Sometimes there simply isn't enough air.   There isn't enough room.  There isn't enough light.

More and more I find myself saying things like "I just can't breathe in this room," or "I can't see anything - I need more light."  It's not panic really, just this odd sort of mild suffocation and exaggerated squinting.  It started about 3 months ago.  A friend died.  Someone I had known and loved for a very long time.  

I'm not alone in this  - he was loved by many; the loss is far reaching.  But I was starting to come out of it.  I could get through a day with out thinking about him until I went to bed, and even then my thoughts were mostly happy.  I still found myself pausing to breathe more often than before, but I had cut back on the food as medicine regime I always prescribe during times of stress, so that was progress (even though I had to abandon my jeans for yoga pants and skirts).   And I wanted to write.  I thought about writing everyday - but, what can I write that won't sound self-important.  Blah blah blah, me me ME!  Nothing.

Then there was Friday.  The air was gone again, and the room, and the light.  Nothing about this little blog project seems very important.  So what if I'm putting weight back on.  Honestly, who gives a shit?  I had to talk to my son about what happened yesterday after he got home from school.  I just couldn't do it over the weekend, and It didn't dawn on me until it was too late that he would hear about it from friends at school.  So we talked for a long time last night.  He slept  in my room because he was scared and asked if we could say a special prayer for the kids.  One of the things we talked about was how there are always more good guys.  There are always people doing brave things to help make the world a little bit better.

I don't have to look very far for these good guys.  

They are my friends and many of them are moms.  One is going to have her sixth child, and another sent her oldest off to college.  I have friends with twins who still find time to do... well anything else.  I have a friend who had to lay in a hospital bed for over 70 days to make sure her baby wasn't born premature; and another whose beautiful baby was born premature, but is now thriving.  And then there are the friends whose children deal with health or learning issues - but they find ways through it.  I am inspired by the love found in all of these parent-child relationships and feel a little more space open up in the world when I think about them.  

Some of my friends have faced incredible challenges, devastating loss, and pain.  But they make it through - they keep moving forward.  I've watched friends struggle to find love, or finally find love only to have to fight to have that love accepted.  I have friends who fight disease - who have to tell cancer to fuck off over and over again.   When I think about these friends I see light.  I see them winning their battles and the world seems brighter.

I have a friend who is 5 - it is my greatest hope that she will consider me one of her best friends as she grows up - she works so hard to do things many of us take for granted.  She works so hard, but she smiles and laughs like it is all too easy.  When I think about her, when I see her playing with my kids, when I feel so much love I am overwhelmed, I can breathe deeply and feel like there is finally enough air.  

That's the trick isn't it? Creating so much love that you feel free, breathe easy and see the light and good around you?  There are two ways to spread light - be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.  I'm having a hard time being the candle right now, but I will do my best to hold up the mirror.   

 

I owe my poor neglected blog an apology... I'm sorry I have been avoiding you.  There, I said it, I have been avoiding my blog.  In the two months since my last post much has happened - a wonderful tenth anniversary vacation (I even brought back one pound for every year as a souvenir - I take my vacationing seriously!), the catch-up that inevitably comes with vacation, unexpected visitors, the doctor and the dentist, the list continues but I won't bore you.  And the cherry on top of it all - BACK TO SCHOOL.  I knew it was coming, but I wasn't ready.  I never am.  I love school, my son loves school, and my daughter can't wait to start school - but I really dislike the schedule.  

First, I have to thank all of you who took the time to read my original post.  I was more than a little amazed by the response - so much for just a few friends and my mom reading it.  For those of you who took the time to write a comment either on this site or on my facebook page another heart-felt thank you.  Your encouragement is making all the difference - I worked out everyday for almost 2 weeks because of those comments, and that never happens.  Never.  So, thank yous all around.

Next, I'd like to make a little disclaimer - I've had requests to write about how I lost the initial 75 pounds, and I will, but not today.  I think it's important for me to write about why everything got so out of control in the first place.  I've written the bit about "why I'm doing this" and I promise to get to "how I lost/am losing the weight," but tonight I am writing about  "The List," which is just that - a list of all the things that have contributed to my weight issues.  I go through "The List" on a fairly regular basis, just to make sure all of those reasons (a.k.a excuses) and resentments are still there.  They always are.  Someday I hope they won't be. 

It would be absolutely untrue for me to categorize my weight gain as simply "baby weight."  I have struggled with my weight for as long as I can remember, and I can say with some certainty that I always will.  I don't mean that to sound defeatist or anything - it's just the way it is, and that's OK.  The trick is going to be getting so the struggle doesn't feel like a struggle anymore.  I'm looking forward to the day when the struggle just feels slightly annoying like picking up the dirty socks my husband leaves lying around.  Then maybe someday the struggle will start to feel like power - the way hiding said socks from said husband does.  

