I suppose that with less than a week left in 2013 and the same amount remaining my my thirtieth year, it's time to reflect and update on what this year and this blog has been. At times, it's been my soapbox, my kleenex, my opportunity to brag, my reason to brag, my biggest fear and my best frenemy. I've shared ideas, thoughts, feelings and reflections with you. My frustrations, my embarrassments, my triumphs, pains and my hope that I was somehow, not alone in them.
I spent a lot of the year confused and lost about what was all of this for and how in the world did I walk the line between hope and realism? Why doesn't my life look like I thought it should? Where did I go wrong? How would I deal or adapt to accepting new dreams, should mine become obsolete or unreasonable? Yes it was comical, because while sometimes I felt in adequate, I never felt incapable, and I never could quite become self-loathing (I love me too much!). I have many entries started that went un-published because the thought lost steam, or became so long and rambling, I exhausted myself (the music entry that never was).
This year was definitely one of self discovery and development. About taking new approaches and accepting myself and knowing myself better than I ever did before. About deciding what I wanted, being upfront about it, and how I could get it. There's a lot of work to be done, still. But in the short time since my last entry, a lot has changed. As some of you know, I've recently met somebody. Somebody who has turned my life upside down in the most wonderful way. He is the first man I've dated with whom there is no ambiguity, no games, just the most organic and open communication and progression I can imagine. It was something I never thought could happen because all my other experiences have been that of non-committal purgatory, and me wondering if there was anyone out there who I was a.) attracted to, and b.) actually wanted the same things I did, and c.) was able to communicate openly.
I was thinking last night, and I remembered the words of a gentleman I went on a few dates with a couple months ago; had we met under different circumstances, we might have been good friends, but we were not relationship compatible. He told me never to settle. I think he knew that I was growing weary of "the game". At the time, I figured it was just something we were telling each other because we wanted to respect and encourage each other. We genuinely did like each other and have fun together. I brushed it off, because what truly constitutes as "settling"? Love is compromise, right? Now that I've had the chance to compare my experiences in the past with my current one, it all somehow makes sense. For the first time, I'm not agonizing over what someone else is thinking, am I only going to end up finding out that he doesn't want a commitment/marriage/children/etc.? Can he also make me laugh in addition to being intelligent?
No one knows what 2014 will hold, but I am ending 2013 feeling very happy and loved. If nothing else, my 30th year has taught me to get back up and keep trying. I can do more than I thought I could, I can say, "No" as much as I want, I am so lucky to have such wonderful family and friends, which is a lot more than what most have. My problems are all those "first world problems" that in the greater scheme of things are so laughable.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Upgrading your Communication
My iPhone was on it's last legs. I've been due for an upgrade since spring, but I've been putting it off in anticipation of the newest iPhone model, and hey, even with a new contract, $200 is a lot of money. The universe keeps telling me to get a new phone though, from the achingly slow response time when I tapped the screen for an app, to the cracked back, to now, a cracked screen. So, at first I grudgingly make plans to visit the AT&T store after work, which then turned to excitement. This new phone would have talk-to-text, Siri, a way better camera, a speedier microchip, and double the gigabites as my iphone 4. I happily backed up my phone to itunes in preparation for my new, shiny toy.
As luck would have it, the closest shop to me had a note on the door that someone would be back in 10 minutes. Remembering my initial hesitation to bite the bullet in the first place, I just chuckled to myself and went to wait in the car. And I took that time to really examine what was on my phone. Did I have some weird videos/pictures/voice notes that I didn't want the sales associate to see? Nope.
So then, I start to scroll through my contacts list. I start deleting contacts left and right. It's very cathartic, like cleaning out your facebook friends list, which is also something I need to do. That one time you needed a person's number during a work trip, gone. That random guy who gave you his number, even though you have no intention of calling, gone. Exes, gone. That one guy who was a really bad kisser you hope you never hear from again, gone. The number you've had since high school or college and haven't seen the person in decade or more? Gone. And who the hell is Tony? I don't know any Tonys! Gone.
What is interesting is who I didn't get rid of. I can't say why I didn't get rid of certain people. People I haven't talked to in years, and/or people who I have no intention of talking to or seeing again. Maybe I didn't because I believe in second chances. Or maybe I feel bad for not keeping in touch or the way things ended. Maybe if they ever contacted me again, I didn't want to have to ask, "who is this?"
It's a funny thing, who stays in your phone and who doesn't. Kind of like who stays and goes in your life or your heart. There are many different reasons why a contact may or may not have made the cut. You make the choice to move on and leave something in the past, but sometimes the past can come back to haunt you. I had my new phone for just a week when I got a text from one of those numbers I didn't delete. I still don't know why that number wasn't deleted, because reason says it should have been, months ago probably. But something was different. My response. My expectations. I had finally learned something. And as the saying goes, you're either a blessing or a lesson.
.
As luck would have it, the closest shop to me had a note on the door that someone would be back in 10 minutes. Remembering my initial hesitation to bite the bullet in the first place, I just chuckled to myself and went to wait in the car. And I took that time to really examine what was on my phone. Did I have some weird videos/pictures/voice notes that I didn't want the sales associate to see? Nope.
So then, I start to scroll through my contacts list. I start deleting contacts left and right. It's very cathartic, like cleaning out your facebook friends list, which is also something I need to do. That one time you needed a person's number during a work trip, gone. That random guy who gave you his number, even though you have no intention of calling, gone. Exes, gone. That one guy who was a really bad kisser you hope you never hear from again, gone. The number you've had since high school or college and haven't seen the person in decade or more? Gone. And who the hell is Tony? I don't know any Tonys! Gone.
What is interesting is who I didn't get rid of. I can't say why I didn't get rid of certain people. People I haven't talked to in years, and/or people who I have no intention of talking to or seeing again. Maybe I didn't because I believe in second chances. Or maybe I feel bad for not keeping in touch or the way things ended. Maybe if they ever contacted me again, I didn't want to have to ask, "who is this?"
It's a funny thing, who stays in your phone and who doesn't. Kind of like who stays and goes in your life or your heart. There are many different reasons why a contact may or may not have made the cut. You make the choice to move on and leave something in the past, but sometimes the past can come back to haunt you. I had my new phone for just a week when I got a text from one of those numbers I didn't delete. I still don't know why that number wasn't deleted, because reason says it should have been, months ago probably. But something was different. My response. My expectations. I had finally learned something. And as the saying goes, you're either a blessing or a lesson.
.
Friday, November 8, 2013
What No One Tells You About Extreme Weight Loss
No, this isn't a blog about diet secrets and nutrition. This is about the psychological effects of dramatic weight loss, and how you don't even realize about them until it's too late.
1.) You will NOT look like the "Before and After" pictures in advertisements.
