm doing IT right: talking, smiling, relating, laughing, gesturing. So I get more worried about whatever IT is than about the actual conversation and eventually I just fake being okay so that I can stop being uncomfortable.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Does that make any sense?</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-87809149080435838532014-01-07T09:31:00.002-08:002014-01-07T09:31:39.737-08:00Catching Up To Do<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
It's been too long since I posted last. I have definitely had a busy end of the year, trying new hobbies and dealing with becoming truly diabetic. All things considered, I'm doing pretty well. I have definitely had some ups and downs and a couple of really bad moments, but no binges as of yet - some close calls, the *desire* to binge maybe, and some overeating.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
I took up sewing early in the year and have made quite a few skirts for myself (which is new, as I never liked wearing skirts or dresses before). I also made a few costumes for DragonCon 2013 and actually wore them out on the floor (I usually chicken out). Later in the year I went to a painting class for a NEDA (Nat'l Eating Disorder Association) fundraiser and that turned out to be slightly life-altering. I really took to it and have been going back to the class quite a lot and even started painting at home on my own. I'm no great artist, but so far my work isn't too bad.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Here are a few pics of some of my recent sewing:</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin9ocApJxXWneEyyzLs8QFy3KjBqZtQj3IALr3TNOZ3dnD-078AUzgQh4kUNkvVEL-i-6ZWJQSFsDrKv5iHU6F002hobsY-0y8U72B10KWNRlRINE7Fc_IKArj2B6RX2JYoaQXKwROFkD3/s1600/IMG_20131031_164149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin9ocApJxXWneEyyzLs8QFy3KjBqZtQj3IALr3TNOZ3dnD-078AUzgQh4kUNkvVEL-i-6ZWJQSFsDrKv5iHU6F002hobsY-0y8U72B10KWNRlRINE7Fc_IKArj2B6RX2JYoaQXKwROFkD3/s1600/IMG_20131031_164149.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zOGMOaRVWTq01qmZzwhzWn59WuDBFS2RG-oiHxsL_I6Qx2aNaFzq4hY6LpquSSDDWyEx5AGduMarCZbILAn83eRfD2U2dQfExforR5ptZH29OJmBXRClx2Jokwq37QGNhJmAIvoRiEWx/s1600/Old+Navy+Dress+shortened.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zOGMOaRVWTq01qmZzwhzWn59WuDBFS2RG-oiHxsL_I6Qx2aNaFzq4hY6LpquSSDDWyEx5AGduMarCZbILAn83eRfD2U2dQfExforR5ptZH29OJmBXRClx2Jokwq37QGNhJmAIvoRiEWx/s1600/Old+Navy+Dress+shortened.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I didn't actually make the black & white one, I just shortened it. It had an extra layer at the bottom and I'm just too darn short for that! I wore this one to the wedding of some dear friends of ours.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">And here's my little art gallery:</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXF_CPTDfVDI8ZAVIeG_C8Hdh-_HiApEbULo12WnKpwX82LxG44L1H1XJ1PfUeBHDLw-Z_d_PD35ffgx-6X7ubHzwLJKFPrBW8Rz2yUAmehegwWSprMwRLhgwYscls2ZmKUvSZMud5LZ6A/s1600/CCW+Cherry+Blossoms+in+Blue+for+Mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXF_CPTDfVDI8ZAVIeG_C8Hdh-_HiApEbULo12WnKpwX82LxG44L1H1XJ1PfUeBHDLw-Z_d_PD35ffgx-6X7ubHzwLJKFPrBW8Rz2yUAmehegwWSprMwRLhgwYscls2ZmKUvSZMud5LZ6A/s1600/CCW+Cherry+Blossoms+in+Blue+for+Mom.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilKQZ5CBNiTOyNlIknCoZld0BFcUq7qfUINigdR-KlX2JQDkf5fEsZ0LH9RViDW2ZQgdt52f2dTw4uO77-raZTBN6qHC5FPuYPRgojXfLiy6h9VgYuDpf2a8ujSLi1I4_JEfazPGq5_l6V/s1600/CCW+Guitars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilKQZ5CBNiTOyNlIknCoZld0BFcUq7qfUINigdR-KlX2JQDkf5fEsZ0LH9RViDW2ZQgdt52f2dTw4uO77-raZTBN6qHC5FPuYPRgojXfLiy6h9VgYuDpf2a8ujSLi1I4_JEfazPGq5_l6V/s1600/CCW+Guitars.