So today I have the urge to paint. Mind you, I don't have the time (with a preschooler to keep tabs on), or really much skill. But I want to paint. I don't like how most of the walls in my home show significant wear, dirt, smearing, just smudging dirt. I want everything clean and nice again.
Come to think of it, I want the same for me. I'd like to paint over the cracks and damage marks in myself. I want to be whole and pristine again, with all evidence of imperfection well-covered. I guess life doesn't work that way. I guess what I really need to do is empty out the closet and start over. Haul all those character defects off to Good Will, be willing to get rid of certain habits and patterns - especially thought patterns.
So this is my metaphor for today. It's O.K. to pick a different color. But you've got to do the primer first.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Inertia
Blah blah blah... I haven't updated this blog in a while, or my family one. I haven't cleaned my house, I haven't done any of the projects I want to do, I haven't sold things on eBay, I haven't done the budget, I haven't planned for this, that or the other thing... I feel beseiged by inertia. I'm still tired all the time, and the lack of energy leads to lack of production, which may in turn increase fatigue as I survey how much I "should" be doing.
How do the gogetters of the world get their energy? Their motivation? I have the same number of hours in my day as Thomas Jefferson and Albert Einstein did, as Oprah Winfrey and Barack Obama do. So what separates me from them? (Besides fame) Apparently, drive. I just don't feel driven to do much. Is it laziness? Is it depression? Does it stem from being self-centered? A combination of those? Perhaps.
I don't really realize how self-focused I am until I compare my blog, my thoughts, even my status updates on Facebook with those of other people. I am not fighting discrimination in South Africa, I am not walking in the Relay for Life, I am not even active in my church. But I'm darn good about whining about how I have no energy, no drive, just feel bleah...
Not sure what the point is here. Not really sure how or what to change. I do know I've fallen back into the avoidance trap - I don't want to think about the reality of my messy house, my toddler who's suddenly figured out she's a toddler and so is now throwing fits far too often, my son who's wrestling with some pretty big issues and doesn't even know it yet - I just want to hide my head from it all. And I do. Which I guess is what separates me from Jefferson, Einstein, Winfrey, and Obama.
How do the gogetters of the world get their energy? Their motivation? I have the same number of hours in my day as Thomas Jefferson and Albert Einstein did, as Oprah Winfrey and Barack Obama do. So what separates me from them? (Besides fame) Apparently, drive. I just don't feel driven to do much. Is it laziness? Is it depression? Does it stem from being self-centered? A combination of those? Perhaps.
I don't really realize how self-focused I am until I compare my blog, my thoughts, even my status updates on Facebook with those of other people. I am not fighting discrimination in South Africa, I am not walking in the Relay for Life, I am not even active in my church. But I'm darn good about whining about how I have no energy, no drive, just feel bleah...
Not sure what the point is here. Not really sure how or what to change. I do know I've fallen back into the avoidance trap - I don't want to think about the reality of my messy house, my toddler who's suddenly figured out she's a toddler and so is now throwing fits far too often, my son who's wrestling with some pretty big issues and doesn't even know it yet - I just want to hide my head from it all. And I do. Which I guess is what separates me from Jefferson, Einstein, Winfrey, and Obama.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Rage
I am full of grief and rage and sadness and anger and feelings of being overwhelmed. I want to rail at God, I want to throw dishes, I want to stomp my feet and throw a bigger tantrum than either of my kids ever did. I want to pound the ground in frustration and scream at the universe.
My son, my darling son. has Tourette's and Asperger syndrome. For those of you who didn't know this but read this blog, keep it to yourselves. I wouldn't normally even dare write something here but I need an outlet today. We have known about the Tourette's since he was 6. Asperger's has been suspected since then, as well, but officially "diagnosed" this week.
Both of those were evident before - we noticed tics as early as age 4, and oddities in behavior, etc., since he was a baby, really. But who among us isn't odd? (Especially in my family!)