I don't care how you lost the weight. Pills, surgery, diet, exercise, sickness, any combination of these. You will have extra skin, stretch marks, flab and the appearance (I repeat appearance, not actuality) of poor muscle tone. I know I'm still working on my own "after", but I am sure that even with the aid of cosmetic surgery, I will never have a "hard" body. I will absolutely never have a "fit" body. I know everyone has their trouble spots, and I've never had the desire to have a six pack; but I feel like I will never be able to measure up to most of the female population.
Which makes me feel really anxious about myself. At first, I was really excited about a smaller size in clothing, the features of my face becoming more defined, feeling better and having more energy. But there are days now, when I look in the mirror and I don't think I look any different than I did 140 pounds ago. Last friday, I was actually late for work because I didn't look good in a thing I put on. All I see are the arms that to me, look the same size they did 3 years ago. I see how I might wear the same size as a friend but look absolutely awful in it. Or how certain angles make me look as if I never lost weight at all. Which brings me to 2.
2.) Living a healthier lifestyle physically doesn't change what made you unhealthy in the first place.
I still struggle every day with disordered eating and body image issues. Yes, now I generally eat 3 meals a day without skipping. And even though I can't eat a lot of my vice-type foods anymore, I still sometimes eat too many carbs, too much cheese, too much beer. I get really sensitive when someone makes a comment that I'm working out too hard or not eating enough, or tries to "help" me. I've actually taken to working out alone or unbeknownst to others because I don't like the comments. And I try not to be, but I'm sensitive in general to comments about people's weight and appearance. Maybe people make these comments in my presence because they assume I'm just a normal person without these issues, which is actually almost a nice idea when you're someone like me, but a part of me still gets defensive.
3.) You will wonder about people's motivations.
As a smaller human being, I can't help but notice that people are much nicer to me than they were before. This includes everyone from current friends to cashiers at Target. People are just nice to thinner people. So now, I find myself questioning what is real sometimes. This is a double edged sword though. I can't blame everyone, because as I've gotten older, smaller, and more confident, I've opened up more, and had a lot more fun being "me" than I did before. So smaller me, is more "me" than bigger me was. Maybe the walls I had put up for so long were holding me back more than the weight was. I try not to apply this to every new person I meet, every guy I go on a date with, etc.
Often times, I don't tell people I've lost a lot a weight if they didn't know me before. Except for the one guy where the date was going awful and I used it as an excuse to not go for dinner after coffee. Sorry, I'm not sorry. Not hiding it, just don't see a point because how can I expect them to understand, or why should I unload my baggage? And to date, not one intimate partner has asked me about my scars, stretch marks, etc. If they've noticed them, it obviously wasn't a deal breaker. Maybe I'm just lucky, or maybe really no one does care except me.
4.) Plateaus suck and can last forever.
At first, I lost weight very rapidly, which was motivating. Now, I have to fight for every pound I lose. I've lost a couple recently, but that's because 1. I was sick, and 2. I removed cheese almost completely from my diet. For some reason, I have to work harder than a person who has been normal-sized or maintained their weight throughout their lifetime. Probably because I was so heavy for so long and my body is used to its fat stores. So yes, when I'm really watching, it can look like I'm not being healthy. Or it might seem odd that a hungry me is full or even sick after a slice of pizza. But there can be a method to my madness, or reason why I'm full; so rather than make a comment, ask me about it. I'm happy to tell you what my wls nutritionist has recommended I do to stay healthy. And btw, the bread/carbs in the pizza is what does me in. If I feel comfortable enough to eat in your presence, you'll notice a lot of wraps, salads, and high protein stuff and avoid sweets. That's what I have to eat to avoid feeling crappy.
I'm not trying to demotivate anyone from a healthier lifestyle or losing a lot of weight. I absolutely wouldn't trade my weight loss for anything in the world. I'd do everything again in a heartbeat. So I can feel more confident, so I can feel healthier, so I can walk forever without losing my breath. (Trying to work up to running). But don't ever let someone tell you (or don't tell yourself) that weight loss is the answer to all your problems. It's not. If anything, the biggest lesson I've learned on this journey is that your weight is only one facet of you. It doesn't matter if you are 500 pounds or 100 pounds. There's a lot more to you and your life than the number on the scale. And while certain facets may be related or blend together, no singular thing should really define you. I let it define me and I learned the hard way that changing it didn't change me.
1.) You will NOT look like the "Before and After" pictures in advertisements.
I don't care how you lost the weight. Pills, surgery, diet, exercise, sickness, any combination of these. You will have extra skin, stretch marks, flab and the appearance (I repeat appearance, not actuality) of poor muscle tone. I know I'm still working on my own "after", but I am sure that even with the aid of cosmetic surgery, I will never have a "hard" body. I will absolutely never have a "fit" body. I know everyone has their trouble spots, and I've never had the desire to have a six pack; but I feel like I will never be able to measure up to most of the female population.
Which makes me feel really anxious about myself. At first, I was really excited about a smaller size in clothing, the features of my face becoming more defined, feeling better and having more energy. But there are days now, when I look in the mirror and I don't think I look any different than I did 140 pounds ago. Last friday, I was actually late for work because I didn't look good in a thing I put on. All I see are the arms that to me, look the same size they did 3 years ago. I see how I might wear the same size as a friend but look absolutely awful in it. Or how certain angles make me look as if I never lost weight at all. Which brings me to 2.
2.) Living a healthier lifestyle physically doesn't change what made you unhealthy in the first place.
I still struggle every day with disordered eating and body image issues. Yes, now I generally eat 3 meals a day without skipping. And even though I can't eat a lot of my vice-type foods anymore, I still sometimes eat too many carbs, too much cheese, too much beer. I get really sensitive when someone makes a comment that I'm working out too hard or not eating enough, or tries to "help" me. I've actually taken to working out alone or unbeknownst to others because I don't like the comments. And I try not to be, but I'm sensitive in general to comments about people's weight and appearance. Maybe people make these comments in my presence because they assume I'm just a normal person without these issues, which is actually almost a nice idea when you're someone like me, but a part of me still gets defensive.
3.) You will wonder about people's motivations.
As a smaller human being, I can't help but notice that people are much nicer to me than they were before. This includes everyone from current friends to cashiers at Target. People are just nice to thinner people. So now, I find myself questioning what is real sometimes. This is a double edged sword though. I can't blame everyone, because as I've gotten older, smaller, and more confident, I've opened up more, and had a lot more fun being "me" than I did before. So smaller me, is more "me" than bigger me was. Maybe the walls I had put up for so long were holding me back more than the weight was. I try not to apply this to every new person I meet, every guy I go on a date with, etc.
Often times, I don't tell people I've lost a lot a weight if they didn't know me before. Except for the one guy where the date was going awful and I used it as an excuse to not go for dinner after coffee. Sorry, I'm not sorry. Not hiding it, just don't see a point because how can I expect them to understand, or why should I unload my baggage? And to date, not one intimate partner has asked me about my scars, stretch marks, etc. If they've noticed them, it obviously wasn't a deal breaker. Maybe I'm just lucky, or maybe really no one does care except me.