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXR1vPtOChjdUKT93sYTd_wOtyRY8kF9tR7Uo3OFCBBJzRvI_pMxY073rzTSasMP4me0INIf6bZi_uQRp56doGQrbRYPCr2XSj4DxpybmEbsi6J5WvC910UcJ9EJPd7rFVhN1_cZTCr5LF/s1600/CCW+Sun+and+Moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXR1vPtOChjdUKT93sYTd_wOtyRY8kF9tR7Uo3OFCBBJzRvI_pMxY073rzTSasMP4me0INIf6bZi_uQRp56doGQrbRYPCr2XSj4DxpybmEbsi6J5WvC910UcJ9EJPd7rFVhN1_cZTCr5LF/s1600/CCW+Sun+and+Moon.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAORA8Sknkm4X7lliWoTgSSnYEAIWvL12SyppFIjNfNWFEZ78RkJhRbQuSFuclyYX8NZxg4TJRidm0jFtW_RmZ5Boa-WEm321T_s9TaE_Q7Daf1jsfu4GNn4PvIasxHBWG-cPsVBgaK3XZ/s1600/CCW+Wicked+Sexy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAORA8Sknkm4X7lliWoTgSSnYEAIWvL12SyppFIjNfNWFEZ78RkJhRbQuSFuclyYX8NZxg4TJRidm0jFtW_RmZ5Boa-WEm321T_s9TaE_Q7Daf1jsfu4GNn4PvIasxHBWG-cPsVBgaK3XZ/s1600/CCW+Wicked+Sexy.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfhkauCCfORNPznZsxjPk5j4SGBxBKxvJ6SFgy0fUcZwRNSLyzsTvARj2LS6qsvFcEXeSrkF_uCmLe1-YU1QpMNKBvm2_lqJBhyAm4t50vLJQTE2isacXS_GYmYO0qgAvfzKuf_bIewEX/s1600/Fat+Talks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfhkauCCfORNPznZsxjPk5j4SGBxBKxvJ6SFgy0fUcZwRNSLyzsTvARj2LS6qsvFcEXeSrkF_uCmLe1-YU1QpMNKBvm2_lqJBhyAm4t50vLJQTE2isacXS_GYmYO0qgAvfzKuf_bIewEX/s1600/Fat+Talks.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0BiUDqft3a4WXyalFHfGsEXER25s_cnwi__7S1bxvLFPuMK26Mm5iuMfRI0Z44fa00bRB_xRvZOLbRbPrh_W6pZZ2Mor8Jh0kCWfCw7OA5VSkRTVSBtxusCDgHKmLgkI8JaDANZPftO5A/s1600/Hippie+Flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0BiUDqft3a4WXyalFHfGsEXER25s_cnwi__7S1bxvLFPuMK26Mm5iuMfRI0Z44fa00bRB_xRvZOLbRbPrh_W6pZZ2Mor8Jh0kCWfCw7OA5VSkRTVSBtxusCDgHKmLgkI8JaDANZPftO5A/s1600/Hippie+Flowers.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCotpK1puTffSVak7pkcDf7b7Q99Ja3i7LlDKZaaCnZtrkcg_ysBEPZGSIbmzOT11ROQKH6sSvF77cXQHQIzHOz9f3-QJVFMQRBwhUxlsDMJEziBE54rN32ehWXHrkI3wy3c2CmMf3ePR/s1600/Oceanscape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCotpK1puTffSVak7pkcDf7b7Q99Ja3i7LlDKZaaCnZtrkcg_ysBEPZGSIbmzOT11ROQKH6sSvF77cXQHQIzHOz9f3-QJVFMQRBwhUxlsDMJEziBE54rN32ehWXHrkI3wy3c2CmMf3ePR/s1600/Oceanscape.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDCxKAlCjUXv_w-HuRQiNtDk1w3ezDDLAx_m0WQ53UeaH5i-YFDZZ8GsmO-FTJnRd6DF1hVBEP5wKAGwK5UyZjCd02J4rc5APLLyxOnnuMdb58GHzgOUIjj1Yb180cklA6YQ08xsY52Ky/s1600/Square+Kitty+is+Square.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDCxKAlCjUXv_w-HuRQiNtDk1w3ezDDLAx_m0WQ53UeaH5i-YFDZZ8GsmO-FTJnRd6DF1hVBEP5wKAGwK5UyZjCd02J4rc5APLLyxOnnuMdb58GHzgOUIjj1Yb180cklA6YQ08xsY52Ky/s1600/Square+Kitty+is+Square.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I'm also working on a diary project right now, which I will start posting here in a few days. I'm trying to deal with diabetes with "lifestyle changes" and right now that essentially equates to a "diet" for me. I know I shouldn't think of it as such, but it sure feels like a diet. So I'm journaling the experience as a way to survive it and possibly as a way to show people what dieting is really like when you have an eating disorder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-66355279709956312432013-06-15T15:12:00.000-07:002013-06-15T15:12:53.190-07:00Why This Fatty Quit Going to Your Gym: An Open Letter to Fitness Professionals<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
An Open Letter to Fitness Professionals
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[Please note that this is my personal experience, and I can’t really presume to speak for all overweight people. I’m not an athlete, not even a “fat athlete,” though I understand that some people are. I currently participate in Health at Every Size and Intuitive Eating, but right now, today, I am Not Healthy. I am choosing to address that, but first...]