Still, the grief is here today, and strong. With Tourette's, at least, I could tell myself "the prognosis is good - most people's tics lessen throughout adolescence and are often mostly gone by adulthood." There was no guarantee that would happen for my son - we won't know until we're there - but at least it was a hope. But Asperger's? That's life-long. I know it could be worse. I know. I know. It isn't cancer. It isn't full-blown autism. It probably won't preclude him from most of the things we all hope for - good education, good job, even a good marriage and kids.
But my grief is for what might have been - what kinds of relationships he might have had if his brain wiring made him more capable of truly connecting, and for what might be - the pain of never quite getting it, never quite fitting in, and how hard it will be as his parent to try to help him navigate a world that will be more difficult for him than for many others just because his brain was built differently.
My husband is intensely private, and I certainly understand not discussing all this with just anybody, but it also leaves me without support. It's not that I want to talk about it every minute, I just want someone to understand and know. I will eventually take steps to figure out support groups, etc., but for right now, we're not doing a lot because we don't want to push this label on my son. He knows about the Tourette's, I had to label it for him about a month ago after they thought he was having a seizure at a local camp, but you know what, I don't want to always focus on these labels. He's still my son. Quirky, often exasperating, but also funny and computer savvy and never boring... without the labels, what would we all think?
Maybe eventually they will help explain to others what others might normally dismiss as social awkwardness, or even rudeness or just weirdness. Maybe eventually it will feel like a blessing to be in this age where we know more about what is going on, and being able to explain to others, at least adults, will net him some grace where before others might have been hesitant to give.
But right now I'm grieving, for the lost dreams both my husband and I have had for him, and for the future challenges to come. I know I shouldn't expect a problem-free life, for me or others. I don't. I know it's better than cancer or any other number of things. But he's my son. And I'm pissed at God for his sake.
My son, my darling son. has Tourette's and Asperger syndrome. For those of you who didn't know this but read this blog, keep it to yourselves. I wouldn't normally even dare write something here but I need an outlet today. We have known about the Tourette's since he was 6. Asperger's has been suspected since then, as well, but officially "diagnosed" this week.
Both of those were evident before - we noticed tics as early as age 4, and oddities in behavior, etc., since he was a baby, really. But who among us isn't odd? (Especially in my family!)
Still, the grief is here today, and strong. With Tourette's, at least, I could tell myself "the prognosis is good - most people's tics lessen throughout adolescence and are often mostly gone by adulthood." There was no guarantee that would happen for my son - we won't know until we're there - but at least it was a hope. But Asperger's? That's life-long. I know it could be worse. I know. I know. It isn't cancer. It isn't full-blown autism. It probably won't preclude him from most of the things we all hope for - good education, good job, even a good marriage and kids.
But my grief is for what might have been - what kinds of relationships he might have had if his brain wiring made him more capable of truly connecting, and for what might be - the pain of never quite getting it, never quite fitting in, and how hard it will be as his parent to try to help him navigate a world that will be more difficult for him than for many others just because his brain was built differently.
My husband is intensely private, and I certainly understand not discussing all this with just anybody, but it also leaves me without support. It's not that I want to talk about it every minute, I just want someone to understand and know. I will eventually take steps to figure out support groups, etc., but for right now, we're not doing a lot because we don't want to push this label on my son. He knows about the Tourette's, I had to label it for him about a month ago after they thought he was having a seizure at a local camp, but you know what, I don't want to always focus on these labels. He's still my son. Quirky, often exasperating, but also funny and computer savvy and never boring... without the labels, what would we all think?
Maybe eventually they will help explain to others what others might normally dismiss as social awkwardness, or even rudeness or just weirdness. Maybe eventually it will feel like a blessing to be in this age where we know more about what is going on, and being able to explain to others, at least adults, will net him some grace where before others might have been hesitant to give.