4.) Plateaus suck and can last forever.
At first, I lost weight very rapidly, which was motivating. Now, I have to fight for every pound I lose. I've lost a couple recently, but that's because 1. I was sick, and 2. I removed cheese almost completely from my diet. For some reason, I have to work harder than a person who has been normal-sized or maintained their weight throughout their lifetime. Probably because I was so heavy for so long and my body is used to its fat stores. So yes, when I'm really watching, it can look like I'm not being healthy. Or it might seem odd that a hungry me is full or even sick after a slice of pizza. But there can be a method to my madness, or reason why I'm full; so rather than make a comment, ask me about it. I'm happy to tell you what my wls nutritionist has recommended I do to stay healthy. And btw, the bread/carbs in the pizza is what does me in. If I feel comfortable enough to eat in your presence, you'll notice a lot of wraps, salads, and high protein stuff and avoid sweets. That's what I have to eat to avoid feeling crappy.
I'm not trying to demotivate anyone from a healthier lifestyle or losing a lot of weight. I absolutely wouldn't trade my weight loss for anything in the world. I'd do everything again in a heartbeat. So I can feel more confident, so I can feel healthier, so I can walk forever without losing my breath. (Trying to work up to running). But don't ever let someone tell you (or don't tell yourself) that weight loss is the answer to all your problems. It's not. If anything, the biggest lesson I've learned on this journey is that your weight is only one facet of you. It doesn't matter if you are 500 pounds or 100 pounds. There's a lot more to you and your life than the number on the scale. And while certain facets may be related or blend together, no singular thing should really define you. I let it define me and I learned the hard way that changing it didn't change me.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
I Have A Plan
I always have a plan. But recently, I started wondering what that really means. And I actually didn't like what it meant for me. I always have *plans*, but maybe not a plan so much. Those are two strikingly different things. That was never who I was though, I wasn't a constant "plans" person. True, I've always been a planner and I like lists. But I was never the person who was going out more than staying home, struggling to find time for the simplest of tasks, time for friends and family, time for herself. I never had to worry so much about how often I said "yes" or "no", because it just wasn't an issue.
Somewhere along the way though, there was some sort of shift in my calendar and in my mind. Something that made me short on time and feeling obligated to honor every single request made of me. Whether it was switching a task or shift at work, meeting a friend for dinner, a Sunday shopping trip, a happy hour, I was doing all of it. I was double or triple booking most days between two jobs and my social calendar. There was no room for impromptu anythings in my life. No treating myself with a leisurely supper of antipasti favorites with a glass of wine at home. No more random movie dates with a friend. No more dog park and cuddle days with the dogs. My netflix account hasn't been touched in months, nor have I gotten a redbox movie.
Another thing that ended up happening was that my ease with being alone changed. More than anything, I wanted time alone, but on the off chance I found a stolen evening, I would spend it in a near vegetative state. I didn't use the time wisely. I didn't catch up on chores, I didn't take the dogs to the park, I didn't go to the gym, I didn't read, I didn't call a long-distance friend. I would come home, let the dogs out, turn on the tv, and not move. God knows, half the time I didn't even bother to eat. I didn't remember how to truly relax and actually enjoy my relaxation or do something good for myself. Once I observed that behavior, I realized that if a friend told me that's how they were spending their time, I would tell them it sounds like depression.
Now I realize that's a big leap to depression. Depression is real and it's debilitating for millions of people. But I also know that if I were to continue at the rate I'm at, I could find myself in a pretty depressed state. I've been physically and emotionally draining myself for months, telling myself it's temporary, but how long is temporary before it's a lifestyle? I can set the alarm for 5am, 6am, 7am and it wouldn't matter, I'd still be sleepy in the morning. Sleeping in, something I hadn't done for years, had suddenly became common place on days I didn't have something to do in the morning. Which only fueled my anxiety because I had wasted so much of the day by the time I got out of bed.
What cost am I paying by keeping my life so busy? My mind is constantly somewhere else. I'm either thinking about what I have to do next, or I'm daydreaming about sleep for much of the time. Some friends just (rightly) assume I'm always busy these days because I've had to say, "I can't - " so much, whether I've wanted to or not. What did I do to my health with all the stress, lack of appetite and not exercising?
So now, I have a new plan. A plan that involves simply saying "no". From now on, my time is my time alone. My first priority is going to be myself and what I need to to; I don't care if that involves scheduling down to every gym and shopping trip, every chore, dog walk or task. Then, and only then can I leave some spots open for others. I have to be the one putting things on my calendar. I'm not being a good friend if I'm never able to make approriate time, or I'm not my best self in the time we do have. Maybe by having less "plans", I can come up with a real "plan" now.
Somewhere along the way though, there was some sort of shift in my calendar and in my mind. Something that made me short on time and feeling obligated to honor every single request made of me. Whether it was switching a task or shift at work, meeting a friend for dinner, a Sunday shopping trip, a happy hour, I was doing all of it. I was double or triple booking most days between two jobs and my social calendar. There was no room for impromptu anythings in my life. No treating myself with a leisurely supper of antipasti favorites with a glass of wine at home. No more random movie dates with a friend. No more dog park and cuddle days with the dogs. My netflix account hasn't been touched in months, nor have I gotten a redbox movie.
Another thing that ended up happening was that my ease with being alone changed. More than anything, I wanted time alone, but on the off chance I found a stolen evening, I would spend it in a near vegetative state. I didn't use the time wisely. I didn't catch up on chores, I didn't take the dogs to the park, I didn't go to the gym, I didn't read, I didn't call a long-distance friend. I would come home, let the dogs out, turn on the tv, and not move. God knows, half the time I didn't even bother to eat. I didn't remember how to truly relax and actually enjoy my relaxation or do something good for myself. Once I observed that behavior, I realized that if a friend told me that's how they were spending their time, I would tell them it sounds like depression.
Now I realize that's a big leap to depression. Depression is real and it's debilitating for millions of people. But I also know that if I were to continue at the rate I'm at, I could find myself in a pretty depressed state. I've been physically and emotionally draining myself for months, telling myself it's temporary, but how long is temporary before it's a lifestyle? I can set the alarm for 5am, 6am, 7am and it wouldn't matter, I'd still be sleepy in the morning. Sleeping in, something I hadn't done for years, had suddenly became common place on days I didn't have something to do in the morning. Which only fueled my anxiety because I had wasted so much of the day by the time I got out of bed.
What cost am I paying by keeping my life so busy? My mind is constantly somewhere else. I'm either thinking about what I have to do next, or I'm daydreaming about sleep for much of the time. Some friends just (rightly) assume I'm always busy these days because I've had to say, "I can't - " so much, whether I've wanted to or not. What did I do to my health with all the stress, lack of appetite and not exercising?