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A few years back I used to go to the gym at my University, and I really liked it. Despite my weight, nearly 300 pounds, people left me alone and let me do my own thing. Within about a year there, I had lost over 50 pounds and had gone from barely being able to do 30 minutes on the treadmill to doing 30 minutes on three different machines plus a mile walk for warmup and cool down. But then I graduated and had to find a new gym.
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I wasn’t worried about that. I had gotten used to the workouts and was ready for a change, a challenge. No one messed with me or picked on me, and I didn’t anticipate that a new place would be that much different. After all, we were all there to get healthy and were far too busy doing what we needed to do to worry about someone else’s workout.
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What I hadn’t counted on were the trainers. Yes, my university had trainers too, but they were students in the fitness courses and I guess there just wasn’t a ton of money to worry about with amateur trainers, or maybe they were doing it for class credit. Either way, I just didn’t see much of them, and they never bothered me.
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But out in the real world, things were different. Out in the real world, I met You.
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I was ready to increase my workout. I was still doing my own workout three days a week and then I joined Zumba for a fourth, just for fun. I thought that starting to learn weight training would be a good idea. Even better, I got three free sessions with a trainer for signing up and to learn the equipment. Good enough, that sounded like a great idea.
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It could have been the best thing that ever happened to my workouts, enriched my gym experience, and set me on a new path for achieving health. Except for You.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsK0jgYmjUARAKWrIgpHwZNndFYK59dNJr959UTlZWeWN37Umypl9buJJiJW_FKD4OOZoGqA7a7BFhYfVrsk4vWN-RzN_M5zJ_GEqffX8GRHnb4KXcO_OGZTo5HJdyu3R5pA90srEVzRpZ/s1600/no_fat_chicks_treadmill_graphic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsK0jgYmjUARAKWrIgpHwZNndFYK59dNJr959UTlZWeWN37Umypl9buJJiJW_FKD4OOZoGqA7a7BFhYfVrsk4vWN-RzN_M5zJ_GEqffX8GRHnb4KXcO_OGZTo5HJdyu3R5pA90srEVzRpZ/s400/no_fat_chicks_treadmill_graphic.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You don't get it both ways, you know.</td></tr>
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You took one look at me and apparently You knew my whole story. Surely I was a lazy and stupid fatty, joining the gym in January like all of the other fatties (I graduated in December), and had never ever set foot in a gym before. In fact, You knew me so well that You didn’t even need to bother to hear me when I tried to tell You about what I already did, what I was already capable of. What You did do was hand me a print-out of Your special, guaranteed to burn the fat right off workout plan. It didn’t matter that I had existing health problems - that’s why I was trying to get fit and lose weight in the first place - and that despite losing 50 pounds that I still have chronic bronchitis and have trouble breathing well during a workout.
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You didn’t care about what I needed from a workout or from a trainer. What You cared about was shoving Your special, soon-to-be-famous program down my throat, whether it was good or safe for me. At any time when I tried to mention my own capabilities and limits, You let me know in no uncertain terms that what I had being doing was completely useless. If I wasn’t working out Your way, at Your suggested intensity, then I was wasting my time (and perhaps, by extension, Your time).
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And I tried it. You were the expert, after all. So what if the past year of “wasting my time” had netted me a 50 pound loss? So what if it had worked and had kept me coming back? You had the training, the education, and the experience.
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But I was miserable. I hated every workout, and every time You would pass by in the gym I would shrink, worried that I wasn’t doing it right. An entire year of healthy living and 50 pounds gone and suddenly it just wasn’t good enough anymore. *I* wasn’t good enough anymore. Within a couple of weeks I started skipping gym days because I hated it. I felt uncomfortable and self-conscious and worried the entire time during my workouts. Not long after that I just quit going altogether. Exercise was no longer fun, it was just hard and humiliating.
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You convinced me that I wasn’t good enough. In truth, that part is my fault, because I let You do it. You reminded me that no matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much weight I lost, that I was still just a lazy, stupid fatty to people like You. I was still an object to be ridiculed and hated. And why should I bother to take care of something worthless?
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A person will only stick with something they hate for so long, even if they are doing it for a good reason.
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So after all this time, after I gave up on myself and haven’t been back to Your gym, to any gym, for years now, here’s the question I have for You and all the other Trainers and Fitness Experts and Gym Rats and Life Coaches... what’s actually better: The exercise that’s done perfectly or the exercise that I will actually do?
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Dear Fitness Professionals, please please just listen and pay attention to me, the “disgusting” fatty (don’t think that I don’t know what you think of me). I can tell you what I am capable of today - it might be even more than You expect. I have a history. I got this way for a reason. It could be that I really *am* lazy and uninformed and spend all day stuffing my face with cake and cheese puffs. But it’s actually more complicated than that. Maybe I’m sick, maybe I got hurt, maybe I’m just broken. Or maybe, it’s just the way my body was made, maybe I’ve been fat since the day I was born, and trying to diet has just made me fatter and fatter.