But right now I'm grieving, for the lost dreams both my husband and I have had for him, and for the future challenges to come. I know I shouldn't expect a problem-free life, for me or others. I don't. I know it's better than cancer or any other number of things. But he's my son. And I'm pissed at God for his sake.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Weighty Conversation
So this morning I was walking my laps at the gym, listening to Dave Ramsey on my mp3, when an older lady, probably in her 60's, came up along side me and, smiling, said, "I like your shirt!" I was wearing my Biggest Loser shirt from the Wellness Center, on the back of which it says, "Being a loser never felt so good." I smiled and said "Thanks!" I thought we were done, but she continued to walk next to me and said something about supporting me in the competition (which is actually over), and then commented about how if I lost any weight maybe I could give it to her. I laughed and said, "If only it were that easy, I'd love to." She talked about how she was underweight now and needed to gain some weight (she was very thin), about how hard that was. I jokingly said, "Eat some cookie dough!" She went on about how she would get so busy with what she was doing, if it weren't for her husband and son, she would forget to eat. I, of course, have never had that problem, and admitted so. After we had talked a bit more and walked more laps, she asked, "So how much weight do you have to lose?" I was nonplussed. She certainly seemed to be coming from a friendly position, I don't think she was being malicious, but what was I to say? Was she trying to discern just how fat I was, really? I mean, obviously anyone who sees me knows I am fat and could really lose some weight. So if I had told her, "100 lbs," would she have been like, "Is that all?" Or would she have said, "No way!" If I had said 30 lbs, would she have laughed, thinking (knowing) that that wasn't all? I kind of chuckled and said, "I don't even know, and I don't wanna know!" and she chuckled, and we went on chatting, she telling me in full detail how hard it is to gain weight.
I seriously think she was being kind and just making conversation. I don't think she had a mean bone in her body. But boy, did I feel exposed or something. Or am I just too sensitive (yes!) about any conversations about weight that I don't initiate myself?
Would it have bothered you?
I seriously think she was being kind and just making conversation. I don't think she had a mean bone in her body. But boy, did I feel exposed or something. Or am I just too sensitive (yes!) about any conversations about weight that I don't initiate myself?
Would it have bothered you?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Three Square Meals A Day
My name is Anne, and I am a compulsive overeater. This has been true for as long as I can remember. I don't have a lot of childhood memories, but many that I do revolve around food or lack thereof. I can remember stealing money to go to the corner store and buy candy when I was in elementary school. I can remember the freedom of driving my own car and how it let me stop at Dunkin' Donuts on the way to school and Burger King on the way home in high school. I can remember in college deciding I'd had it with being fat, especially after being called such in front of a group of "friends" and hearing them laugh, and supplementing my bingeing with purging. I can remember after the birth of my son subsisting on cookie dough to try to make it through the day. So food has been my best friend and worst enemy for a long time.
In 2004, I joined OA. I did what I was supposed to do: got a sponsor, created a food plan, journaled, went to lots of meetings. I even found God. I dropped about 30 pounds. Woo hoo! Then I got pregnant, and my diet/scale/weight-obsessed mind couldn't reconcile going to OA while pregnant - I don't need to lose weight while pregnant, so why go? (Apparently my recovery had only come so far.) So I stopped going. I dabbled in it, meaning I'd go to a meeting here or there, over the next 4 years, but decided that clearly OA wasn't going to work for me again, since I am obviously still fat.
This year in January I decided to recommit to the Saturday meetings - mostly because I was realizing how nice it was to have a place to go and vomit up the crap that was going on in my life. I wasn't doing a darn thing for OA or my own recovery outside of Saturday mornings, but it sure was great to go and realize I wasn't alone in my craziness. Then suddenly one day out of desperation I finally asked someone to be my sponsor. I confessed to her that I was worried I wouldn't be able to be perfect for her and follow the plan perfectly like I felt I "had" to do if I had a sponsor, but wonder of wonders, she reminded me that waiting to be perfect until I got a sponsor wasn't exactly logical or realistic thinking.
I still feel like I'm not doing it "right." I don't call her, I e-mail. I don't journal regularly. Lord knows my food is still wacky. But I don't feel as hopeless as I once did. Do I believe I can recover from this and lose weight? I don't know. But I don't feel alone, and I'm slowly starting to believe that a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity.