So now, I have a new plan. A plan that involves simply saying "no". From now on, my time is my time alone. My first priority is going to be myself and what I need to to; I don't care if that involves scheduling down to every gym and shopping trip, every chore, dog walk or task. Then, and only then can I leave some spots open for others. I have to be the one putting things on my calendar. I'm not being a good friend if I'm never able to make approriate time, or I'm not my best self in the time we do have. Maybe by having less "plans", I can come up with a real "plan" now.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
My First Health Scare
I guess it seems pretty fitting that at 30, there's some significant health issue that brings new perspective into your life. I've been reminded of and reflected on so many important things this year, and one thing you should never take for granted is your health. I know many of us do though, unfortunately.
And I should know better. As a person who actually had weight loss surgery to live help myself live a healthier lifestyle, you would think that I would be more in tune with my body and totally clean. But I still love cheese and alcohol and days under a blanket with netflix. Getting up and going the gym will always be a challenge for me, as will be cutting out some of my favorite foods. I don't miss ice cream or brownies or tons of fried food and globs of red meat. No worries there. I've done and will continue to do everything I can to keep from getting diabetes and heart disease since I have them in my family history.
But I know I'm not as "good" as I should be. I have a Primanti's sandwich here and there. I have girls night, and I don't make the dip with fat free anything. I never say no to a good a beer or a dinner with friends. So I can't say that I was completely shocked when in the beginning of September, one of the most stressful times in my career and personal life, I didn't feel well. I was working at least 60 hours a week and my "free" time was taken up with more work and prior engagements. So I was definitely not sleeping or eating well. I noticed the day after labor day that I was feeling a bit "off". I chalked it up to overdoing the holiday weekend and moving in my new living room furniture. I upped my water intake and started concentrating heavily on eating a lot of fresh veggies to get vitamins and clean out leftover toxins.
On Wednesday, I thought I was experiencing a migraine. I get them occasionally, so I thought I could take a tylenol and wait it out as that's usually all I need. By Thursday, I was in excruciating pain. I had to take massive amounts of tylenol just to function and not to pass out from pain. Without it, every 5 or 30 seconds I was feeling a sharp pain, always in the same spot; base of my skull, behind my ear. I tried to joke that I now knew how Zeus felt giving birth to Athena. But it was worrying me. I never had a migraine like that before or for that long.
I started to worry about what it could possibly be if not a migraine. Maybe it was a tumor. Or maybe I was having a stroke. Maybe it was cancer. I had officially WebMD-ed myself and was convinced I was dying of any number of terminal illnesses or STDs even. I was terrified to even call the doctor and terrified that I was taking so much tylenol that I would go into liver failure and not wake up.
On Monday I called my doctor and they agreed to take me as a walk in that same morning. My doctor diagnosed me with a cluster or icepick migraine do to muscle strain and stress. The prescribed me a low dose of prednisone for the inflammation and a migraine medication. They checked all my vitals and mentioned that my throat was a little raw and we attributed it to post-nasal drip and seasonal allergies. I was not 100% convinced that it could be that simple of a diagnosis, and I was still taking some additional tylenol with the meds for the first few days.
By the time I was nearly done with that round of medicine, I felt tons better, hardly any pain at all and I was no longer taking tylenol. But my throat was REALLY sore. Something told me to look in the bathroom mirror. My tonsils were nearly the size of ping pong balls and covered in white patches. Time to call the doctor's office AGAIN.
I should probably mention here that I hate going to the doctor. I was scarred from childhood and a lifetime of being overweight. It seriously took my until I turned 20 just to be able to get shot or give blood without having to be held down. So, as and adult, I learned to approach a healthy lifestyle and use diet to prevent and treat illnesses, which worked pretty well. I rarely needed medicine, even over the counter stuff. Even my migraines were rare and totally manageable. So I called the doctor, and played on the fact that I had just been in there the week prior and my symptoms had been observed, now they were worse. They finally agreed to call in a prescription for me, a strong antibiotic that I was on a time or two before.
I start the next round of medicine, and within 24 hours, I have a rash. It started small, faint and barely itchy on my arms. By lunchtime, it's all over my neck, chest, face and back. It's starting to swell. I know I have to call the doctor's office, but just to be sure, I see the nurse. She confirms my worst fears and gives two benadryl. The doctor's office wants to see me this time. No calling in a scrip. I begrudgingly agree and set another walk in appointment for 10:30 the following morning. That night, I take pictures of my arms and chest. I believed that since I stopped taking my anti-biotic, the rash might be gone by the morning.
Not so. I wake up and the rash is all over my body, inflamed and much darker. I get so nervous, I call my mother on the way to to hospital (where my doctor is conveniently located). I seriously consider begging her to come with me. I was so scared that they would admit me after seeing not only my rash, but also the fact that my throat was no better. I had no clue what was wrong with me, and all I can think about is how the person who never gets sick has been in and out of the doctors for the past 2 and a half weeks. At the office they joke about how I must be getting sick of being there, little do they know how right they are and how miserable I am physically and mentally. She expresses great concern over my tonsils, as they are so swollen that she can't even see around them; they could be abscessed and/or need to come out. She gives me the name of an ear, nose, and throat specialist. I decide to myself that I will call him, but unless I need to, I will not call until after Molly's wedding.
They give me another prednisone pack and z-pak since now I'm allergic to ceftin; they have reason to believe that I'm allergic to all "cillins". She tells me I can take an anti-histamine. I choose allegra on Molly's advice and the fact that allegra has the highest dose I can find at Walgreens.
I give this until Tuesday. The z-pak finally clears up my tonsils, thank goodness. I'll call Dr. Straka - after the wedding. But my rash is getting steadily worse. It has vacated my face and neck, but the rest of me is a mess. I call the doctor again. The NP agrees to put me on a higher dose of prednisone as well as an anti-itch pill. I feel helpless, I'm begging her, "I have a wedding on saturday..." I trail off. She agrees to pull some strings so I can see an NP at a dermatologist's office near my office.
The dermatologist's office calls me within 10 minutes. I take an appointment at 9am the next day. Unfortunately, and a $25 copay later, I find out that there's not much to be done. Ceftin is a strong anti-biotic that will not leave my bloodstream anytime soon. Time is the real cure. She writes me a prescription for a topical steroid cream and tells me to triple my antihistamine intake. She can't promise me that I'll be any less red or puffy for the wedding.
It's been 24 hours and I feel much better, I'm not sure how I'll look this weekend, but I do feel a lot less anxious. Especially when I think about how I felt 2 or 3 weeks ago, and all the things that ran through my mind, I realize that I'm really not 22 or 25 anymore. It's really important not to neglect getting the proper amount of rest, exercise, water, vitamins. I lost 3-4 weeks of my life suffering from all kinds of ailments and worry and trying to make up for lost sleep, and putting chemical medicines in my body. I don't want that to be a theme in my life. Definitely a wake up call I needed, though.