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I am unhealthy today, but I didn’t really plan it that way; I didn’t mean it. But at least now I’m here, in front of You at YOUR gym. Find out why. Find out what went wrong and what I need to fix it. And keep in mind that not every body needs the same thing fixed, nor do they need it fixed in the same way. Maybe I don’t need fixed at all, and I just came to you for advice or for a new challenge. But, for the love of crunches and cheese puffs, don’t assume that You know all about me by looking at the outside - find out what I NEED, and help me get that.
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Image from http://www.stumptuous.com/no-fat-chicks</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-89442775376548455422013-06-13T15:15:00.002-07:002013-06-13T15:15:59.336-07:00Brain Freeze<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I had a strange moment yesterday.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Not to provide TMI (though really, what else do I do here?), but I noticed that many of my panties are just getting too large on me - the ones I've bought most recently and in a larger size. A couple of pair of pants are too large as well, but that's what belts are for. And I found myself wondering if I should take them in a bit (they are in quite good shape) or just put them away for "when I get big again."</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">For just a second, my brain froze as something astounding occurred to me...</span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkC4cBgvZzaLYZVlq8hEZ9VFr3_F2FLAdu0upOOFOQxAJbUboUeZS6ZIeV_wa8IDB9vB-bZxIyefkXLKea5wCKlRmtHtyDS4UYZKJlDGApwLCSjavNl_cHSRZCzbzHXAocDsUFtMI1p8s1/s1600/NotOnADiet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkC4cBgvZzaLYZVlq8hEZ9VFr3_F2FLAdu0upOOFOQxAJbUboUeZS6ZIeV_wa8IDB9vB-bZxIyefkXLKea5wCKlRmtHtyDS4UYZKJlDGApwLCSjavNl_cHSRZCzbzHXAocDsUFtMI1p8s1/s400/NotOnADiet.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I am not on a diet.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 10px;">Image via fitblogger.ca</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-68620350468280076272013-04-14T20:57:00.003-07:002013-04-14T20:57:50.458-07:00Pieces of Me<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">So I found this thing, this letter I wrote to myself in my journal just about a year ago, March 2012. Early in that month I had an episode of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bell%27s_palsy">Bell's Palsy</a> and was still dealing with a droopy face, pain, and all kinds of trouble with simple stupid things like eating and talking.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">This one is kind of special. It isn't really about being fat. It's actually about just being. Maybe even about just being enough.</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WETMeZWkZ3pVYRCr4kwcWtzx3atPt_TDwKbk6CaWuEnRHMsQLcTiBMlrm7PwyQPmpKOET9CSZgblOGURkMCIsDO7tiiGy493aeo-lKIGOCm7wlw-3HYnSuzmPYVzGUjqD0jIpL4lx2PE/s1600/statue+is+free.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WETMeZWkZ3pVYRCr4kwcWtzx3atPt_TDwKbk6CaWuEnRHMsQLcTiBMlrm7PwyQPmpKOET9CSZgblOGURkMCIsDO7tiiGy493aeo-lKIGOCm7wlw-3HYnSuzmPYVzGUjqD0jIpL4lx2PE/s400/statue+is+free.jpg" width="400" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Here goes...</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
Can you imagine the things I've been saying to myself? Freak, gimp, ugly, monstrous? The self-hate and self-pity are pretty much back full force. I have let the pity party go on for a couple of days now, but I think I'm getting tired of it.
</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
But those thoughts stick with me. I went to bed and had a good long cry. I just let myself feel my feelings(!). Pity, yes, but also anger, and fear, and sadness, and shame. I have depleted myself; I am sick, as sick as I've ever been, broken and stressed out and just finished. I make myself smaller to make other people feel bigger. I have spent my whole life chipping off pieces of myself to shape into something acceptable to someone else. I don't think that there are many more pieces left. I'm a shell. I am afraid that I am too sick to ever get well again.
</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
I am sad for the little girl inside who is so lost and alone among these little statues of me that I keep creating. I'm ashamed that I found her too unworthy to just let her be.
</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
So I'm angry. I'm angry at me for doing this to myself, angry at everyone else for letting me do it. I'm angry that people need me to be something for them. I'm angry that they need me to be "less than." I'm angry that different people need me to be different things; I'm angry that the same people sometimes need me to be conflicting things. I can't be pretty, and perfect, and normal and also broken enough to not be scary.
</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
Because I would be scary. I AM scary, if I were to let these people see all of me at once. A lot of it is luck or hard work, but I'm actually kind of awesome. I'm smart, I'm talented, I'm nice, I have a great life, a great partner, a great job. I have enough. I have the things I need to get by and I have a few really great people who I have chosen to be in my life. I'm stronger than I let on and I'm better at a lot of things than I seem to be. But I compartmentalize those things because I want everyone to feel bigger than me. All of me at once is too much.