The food plan thing has still been tripping me up, though. I'm supposed to have one, it's one of the tools, and yet I can't commit. Story of my life! I paralyze myself by thinking of all the options and end up doing nothing differently. If nothing changes, nothing changes. I can find reasons to think I should eat 6 meals a day (keep the blood sugar levels steady! maybe I can avoid bingeing more if I eat more often! my kids eat and others snack and so should I, right?) and to think I should eat 3 meals a day. I can find reasons to think I should cut out all sugar and white flour (probably the healthiest thing I could do for myself) and reasons I shouldn't (that sounds too scary and does it seem so insurmountable that I will just give up and stay in the binges?). Etc, etc, etc. I wonder if *I'm* trying to be in control, rather than my Higher Power, by devising my own food plan. But apparently God isn't going to send down a written Food Plan from on high (I've been waiting, but haven't seen any burning bushes with a piece of paper stuck to it), and so I have to create it myself.
Keep it simple, silly. KISS me. Keep it simple. So for today, just for today, I am committing to 3 meals, breakfast lunch and dinner. I don't want to but am willing to, which makes me think maybe my Higher Power is in there somewhere. And just for today, I'm not going to worry if my meals seem exceptionally large (which they probably will if I get panicky about not "being able" to eat again) or not nutritionally sound or if they include sugary foods or even red light foods. If I avoid them, great. If I don't, O.K., just do the next right thing. For me the next right thing is 3 meals a day.
In 2004, I joined OA. I did what I was supposed to do: got a sponsor, created a food plan, journaled, went to lots of meetings. I even found God. I dropped about 30 pounds. Woo hoo! Then I got pregnant, and my diet/scale/weight-obsessed mind couldn't reconcile going to OA while pregnant - I don't need to lose weight while pregnant, so why go? (Apparently my recovery had only come so far.) So I stopped going. I dabbled in it, meaning I'd go to a meeting here or there, over the next 4 years, but decided that clearly OA wasn't going to work for me again, since I am obviously still fat.
This year in January I decided to recommit to the Saturday meetings - mostly because I was realizing how nice it was to have a place to go and vomit up the crap that was going on in my life. I wasn't doing a darn thing for OA or my own recovery outside of Saturday mornings, but it sure was great to go and realize I wasn't alone in my craziness. Then suddenly one day out of desperation I finally asked someone to be my sponsor. I confessed to her that I was worried I wouldn't be able to be perfect for her and follow the plan perfectly like I felt I "had" to do if I had a sponsor, but wonder of wonders, she reminded me that waiting to be perfect until I got a sponsor wasn't exactly logical or realistic thinking.
I still feel like I'm not doing it "right." I don't call her, I e-mail. I don't journal regularly. Lord knows my food is still wacky. But I don't feel as hopeless as I once did. Do I believe I can recover from this and lose weight? I don't know. But I don't feel alone, and I'm slowly starting to believe that a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity.
The food plan thing has still been tripping me up, though. I'm supposed to have one, it's one of the tools, and yet I can't commit. Story of my life! I paralyze myself by thinking of all the options and end up doing nothing differently. If nothing changes, nothing changes. I can find reasons to think I should eat 6 meals a day (keep the blood sugar levels steady! maybe I can avoid bingeing more if I eat more often! my kids eat and others snack and so should I, right?) and to think I should eat 3 meals a day. I can find reasons to think I should cut out all sugar and white flour (probably the healthiest thing I could do for myself) and reasons I shouldn't (that sounds too scary and does it seem so insurmountable that I will just give up and stay in the binges?). Etc, etc, etc. I wonder if *I'm* trying to be in control, rather than my Higher Power, by devising my own food plan. But apparently God isn't going to send down a written Food Plan from on high (I've been waiting, but haven't seen any burning bushes with a piece of paper stuck to it), and so I have to create it myself.