And I should know better. As a person who actually had weight loss surgery to live help myself live a healthier lifestyle, you would think that I would be more in tune with my body and totally clean. But I still love cheese and alcohol and days under a blanket with netflix. Getting up and going the gym will always be a challenge for me, as will be cutting out some of my favorite foods. I don't miss ice cream or brownies or tons of fried food and globs of red meat. No worries there. I've done and will continue to do everything I can to keep from getting diabetes and heart disease since I have them in my family history.
But I know I'm not as "good" as I should be. I have a Primanti's sandwich here and there. I have girls night, and I don't make the dip with fat free anything. I never say no to a good a beer or a dinner with friends. So I can't say that I was completely shocked when in the beginning of September, one of the most stressful times in my career and personal life, I didn't feel well. I was working at least 60 hours a week and my "free" time was taken up with more work and prior engagements. So I was definitely not sleeping or eating well. I noticed the day after labor day that I was feeling a bit "off". I chalked it up to overdoing the holiday weekend and moving in my new living room furniture. I upped my water intake and started concentrating heavily on eating a lot of fresh veggies to get vitamins and clean out leftover toxins.
On Wednesday, I thought I was experiencing a migraine. I get them occasionally, so I thought I could take a tylenol and wait it out as that's usually all I need. By Thursday, I was in excruciating pain. I had to take massive amounts of tylenol just to function and not to pass out from pain. Without it, every 5 or 30 seconds I was feeling a sharp pain, always in the same spot; base of my skull, behind my ear. I tried to joke that I now knew how Zeus felt giving birth to Athena. But it was worrying me. I never had a migraine like that before or for that long.
I started to worry about what it could possibly be if not a migraine. Maybe it was a tumor. Or maybe I was having a stroke. Maybe it was cancer. I had officially WebMD-ed myself and was convinced I was dying of any number of terminal illnesses or STDs even. I was terrified to even call the doctor and terrified that I was taking so much tylenol that I would go into liver failure and not wake up.
On Monday I called my doctor and they agreed to take me as a walk in that same morning. My doctor diagnosed me with a cluster or icepick migraine do to muscle strain and stress. The prescribed me a low dose of prednisone for the inflammation and a migraine medication. They checked all my vitals and mentioned that my throat was a little raw and we attributed it to post-nasal drip and seasonal allergies. I was not 100% convinced that it could be that simple of a diagnosis, and I was still taking some additional tylenol with the meds for the first few days.
By the time I was nearly done with that round of medicine, I felt tons better, hardly any pain at all and I was no longer taking tylenol. But my throat was REALLY sore. Something told me to look in the bathroom mirror. My tonsils were nearly the size of ping pong balls and covered in white patches. Time to call the doctor's office AGAIN.
I should probably mention here that I hate going to the doctor. I was scarred from childhood and a lifetime of being overweight. It seriously took my until I turned 20 just to be able to get shot or give blood without having to be held down. So, as and adult, I learned to approach a healthy lifestyle and use diet to prevent and treat illnesses, which worked pretty well. I rarely needed medicine, even over the counter stuff. Even my migraines were rare and totally manageable. So I called the doctor, and played on the fact that I had just been in there the week prior and my symptoms had been observed, now they were worse. They finally agreed to call in a prescription for me, a strong antibiotic that I was on a time or two before.
I start the next round of medicine, and within 24 hours, I have a rash. It started small, faint and barely itchy on my arms. By lunchtime, it's all over my neck, chest, face and back. It's starting to swell. I know I have to call the doctor's office, but just to be sure, I see the nurse. She confirms my worst fears and gives two benadryl. The doctor's office wants to see me this time. No calling in a scrip. I begrudgingly agree and set another walk in appointment for 10:30 the following morning. That night, I take pictures of my arms and chest. I believed that since I stopped taking my anti-biotic, the rash might be gone by the morning.
Not so. I wake up and the rash is all over my body, inflamed and much darker. I get so nervous, I call my mother on the way to to hospital (where my doctor is conveniently located). I seriously consider begging her to come with me. I was so scared that they would admit me after seeing not only my rash, but also the fact that my throat was no better. I had no clue what was wrong with me, and all I can think about is how the person who never gets sick has been in and out of the doctors for the past 2 and a half weeks. At the office they joke about how I must be getting sick of being there, little do they know how right they are and how miserable I am physically and mentally. She expresses great concern over my tonsils, as they are so swollen that she can't even see around them; they could be abscessed and/or need to come out. She gives me the name of an ear, nose, and throat specialist. I decide to myself that I will call him, but unless I need to, I will not call until after Molly's wedding.
They give me another prednisone pack and z-pak since now I'm allergic to ceftin; they have reason to believe that I'm allergic to all "cillins". She tells me I can take an anti-histamine. I choose allegra on Molly's advice and the fact that allegra has the highest dose I can find at Walgreens.
I give this until Tuesday. The z-pak finally clears up my tonsils, thank goodness. I'll call Dr. Straka - after the wedding. But my rash is getting steadily worse. It has vacated my face and neck, but the rest of me is a mess. I call the doctor again. The NP agrees to put me on a higher dose of prednisone as well as an anti-itch pill. I feel helpless, I'm begging her, "I have a wedding on saturday..." I trail off. She agrees to pull some strings so I can see an NP at a dermatologist's office near my office.
The dermatologist's office calls me within 10 minutes. I take an appointment at 9am the next day. Unfortunately, and a $25 copay later, I find out that there's not much to be done. Ceftin is a strong anti-biotic that will not leave my bloodstream anytime soon. Time is the real cure. She writes me a prescription for a topical steroid cream and tells me to triple my antihistamine intake. She can't promise me that I'll be any less red or puffy for the wedding.
It's been 24 hours and I feel much better, I'm not sure how I'll look this weekend, but I do feel a lot less anxious. Especially when I think about how I felt 2 or 3 weeks ago, and all the things that ran through my mind, I realize that I'm really not 22 or 25 anymore. It's really important not to neglect getting the proper amount of rest, exercise, water, vitamins. I lost 3-4 weeks of my life suffering from all kinds of ailments and worry and trying to make up for lost sleep, and putting chemical medicines in my body. I don't want that to be a theme in my life. Definitely a wake up call I needed, though.
Friday, September 20, 2013
My Best Friend's Wedding(s)
It's no secret that a large part of my 30th year has revolved around my own dating mishaps, and the successes of my friends' and their wedding celebrations. Which forces me to continue reflect on what I want, what I'm looking for, what I'm doing wrong. I celebrated my last wedding shower of the year on Sunday and this Saturday is another wedding.
If you had asked me 10 years ago what my romantic life would be like at 30, I would've been wrong in so many ways. I probably would've said something about being married, working on my own little hockey team. I even recall telling one of my best friends that I just wanted to marry a guy who maybe loved me a little bit more than I did him; because then he'd never leave me, and I was sure that would be enough. I didn't really care about anything else, including my own happiness. Disgusting, I know.