</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
Yes, I am big. I am huge. I am more than meets the eye. I have hated this body for so long, not realizing how it has served me, protected me, and even housed all those beautiful little statues that I trade in and out as needed: Perfect Daughter, Perfect Sister, Perfect Wife, Perfect Diet Girl. I am just as big as I've needed to be to hold all those pieces of all that amazing stuff that is me. I have earned every fat cell, every wrinkle, every grey hair, every scab, every scar, every damage, every bit of broken heart. I have done all of this to myself in order to survive. I am a museum of wonderful and horrible things.
</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
I can no longer be everything to everyone, but I am everything I need to be and that's going to have to be enough for all of them. Because I'm done tearing myself down and building smaller, more acceptable versions of myself. Any future building to be done will be done in order to support me, sustain me, and heal me.
</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-33617179841759511822013-04-14T20:06:00.000-07:002013-04-14T20:06:01.954-07:00Now on Adios Barbie!<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
Happy news! Earlier this year I took a chance and applied for an internship at an online magazine called <a href="http://www.adiosbarbie.com/">Adios Barbie</a>, one that I had been following on Facebook for a while. They have been one of my favorite sources for body-positive information and uplifting articles. Well, I did get the internship and I am writing at least one article a month for them now.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">My first article went up on the site this week and I am so proud that I could pop! Now, those of you who have been reading this blog all along (thank you, thank you!!) will have already seen most of the content of this article. I drew large portions of it from my very first blog post, by way of a kind of introduction of myself and Binge Eating Disorder to the Adios Barbie readers.</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97jFGc6CVXLgGuTEZB2Asu8dMmM44w1dyZO-FoWWEAng7XtTW0qdo4TU2Eq1JYxD7-ras7ZTCGctpfngX1bgJqdF9gNJu-AjSrbUfefn_zjhY-riLIkggLxndGG-8tMCZtOqqKShrf8uO/s1600/fork+you.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97jFGc6CVXLgGuTEZB2Asu8dMmM44w1dyZO-FoWWEAng7XtTW0qdo4TU2Eq1JYxD7-ras7ZTCGctpfngX1bgJqdF9gNJu-AjSrbUfefn_zjhY-riLIkggLxndGG-8tMCZtOqqKShrf8uO/s400/fork+you.jpg" width="400" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">So, here's a link to the <a href="http://www.adiosbarbie.com/2013/04/big-enough-to-absorb-the-pain/">Adios Barbie version</a>. Let me know what you think!</span>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-11381990745500524052013-04-01T15:06:00.001-07:002013-04-01T15:06:12.309-07:00Becoming Real<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
Found this today, via <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BeautyIsInside.page" target="_blank">Beauty is Inside's</a> Facebook page... I am sooooo close to Real. Beautiful at last!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjhNFoqofQlxWCM_FFadBzCu9M4fLB9vIyZBcPzkLFzRQnzgykTUMQwz74l82Auc02vpDMlbFZPPeOBDQNak41PvrZCgamm-7le0oigbnQov_3SSG6p41SZvLWTQdFYgbkAKLP9kAGCbv_/s1600/Velveteen+Rabit.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjhNFoqofQlxWCM_FFadBzCu9M4fLB9vIyZBcPzkLFzRQnzgykTUMQwz74l82Auc02vpDMlbFZPPeOBDQNak41PvrZCgamm-7le0oigbnQov_3SSG6p41SZvLWTQdFYgbkAKLP9kAGCbv_/s640/Velveteen+Rabit.jpg" width="640" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-24908137237150292013-02-20T14:33:00.001-08:002013-02-20T14:33:56.778-08:00Sticks and Stones<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">There's a site I like a lot, I get updates from them on Facebook, called <a href="http://www.upworthy.com/">Upworthy</a>. They've gotten quite popular on FB and Twitter, so maybe you already know about them. Anyway, this video has been going around for a couple of days. I finally watched it today and... it is very powerful. And painful. And wonderful.</span>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">It's a spoken word poem performed by the author and illustrated by many. <a href="http://www.upworthy.com/bullies-called-him-pork-chop-he-took-that-pain-with-him-and-then-cooked-it-into">Please watch</a></span>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Also, here's more information on the <a href="http://www.shanekoyczan.com/2013/02/19/to-this-day-video/">poet and poem </a>via his website and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shane-Koyczan/255800007835806">Facebook page</a>.</span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-61555514724878639972013-02-06T13:12:00.002-08:002013-02-06T13:12:24.826-08:00Sometimes a Dress is Just a Dress<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I think I binged last week...</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">You know how I always write: "Recovery is cyclical, not linear." Well, yeah, thanks for the reminder!</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">It wasn't quite as bad as "the good old days," but it definitely had the character, the hallmarks of a binge. Afterward I felt full and sick and full of regret, but I never got to pain or numbness and even the overfull feeling passed quickly, within an hour, instead of keeping me awake all night. Partially I can blame it on getting wrapped up in something that was playing on TV in the restaurant - they were showing the NAACP Image Awards, no volume, but the captioning was on and I just get caught up in reading whenever you stick text in front of my face. But the lack of attention, the lack of being in the moment was not all of it.