"The List" 
1.  Genetics.  Those other pesky genes.  I have a great family - it is a very large family when you factor in all the cousins, aunts, uncles, and so on.  We are a lively, generous, and fun-loving bunch, but for the most part, staying at a healthy weight does not come easily for us.  The "skinnies" are definitely in the minority and most of those married in, so at least the gene pool seems to be lightening up.
2.  Blame.  Now there's a word for you - it pretty much sums it all up.  I blame others for my weight problem.  That's a hard thing to admit.  I don't think I'll go into too much detail on this one.  It's complicated and painful, and for now it's enough that I recognize the problem.  But seriously, Society, there are things that kids simply shouldn't have to worry about.  Which brings me to my next item...
 3.  Gulit.  Yes, I feel guilty about blaming others.  But mostly I just feel guilty.  Guilty that I'm short and genetically predisposed to plumpness; guilty that I let it get so out of control;  guilty that I can't say no to baked goods, or pizza, or chocolate; guilty that I feel sorry for myself when there is so much more to feel sorry for; guilty that I am not the best version of me that I can be.  Guilt, guilt, guilt, and I'm not even Catholic (but the majority of my family is, so I must come by it naturally).
4.  Stress.  Like a lot of people, I pack it on in times of stress.  I'm a stress eater - if truth be told, I'm a boredom eater and a happy eater too, but I seem to exercise more control in those areas - stress will do me in every time.  Which explains why there were significant weight gains in college, before my wedding, and after both pregnancies.  At my heaviest, I had just opened a business and then when my weight shot back up I was closing that business.  If only there was something I could do to anticipate stress and my reaction to it... 
5.  Fear.  I used to think that fear of being thin was sort of a joke.  Who on earth would be afraid to be thin?  But now I think I get it, and it's more than just being afraid of the hard work it's going to take to lose the weight.  It's fear of the unknown, of putting yourself out there without any kind of protection from failure.  And really, that's what the extra weight can provide - protection from failing just because you failed.  With the extra weight there is the option to say to yourself "well, I could have done it if I wasn't overweight."  Yes, the weight brings with it another set of obstacles and the potential for rejection, but again, it's not YOU that's rejected, it's the weight.

So there's "The List" or rather, my list.  I know it's different for everyone.  I also know that giving a label and a voice to the reasons and resentments will diminish their power.  Now I can say to myself , "I know you, Guilt.  And don't think I don't see you rolling your eyes at me, Fear!  You can both take Blame and stick it where the sun..."  You get the idea.

I told a friend of mine today that I was out of control with food lately and needed to get a grip.  "You look great, though," was her kind reply.  "Thanks," I said, "but my jeans beg to differ."

I decided the remark made a decent title for my next project - writing about the past 365 days I spent trying to take off what took 3,650 days, a husband and two kids to put on...

When my oldest was 3 I tipped the scales at (oh god, am I about to put this is writing? Gulp.) 225 pounds.  I'm 5'3" - there is no way I was pulling that off.  So on top of feeling lousy about my reflection, I was feeling like a bad mom.  I could envision the day when my son would want me to do something really active and I would make an excuse not to do whatever fun thing he asked of me.  Lame.  I also wanted to have another baby, but the thought of packing on even more weight was terrifying.  So, for the next several months I worked on losing the weight.  I lost about 45 pounds and decided that I could tolerate getting pregnant again.  My daughter was born about a year and 30 pounds later.  

I felt ok about the 30 pounds I put on - that's a pretty average sort of number.  The thing is, when my son had his first birthday, I weighed more than I did the day before he was born.  I knew the real struggle was yet to come.  And true to form, on my daughter's first birthday I hadn't lost a single pound.  The number was climbing.  A few weeks before her second birthday I realized I was within 5 pounds of my heaviest weight again, and that's when I decided I needed to do something. 

My son was almost 7, and I was starting to make the excuses I knew I would, and I felt awful about it, but the real kicker was now I had a daughter who would learn everything about self-image from me first.  Oh crap, we're in trouble! Suddenly the prospect of not losing the weight was way scarier than all the sweat and no cookies I was so afraid of before. You see, cookies are my favorite food - cookies and corn dogs, and I was going to have to kiss them both good-bye (for awhile anyway).

It's been a year and I've lost 75 pounds.  I've gone from a size 24 to a 10.  I'm pretty proud of myself!  But it's still a struggle.  I still make a lot of bad food choices, and I still don't really like to sweat.  I have about 25 pounds and/or 2 sizes to go to get to my goal - but there's light...

I'm writing this to keep motivated - to hold myself accountable - to figure out what works so that when I need help (which I often do) I have something or someone to turn to for inspiration - me!