At 20, I wasn't worried about my number of sexual partners, what men wanted from me, whether or not they were lying, and I certainly never thought that I'd be 30 and still single. At 20, I was desperate to be a "grown up", and play out what I thought my image of love and marriage was. Even now as a more jaded, experienced version of myself, I thank God that I didn't marry the first man who looked my way. I am infinitely so different from who I was. If 20 year-old me had made such a life altering decision, 30 year-old me would be at best, amicably divorced. At worst, miserable with my potential progeny.
Sometimes, I long for those simpler times though. Now, I feel like I have to wade through the millions of men from ages 27-40 who may or may not have past marriages (ok), children(ok), mommy issues, fidelity issues, insecurity issues, commitment issues, chemical dependancies (past or present), and the list goes on and on. My two most common scenarios lately are this:
1. Guy leads you on for weeks. Even months. Tells you everything you want to hear. Looking for the one, babies, traveling, all that shit. Best case scenario, you have no chemistry and wish each other the best of luck. Worst case scenario you keep seeing each other, but you notice that you're not even going out together in public anymore (or to begin with). I tend to break these off as soon as I see the pattern, because I've obviously sent the wrong message about the level of commitment and relationship I'm looking for, I'm not giving it away for free.
2. Talk to a guy for a few weeks and he disappears without a trace. You know it's because he's chosen someone over you, which hey, aren't we all looking for someone? No hard feelings. But he doesn't even have the guts to tell you, which is immature and I consider a dodged bullet.
Oh, and everyone who just wants to get laid? Just wait till you're 30, okay? I don't know if it has to do with how comfortable you get with yourself at 30, hormones, pheremones, biology, what, but if all I wanted to do was have sex, I could. 7 nights a week, with 7 different partners. I'm not trying to be crude, because I still certainly don't understand why anyone would actually want to sleep with me, but there seems as though there's no lack of people willing to take it that far; just not willing to have a relationship. Unfortunately for me, but my mama would be so proud, that's not how I play the game. I want to be courted and eventually committed. So, I've had to learn that there is a reason why the best advice is still to keep your clothes on no matter what he, your hormones, or your gut is telling you. So much for being a liberated female and there "being no rules."
Listen - Somewhere, deep down inside, I know I'm a catch. I'm certainly not without my faults. I can have a bad temper, I'm not as pretty as a movie star, I'll never be rich. I'm stubborn and defensive, and I hate being wrong. Traffic makes me absolutely insane. But I'm kind, I'm funny, educated, open-minded. I enjoy sports as much as I enjoy my girl time, so I'll never nag a guy about "watching the game" or hanging out with his friends. I like good beer, I can carry a tune, and I can cook like no one's business. I'm an excellent communicator and I think I'd make a great mother. I'm pretty classy, at least when it counts. In other words; I think I'm a keeper. I want someone to wife the shit out of me. But it seems like at 30, and in the world of instant gratification that we live in, single men aren't looking for, or are too scared to actually invest in a relationship, so there is a disconnect.
I've gotten the there's no chemistry comment after one date before. One date? When I'm nervous enough to even be sitting across from you at a strange restaurant, pushing my salad around my plate, trying to eat even when I'm not hungry so you you won't think I'm being prissy or uninterested? And I'm trying not to curse and I want to be funny and engaging and ask you all the right questions? Likewise, I've had guys want to talk about sex almost immediately. At first it's flattering, because who doesn't want to be desired? But really, you want to talk about that right away? And for the love of God, why do they ask me if my students want to sleep with me? So creepy and inappropriate and NOT a turn on. I've also had guys who have encouraged (more like demanded of) me to have no contact with any other males (including 100% platonic male friends), only to break it off after a few weeks. It all leaves me feeling very unworthy of love. It has nothing to do with feeling pretty or beautiful or smart or desired. I can be told and I feel all of those things. And don't even get me started on musicians. Any way you look at it, the message I end up receiving is that my worth lies solely in my looks and body and what it can or cannot do for a man.
Sometimes I wonder if there was some sweet spot in my mid-to-late twenties that I should have been aware of, and I missed the final departure. I can't imagine myself with man much younger than myself, but what I've observed in the single men my own age and slightly older is two things. 1. They have no intentions of settling down, or if and when they're finally ready, they'll be seeking someone younger and hotter than me. 2. They have run the the same gamut as me (or worse) and the world has affected them too much to where they aren't in a situation to seek a relationship. Sometimes, they can be both.
Now, every other week, I notice a new wrinkle in my forehead, how deep and dark my under eye circles (so common on my Eastern European side) have become, my crow's feet. All things that I don't associate with a happy bride or a new mother. And God knows that I try, but my dress size never will be below double digits. And a part of me tries to let go. Let go of the anxiety and disappointment I feel, let go of the life I had always wanted and assumed I would have. But it's hard to let go, because I don't know what else to hold on to. At 30, dating has lost it's fun, it's excitement. It's become an endless game of "kill, marry, or "screw" that I can't seem to win.
As I said to a friend very recently, it's not that I'm unhappy or lonely. I have a great life, and I have the most amazing friends and family I could possibly imagine. Seriously, they are the coolest. I myself, am not sad as a person. I do and go where I want. And I'm certainly very happy for my friends and the wonderful partners they have in their lives. I would much rather be celebrating the happiness of my friends than being sad for myself anyway, so when those happy days do come around, I'm never sad for myself, I'm enjoying the company of my friends and wishing them a lifetime of happiness, as ever. I won't be that single bridesmaid moping in the corner, mascara running down her cheeks. Well, I might shed a tear or two, but only out of pure joy and sentiment.
If you had asked me 10 years ago what my romantic life would be like at 30, I would've been wrong in so many ways. I probably would've said something about being married, working on my own little hockey team. I even recall telling one of my best friends that I just wanted to marry a guy who maybe loved me a little bit more than I did him; because then he'd never leave me, and I was sure that would be enough. I didn't really care about anything else, including my own happiness. Disgusting, I know.
At 20, I wasn't worried about my number of sexual partners, what men wanted from me, whether or not they were lying, and I certainly never thought that I'd be 30 and still single. At 20, I was desperate to be a "grown up", and play out what I thought my image of love and marriage was. Even now as a more jaded, experienced version of myself, I thank God that I didn't marry the first man who looked my way. I am infinitely so different from who I was. If 20 year-old me had made such a life altering decision, 30 year-old me would be at best, amicably divorced. At worst, miserable with my potential progeny.
Sometimes, I long for those simpler times though. Now, I feel like I have to wade through the millions of men from ages 27-40 who may or may not have past marriages (ok), children(ok), mommy issues, fidelity issues, insecurity issues, commitment issues, chemical dependancies (past or present), and the list goes on and on. My two most common scenarios lately are this:
1. Guy leads you on for weeks. Even months. Tells you everything you want to hear. Looking for the one, babies, traveling, all that shit. Best case scenario, you have no chemistry and wish each other the best of luck. Worst case scenario you keep seeing each other, but you notice that you're not even going out together in public anymore (or to begin with). I tend to break these off as soon as I see the pattern, because I've obviously sent the wrong message about the level of commitment and relationship I'm looking for, I'm not giving it away for free.