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I've been dealing a bit with self-image again. It seems that it's one thing to deal with my body unchallenged, when I am surrounded by my wonderful and supportive network and filling my days with positive thoughts and people and images. It's another thing altogether when the dress I've been drooling over for months finally arrives and is SO not the size I thought it would be. (Apparently a 3x is not a 3x is not a 3x. Who knew?) I thought at worst it would be a size too small and I could work it out, get it altered somehow. However, the difference between a 3x = 28 and 3x = 18 is, shall we say, insurmountable. (And hey look, it's also an algebra problem!)</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Bummer.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Now, rationally, I know that it was just a mistake, I should have paid more attention to the sizing chart. But of course, that's not what the voice in my head understood. It cranked up the old voice track, crackling and popping with disuse, but still there all the same: <i>Stupid to hope. That's what you get for thinking you'll be pretty, for wanting something cute. Stupid...ugly...FATASS.</i></span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">So, I reacted on instinct for a few days, depression, a binge, tearing myself to pieces. Going back to the old coping mechanism is still so damned easy. And here I was, thinking it was all over, that I had been "fixed." Sort of.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">However...</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Now I know. Now I'm stronger. Now I know that even if I fall into this damned hole again, I have the tools to get out of it. A week ago I could SAY that I had the tools, now I'm sure that I do. I let that fucking dress hang in my closet for exactly two days. Then I said goodbye to it (and to that voice), packed it, taped it, and it's ready to go back for my refund. I leaned on my beloved and treated myself kindly, reminded myself that I am okay, I'm splendid, thank you very much, cute dress or no cute dress.</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-85931676302577889012013-01-21T13:48:00.002-08:002013-01-21T13:48:49.563-08:00May Old Acquaintance Be Forgot<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Maybe it’s the “auld lang syne” of January talking, but I have been reminiscing quite a lot in therapy lately. It seems that I’m a million miles away from the woman who first walked into that room, my safe place. I've been happy, I don’t call myself mean names anymore, and I’m making more and more choices for health all the time. Am I perfect now? Oh, gods no! I’m still having some issues around my father’s death and this week I have been kind of overeating at dinner due to... stuff.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">But that’s okay, it’s a process.</span>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">So all of this looking back has made me extremely grateful that I started journaling and then blogging. It’s reassuring to go back to those old entries and remember what I was thinking and feeling, reminding me that I don’t ever have to feel that way again. I know I've said it before, but here is the real beauty of keeping a journal: there it is in black and white, written on solid paper, every horrible thing you think of yourself, there where you can look at it outside of yourself for the first time and notice.... it’s a bunch of bullshit. This stuff that I wrote, it sounded so much more reasonable and sane inside my head - “useless” “ugly” “lazy.” In the harsh light of the outside world we can see these thoughts for what they are.</span>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">For example, here’s a journal entry from June 2011. By this time the positive affirmations were beginning to do their thing and I was moving on from hate to our other lying bastard of a friend, guilt. Because, back then, it wasn't just that I thought I was “useless-ugly-lazy” but that I was also undeserving of success, or luck, or love. Basically, sometimes I would binge because something GOOD had happened. I felt guilty. I didn't deserve it.</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5035ZNX5Ss-Rf0zNlop6KQuGkJN-sTMGsmvne-zY2DwDo3JWhgyq20omfDIFo49_ce0Znaj91FnP5-3R8HuO58w3KVMmyYnYhlWmZr6NN1h4dF83PSG2SI9_mAW1zr6M_Y-MR18ZALpVv/s1600/really-sad-face-smiley-emoticon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5035ZNX5Ss-Rf0zNlop6KQuGkJN-sTMGsmvne-zY2DwDo3JWhgyq20omfDIFo49_ce0Znaj91FnP5-3R8HuO58w3KVMmyYnYhlWmZr6NN1h4dF83PSG2SI9_mAW1zr6M_Y-MR18ZALpVv/s200/really-sad-face-smiley-emoticon.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><b>Journal Entry #27:</b></span>
</span><br />
<span style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">We [that is, me and the nutritionist] also talked a bit about eating to avoid happiness. What about the possibility that being happy makes me feel guilty, so I start out celebrating but then end up punishing myself instead? I know that I do often find myself avoiding talking about happy stuff or success to others because I don’t want them to feel bad (or jealous? or hate me?).</span>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #d9d2e9; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><b>Positive Affirmations:</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #d9d2e9;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #d9d2e9; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><b>I don’t deserve to feel guilty about my successes.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #d9d2e9; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I am not responsible for other someone else’s feelings.</span>
</b></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-86091863327156103272013-01-07T12:29:00.003-08:002013-01-07T12:33:46.660-08:00Play That Funky Music<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Today's Get Up Offa That Thang playlist:</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
</span>