2. Talk to a guy for a few weeks and he disappears without a trace. You know it's because he's chosen someone over you, which hey, aren't we all looking for someone? No hard feelings. But he doesn't even have the guts to tell you, which is immature and I consider a dodged bullet.
Oh, and everyone who just wants to get laid? Just wait till you're 30, okay? I don't know if it has to do with how comfortable you get with yourself at 30, hormones, pheremones, biology, what, but if all I wanted to do was have sex, I could. 7 nights a week, with 7 different partners. I'm not trying to be crude, because I still certainly don't understand why anyone would actually want to sleep with me, but there seems as though there's no lack of people willing to take it that far; just not willing to have a relationship. Unfortunately for me, but my mama would be so proud, that's not how I play the game. I want to be courted and eventually committed. So, I've had to learn that there is a reason why the best advice is still to keep your clothes on no matter what he, your hormones, or your gut is telling you. So much for being a liberated female and there "being no rules."
Listen - Somewhere, deep down inside, I know I'm a catch. I'm certainly not without my faults. I can have a bad temper, I'm not as pretty as a movie star, I'll never be rich. I'm stubborn and defensive, and I hate being wrong. Traffic makes me absolutely insane. But I'm kind, I'm funny, educated, open-minded. I enjoy sports as much as I enjoy my girl time, so I'll never nag a guy about "watching the game" or hanging out with his friends. I like good beer, I can carry a tune, and I can cook like no one's business. I'm an excellent communicator and I think I'd make a great mother. I'm pretty classy, at least when it counts. In other words; I think I'm a keeper. I want someone to wife the shit out of me. But it seems like at 30, and in the world of instant gratification that we live in, single men aren't looking for, or are too scared to actually invest in a relationship, so there is a disconnect.
I've gotten the there's no chemistry comment after one date before. One date? When I'm nervous enough to even be sitting across from you at a strange restaurant, pushing my salad around my plate, trying to eat even when I'm not hungry so you you won't think I'm being prissy or uninterested? And I'm trying not to curse and I want to be funny and engaging and ask you all the right questions? Likewise, I've had guys want to talk about sex almost immediately. At first it's flattering, because who doesn't want to be desired? But really, you want to talk about that right away? And for the love of God, why do they ask me if my students want to sleep with me? So creepy and inappropriate and NOT a turn on. I've also had guys who have encouraged (more like demanded of) me to have no contact with any other males (including 100% platonic male friends), only to break it off after a few weeks. It all leaves me feeling very unworthy of love. It has nothing to do with feeling pretty or beautiful or smart or desired. I can be told and I feel all of those things. And don't even get me started on musicians. Any way you look at it, the message I end up receiving is that my worth lies solely in my looks and body and what it can or cannot do for a man.
Sometimes I wonder if there was some sweet spot in my mid-to-late twenties that I should have been aware of, and I missed the final departure. I can't imagine myself with man much younger than myself, but what I've observed in the single men my own age and slightly older is two things. 1. They have no intentions of settling down, or if and when they're finally ready, they'll be seeking someone younger and hotter than me. 2. They have run the the same gamut as me (or worse) and the world has affected them too much to where they aren't in a situation to seek a relationship. Sometimes, they can be both.
Now, every other week, I notice a new wrinkle in my forehead, how deep and dark my under eye circles (so common on my Eastern European side) have become, my crow's feet. All things that I don't associate with a happy bride or a new mother. And God knows that I try, but my dress size never will be below double digits. And a part of me tries to let go. Let go of the anxiety and disappointment I feel, let go of the life I had always wanted and assumed I would have. But it's hard to let go, because I don't know what else to hold on to. At 30, dating has lost it's fun, it's excitement. It's become an endless game of "kill, marry, or "screw" that I can't seem to win.
As I said to a friend very recently, it's not that I'm unhappy or lonely. I have a great life, and I have the most amazing friends and family I could possibly imagine. Seriously, they are the coolest. I myself, am not sad as a person. I do and go where I want. And I'm certainly very happy for my friends and the wonderful partners they have in their lives. I would much rather be celebrating the happiness of my friends than being sad for myself anyway, so when those happy days do come around, I'm never sad for myself, I'm enjoying the company of my friends and wishing them a lifetime of happiness, as ever. I won't be that single bridesmaid moping in the corner, mascara running down her cheeks. Well, I might shed a tear or two, but only out of pure joy and sentiment.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
What Does It Take To Believe We Are Beautiful?
As much as I try not to be, I am still a victim of society to a certain extent. Like every person, I have my insecurities and doubts. But recently, I've really started to wonder what it would be like to see myself through someone else's eyes. See, until this point, I assumed that everyone outside of my closest friends and family saw me as fat, ugly, or at the very least, plain. My friends and family have always told me differently, but I was convinced that as people who loved me unconditionally, they would automatically just see me as beautiful; and while they did, that wouldn't make it true.
If anyone said anything different, I would assume it was because they either wanted something from me, were somehow impaired, or had some sort of a fetish for non-beautiful people. Wow, I think highly of other peoples' tastes, don't I? When I look at myself in the mirror or in pictures, I don't necessarily feel ugly, but I just don't think I'm neccessarily pretty. My eyes a bit too small, nose a bit too wide, uneven skin, far from perfect body. Not wholly unpleasant, but not a movie star.
I don't want to blame fashion magazines, Barbie dolls, television or films. Playing with dolls, watching films, or reading magazines never made me feel badly about myself. It was other people actually. The ones who did ridicule me for things. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't picked on a lot. Going to a small, private school did wonders for creating a family-type environment. When there are only 30 kids in your class (and that's a large class), cliques become a very abstract idea. But I was picked on. From my hair being too blonde (yes that's apparently a thing and they called me an albino), to my weight. I can honestly say that prior to those bullies (who were a few years older than I was and not in my class), I never gave my hair color, eye color, weight or anything else a whole lot of thought. I'm not saying they are the first, last, and only bullies in my life, but they certainly made a clear impression on me.
So why is it that a few negative experiences in my life have led me to believe those people over the other positive experiences? Why would anyone want to believe bad things about themselves? As I look back, I feel like there is a clear progression of how we get to that point in our lives. There's the first realization that someone doesn't find us as "beautiful" as we thought we were. In my case, it was those school-bus bullies. So that's the first chink in your armor. We get knocked off of our pedastal. It doesn't matter if it's right or wrong. The seeds of self-doubt are planted. Then, part of growing up is naturally going to be trial and error. We obssess over failures and mistakes because they confirm those seeds of doubt. We become our own self-fulfulling prophecies. The person you like doesn't like you back. You didn't make the team. You didn't get the lead in the play. You're not "popular".
People come up with all sorts of ways to cope with this. Some people become class clowns. If you can laugh at yourself first, or make your peers laugh at something else, they totally forget whatever it is you're insecure about. Some people become depressed or self-destructive, which is so, so sad. Some people become aggressive. I tried being aggressive and moody in middle school for about six months, but that didn't really make me any happier and confused a lot of people. Hell, middle school is confusing anyway. I did however, remain aggressive on the basketball court. Hello, foul-outs!
What I finally found solace in was being nice. Way too nice, actually. I let a lot of people walk all over me for way too long. I still do sometimes. I found a way to be indispensable to people in a way that I thought forced them to look past whatever it was I had been afraid of. Kind of the whole Steve Martin quote, "Be so good they can't ignore you." Well I was good, whether it was making signs for homecoming, volunteering for every charity event, boosting my sorority's GPA. But being needed is not the same thing as being wanted. I was always needed by many, but I never knew if they wanted me or not.
So fast forward several years, now I'm 30 and probably the most comfortable I've been with myself since I was 7 years old. Yet, I still don't believe it when people throw around the word "beautiful". Perhaps it's the fact that such compliments have come from people who have hurt me the most. Perhaps it's because I think that we don't tell our loved ones the truth because we love them and they are beautiful to us. But when you hear compliments over and over, when is it enough to make them valid? Do I need to be on a cover of a magazine in order to feel validated and beautiful? Because I don't want that. And even if I were voted into People Magazine's Most Beautiful list, there are still going to be people who think I'm ugly. People think Jennifer Lawrence is ugly. People think Ryan Reynolds is ugly. I think these people are insane, but everyone is entitled to their opinion. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if someone thinks that I'm prettier than they are, or if a friend is attracted to me. These are things you can't or don't talk about. It's not that I obsess over these thoughts or that they rule my life, but I do wonder, and wonder if I even knew the answer, would that satisfy me.
Maybe it's that realization that "beautiful" doesn't actually mean "I love you", "I choose you" or "I need you". That beautiful really isn't enough or what you're actually looking for after all. It's more than that. So what I'm finally realizing is that yes, there is a shallow part of me that wants to be beautiful. I know I've got a long list of accomplishments and good qualities, and dammit I would like to count being "beautiful" among them. Sorry, I'm not sorry. But I also need to believe I'm beauitful because I will never believe it coming from someone else until I believe it for myself. That may mean faking it until I get there. And not just faking it outwardly, but really stopping the negative thoughts as soon as they enter my brain. I've got to re-train myself and become at peace with all the mean comments I've said about myself and others have said about me. When I can do that, I'll finally be beautiful again.
If anyone said anything different, I would assume it was because they either wanted something from me, were somehow impaired, or had some sort of a fetish for non-beautiful people. Wow, I think highly of other peoples' tastes, don't I? When I look at myself in the mirror or in pictures, I don't necessarily feel ugly, but I just don't think I'm neccessarily pretty. My eyes a bit too small, nose a bit too wide, uneven skin, far from perfect body. Not wholly unpleasant, but not a movie star.
I don't want to blame fashion magazines, Barbie dolls, television or films. Playing with dolls, watching films, or reading magazines never made me feel badly about myself. It was other people actually. The ones who did ridicule me for things. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't picked on a lot. Going to a small, private school did wonders for creating a family-type environment. When there are only 30 kids in your class (and that's a large class), cliques become a very abstract idea. But I was picked on. From my hair being too blonde (yes that's apparently a thing and they called me an albino), to my weight. I can honestly say that prior to those bullies (who were a few years older than I was and not in my class), I never gave my hair color, eye color, weight or anything else a whole lot of thought. I'm not saying they are the first, last, and only bullies in my life, but they certainly made a clear impression on me.
So why is it that a few negative experiences in my life have led me to believe those people over the other positive experiences? Why would anyone want to believe bad things about themselves? As I look back, I feel like there is a clear progression of how we get to that point in our lives. There's the first realization that someone doesn't find us as "beautiful" as we thought we were. In my case, it was those school-bus bullies. So that's the first chink in your armor. We get knocked off of our pedastal. It doesn't matter if it's right or wrong. The seeds of self-doubt are planted. Then, part of growing up is naturally going to be trial and error. We obssess over failures and mistakes because they confirm those seeds of doubt. We become our own self-fulfulling prophecies. The person you like doesn't like you back. You didn't make the team. You didn't get the lead in the play. You're not "popular".
People come up with all sorts of ways to cope with this. Some people become class clowns. If you can laugh at yourself first, or make your peers laugh at something else, they totally forget whatever it is you're insecure about. Some people become depressed or self-destructive, which is so, so sad. Some people become aggressive. I tried being aggressive and moody in middle school for about six months, but that didn't really make me any happier and confused a lot of people. Hell, middle school is confusing anyway. I did however, remain aggressive on the basketball court. Hello, foul-outs!
What I finally found solace in was being nice. Way too nice, actually. I let a lot of people walk all over me for way too long. I still do sometimes. I found a way to be indispensable to people in a way that I thought forced them to look past whatever it was I had been afraid of. Kind of the whole Steve Martin quote, "Be so good they can't ignore you." Well I was good, whether it was making signs for homecoming, volunteering for every charity event, boosting my sorority's GPA. But being needed is not the same thing as being wanted. I was always needed by many, but I never knew if they wanted me or not.
So fast forward several years, now I'm 30 and probably the most comfortable I've been with myself since I was 7 years old. Yet, I still don't believe it when people throw around the word "beautiful". Perhaps it's the fact that such compliments have come from people who have hurt me the most. Perhaps it's because I think that we don't tell our loved ones the truth because we love them and they are beautiful to us. But when you hear compliments over and over, when is it enough to make them valid? Do I need to be on a cover of a magazine in order to feel validated and beautiful? Because I don't want that. And even if I were voted into People Magazine's Most Beautiful list, there are still going to be people who think I'm ugly. People think Jennifer Lawrence is ugly. People think Ryan Reynolds is ugly. I think these people are insane, but everyone is entitled to their opinion. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if someone thinks that I'm prettier than they are, or if a friend is attracted to me. These are things you can't or don't talk about. It's not that I obsess over these thoughts or that they rule my life, but I do wonder, and wonder if I even knew the answer, would that satisfy me.
Maybe it's that realization that "beautiful" doesn't actually mean "I love you", "I choose you" or "I need you". That beautiful really isn't enough or what you're actually looking for after all. It's more than that. So what I'm finally realizing is that yes, there is a shallow part of me that wants to be beautiful. I know I've got a long list of accomplishments and good qualities, and dammit I would like to count being "beautiful" among them. Sorry, I'm not sorry. But I also need to believe I'm beauitful because I will never believe it coming from someone else until I believe it for myself. That may mean faking it until I get there. And not just faking it outwardly, but really stopping the negative thoughts as soon as they enter my brain. I've got to re-train myself and become at peace with all the mean comments I've said about myself and others have said about me. When I can do that, I'll finally be beautiful again.
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