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<ul><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
<li>Play That Funky Music - Wild Cherry, 1976</li>
<li>She's a Bad Mama Jama - Carl Carlton, 1981</li>
<li>Le Freak - Chic, 1978</li>
<li>September - Earth, Wind & Fire, 1978 </li>
<li>Kung Fu Fighting - Carl Douglas, 1972</li>
<li>Super Freak - Rick James, 1981</li>
<li>It's Your Thing - Isley Brothers, 1969</li>
</span></ul>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
</span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyFR-pdk6kBH8ULe4HRcrWkcZslzV55KeeocNWlP7_cQymXcHVuuG3tJuVpayyp_qQ6wmv9tTcHKmmCmyWdly4aUasIi8sqY78ZdYgrZB4hxlhfhedHdSflvU3uNl_G4jmC-UZSeZufNg/s1600/free-disco-divas-vector-graphic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyFR-pdk6kBH8ULe4HRcrWkcZslzV55KeeocNWlP7_cQymXcHVuuG3tJuVpayyp_qQ6wmv9tTcHKmmCmyWdly4aUasIi8sqY78ZdYgrZB4hxlhfhedHdSflvU3uNl_G4jmC-UZSeZufNg/s400/free-disco-divas-vector-graphic.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As K.C. once said: "Get down, get down, get down, get down toNIGHT baybee!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">That's right, I get up and dance like a dork, and all the cats ran to hide!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-45448033013573822372013-01-01T13:38:00.001-08:002013-01-01T13:38:27.169-08:00Things That Make Me Inordinately Happy In Comparison to the Effort Expended, In No Particular Order<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">First, happy 2013! For me, 2012 was a big year for learning and growing. I don't make resolutions, exactly, but I want to bring more focus on joy and fulfillment for this brand new year.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Therefore, in no particular order, here is a list of things that make me ridiculously happy.</span>
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<ul><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
<li>Tiny turtles poking their heads out of a lake.</li>
</span></ul>
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<ul><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
<li>The first sip of the first cup of coffee every morning.</li>
<li>Especially if that sip can be done sitting on a porch on a cool morning with a nice view of nature.</li>
<li>Getting my hair washed and a scalp massage at the salon.</li>
<li>When my little cat, D, curls up inside the crook of my arm at night.</li>
<li>Also, when she plays with a toy and yowls at it like she's having the best orgasm ever.</li>
<li>When my bigger cat, S, head butts me to get some attention.</li>
<li>When my still bigger cat, B, sleeps hanging out from under the curtain, sprawled on his back and limbs go everywhere.</li>
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<ul><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
<li>When my biggest cat, M, curls up next to my hubby on the couch covers his eyes with his paw.</li>
<li>The first 10 minutes after a shower, when I'm perfectly clean and my skin doesn't itch.</li>
<li>The last chapter of a really, really good book. </li>
<li>Reading in a truly oversized armchair.</li>
</span></ul>
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<ul><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
<li>Crawling back into bed for a snuggle with my beloved.</li>
<li>Taking off the bra at the end of the day.</li>
<li>Looking at photographs from good times gone by.</li>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Certain there's more, but you get the idea. For a change I want to look for good things instead of only looking for the bad things, because if that's all you look for, that's all you will ever see.</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-11324471357419320562012-12-19T12:47:00.000-08:002012-12-19T12:47:10.794-08:00The Opposite of Binge Eating<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
I have to admit that I never considered that there might be other eating disorders for fat folks than binge eating. <a href="http://www.xojane.com/healthy/its-time-to-admit-it-im-totally-back-in-the-eating-disorder-game-but-not-the-one-you-think" target="_blank">This article</a> about fat anorexics opened my eyes and I would like to share it with you. Please note that I haven't looked through this site much, other than the article I ran across today, so I can't recommend the entire site yet. (It does look a bit spammy to me.) Enjoy!</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-79691261732449413672012-12-03T08:29:00.000-08:002012-12-03T08:29:56.754-08:00Joy Division<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">The thing about all of this introspection is that you can find odd new things about yourself all of the time that you might not even believe if someone else told you. I have spent all of this time reminding myself that I’m worthy of love and happiness and every darn thing that every other person is worthy of. And most of the time, I seem to believe it, but still…</span>
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Driving home from work a few days ago I was feeling strangely fine, listening to my iPod and singing, really quite happy. Traffic was light (for a change). I was bopping around in my seat and smiling. Then, up ahead, I noticed three teenage boys on the sidewalk, and that I would be passing them in seconds. Somehow my entire demeanor suddenly changed, before I could even think about it. My smile disappeared, replaced with a serious, worried expression. Something in my chest contracted a little. I whizzed past them without incident, of course – after all, what could they do or say to me in my car for Pete’s sake?</span>
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I was disturbed by my reaction. Yes, teenage boys have been the bane of my existence since I was a child, but I’m a middle-aged lady these days and besides, I’m SAFE now. What the hell?</span>
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Of course, me being me, I had to analyze it for a while. It seemed to me that *I* still believe that I am allowed to be happy. It wasn’t guilt. It felt more like fear…. I wanted to hide my joy. I didn’t want to be – what? Sneered at, belittled, attacked? For smiling? For joy?</span>
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I don’t like that feeling.</span>
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I saw an image this morning that reminded me of this idea again. As soon as I saw it, I felt almost offended, and definitely fearful. Here’s the image.</span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHosLcTjz8naWC1hct8hZF69JGLKFM3dUzuD3IIRZtlEMWSbU1t38O08xuUqu6kyrlI6Sebhbc7apiIY67BATZRULv-Hv6F0oc9krQO2C18gDUXeIJuwZquUhWa7F_N8lhYHpbrrEKF2HH/s1600/Eat+Your+Cake+Too.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHosLcTjz8naWC1hct8hZF69JGLKFM3dUzuD3IIRZtlEMWSbU1t38O08xuUqu6kyrlI6Sebhbc7apiIY67BATZRULv-Hv6F0oc9krQO2C18gDUXeIJuwZquUhWa7F_N8lhYHpbrrEKF2HH/s400/Eat+Your+Cake+Too.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I couldn’t help but think that this beautiful woman was doing a terrible thing. Not the eating, not the enjoyment, but that she was doing it so *publicly*. How could she put herself out there for other people to see, to be so vulnerable, so open to ridicule and attack?</span>
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And it was more than just having her picture taken and posted publicly, it was her expression of joy, of the joy of cake and her body and her life all at the same time. I visit a couple of body acceptance sites that post pictures of beautiful, brave fat people all of the time, so it wasn’t her body. It was the joy and the eating. How could she bear to do that?</span>
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How can I bear to do that?</span>
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Closing notes: The image above was found via Ragen Chastain from the Facebook site,<a href="https://www.facebook.com/onemillionvjj"> 1 Million Vaginas</a>. Other fat-positive sites I like - most images are Not Safe for Work!! - are <a href="http://www.adipositivity.com/">Adipositivity</a> and <a href="http://uppityfatty.tumblr.com/">Uppity Fatty</a>. Enjoy!</span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-30609367853151219692012-11-26T12:39:00.001-08:002012-11-26T12:39:24.388-08:00In the Middle<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Okay, in lieu of posting anything useful, here's a video of a song I heard on my way home today... This is a good one for when I'm feeling down or just down on myself. Enjoy!</span>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/oKsxPW6i3pM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3279664488966019916.post-77922760752953107642012-10-29T10:42:00.000-07:002012-10-29T10:42:36.735-07:00AFTER Effects<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
Today let’s go back to food journaling for a bit. After a few months of doing the meal evaluations and check-ins, my nutritionist gave me a worksheet to fill out about my eating preferences. I’ll add an image of it at the end. It’s called the AFTER worksheet: Aroma, Flavor, Texture, Experience, and Response.</span>
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Basically you fill in everything that you can think of about things that you love and things that you hate. It’s in five different categories about food and about the things you sense when you are eating. So it isn’t just “I love chocolate and I hate broccoli.” It’s also about aromas that make you hungry or turn you off and textures that you enjoy or that make you want to spit something out. It’s about whether you like to go to busy restaurants with crowded tables and loud conversations or intimate places with low lighting or bright places and only a few other quiet, considerate patrons. It’s about WHAT you love about chocolate and hate about broccoli. It’s about creamy, crunchy, bitter, sour, savory, salty, soupy or sweet. It’s about “warm soup belly” or feeling bloated or dehydrated. It’s about the burn of capsaicin and the cool of sour cream.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
What this exercise does is get you to focus on the things about a meal that will make you feel more satisfied or satiated. If you can incorporate several of the “loves” into a meal, you can make choices based on satisfaction rather than fat and calorie counts. For example, I like to eat crispy/crunchy things and savory/salty things, so potato chips are pretty high on my list of trigger foods. But I have found that very crisp cucumbers or carrots with savory Italian vinaigrette also hit that crispy-savory spot that I need. Okay, sometimes I just want some freaking Doritos, but I know that afterward I feel dehydrated and a little sick to my stomach, so sometimes I can happily choose the cucumbers and be okay.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
But even more, it gives you a way to make every meal happier for yourself, even if it isn’t a choice between the healthy thing and the less healthy thing. If I’m going to have a salad, I’m happier if there are crunchy things in it than if it’s just lettuce and tomato. I want my soups to be thick and hearty, maybe more like stew than soup, and I like lots of “stuff” in it, rather than just limp noodles and tiny cubes of chicken. If I’m going to make a steak, I prefer to marinate it in something salty/savory for a bit. These are things that I can do to end a meal feeling not only full but actually satisfied, and therefore I’ll be less likely to want to keep going or try something else or soothe myself with sweets after the meal.</span>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Here's the sample worksheet with my preferences entered, so you can see what it's like.</span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18006069625998110006noreply@blogger.com0