Keep it simple, silly. KISS me. Keep it simple. So for today, just for today, I am committing to 3 meals, breakfast lunch and dinner. I don't want to but am willing to, which makes me think maybe my Higher Power is in there somewhere. And just for today, I'm not going to worry if my meals seem exceptionally large (which they probably will if I get panicky about not "being able" to eat again) or not nutritionally sound or if they include sugary foods or even red light foods. If I avoid them, great. If I don't, O.K., just do the next right thing. For me the next right thing is 3 meals a day.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
My Kingdom For A Headache Free Day
So I've been on Metformin for about a week. Besides the usual stomach upset that brings, I've had migraines again - 3 in 3 days. This is on top of having a low-to-medium level headache most days anyway. Is it the medicine? Is it the springtime pollen? (Perhaps, the hypochondriac in me is screaming, I'm having a stroke or have a tumor!) Who knows - what I *do* know is it's making me bitchy with everyone. Having the kids home for spring break isn't helping, but still, when your head is pounding and you have fuzzy floaters in your eyes obscuring your vision, how the heck are you gonna be June Cleaver?
This morning I called the doctor - while migraine is not associated with Metformin, I'm supposed to off of it for a week and see what happens.
All these medicines. What did people do in the era before modern medicine? Ah, used herbs and other natural remedies. Or suffered. Or is modern medicine making us sicker? I don't like being on Metformin, I don't like being on Zoloft. I still feel depressed, I'm still irritable, and still fat, so is it really helping?
Maybe what I need isn't a medical cure, it's an emotional cure - more close friendships, more time spent in the company of other women, more affirmations from the people in my life that I am important to them and serve a purpose. Would outer affirmations cure an inner feeling of woe? Because if I have to wait to feel confident to gain those things, well - vicious cycle. I am more isolated and isolating myself more than I think I ever have, and don't really know why. Some of it is the current reality of life - I have young kids, I am at home, so I don't see co-workers and don't have lots of free time to just run around with peers (oh, those of you in college, enjoy those friendships while you can!). My husband is not socially-driven and would rather be at home. I would rather be with him, so I'm often at home. And don't really have the energy to go out gallavanting every night, even if I could. Long story somewhat shorter, I'm lonely. But loneliness is a feeling that has pervaded my life for as long as I can remember - I feel lonely and alone a lot. Separate. Other.
Just rambling today, wondering how other people feel - how do you deal with loneliness? Are others less lonely than I am? Does everybody feel an outsider? It's funny how most people never identify themselves as having been part of the popular crowd in high school - but obviously someone was, or there wouldn't have been such a crowd! Do we all identify ourselves as different, even when others view us as the same?
This morning I called the doctor - while migraine is not associated with Metformin, I'm supposed to off of it for a week and see what happens.
All these medicines. What did people do in the era before modern medicine? Ah, used herbs and other natural remedies. Or suffered. Or is modern medicine making us sicker? I don't like being on Metformin, I don't like being on Zoloft. I still feel depressed, I'm still irritable, and still fat, so is it really helping?
Maybe what I need isn't a medical cure, it's an emotional cure - more close friendships, more time spent in the company of other women, more affirmations from the people in my life that I am important to them and serve a purpose. Would outer affirmations cure an inner feeling of woe? Because if I have to wait to feel confident to gain those things, well - vicious cycle. I am more isolated and isolating myself more than I think I ever have, and don't really know why. Some of it is the current reality of life - I have young kids, I am at home, so I don't see co-workers and don't have lots of free time to just run around with peers (oh, those of you in college, enjoy those friendships while you can!). My husband is not socially-driven and would rather be at home. I would rather be with him, so I'm often at home. And don't really have the energy to go out gallavanting every night, even if I could. Long story somewhat shorter, I'm lonely. But loneliness is a feeling that has pervaded my life for as long as I can remember - I feel lonely and alone a lot. Separate. Other.
Just rambling today, wondering how other people feel - how do you deal with loneliness? Are others less lonely than I am? Does everybody feel an outsider? It's funny how most people never identify themselves as having been part of the popular crowd in high school - but obviously someone was, or there wouldn't have been such a crowd! Do we all identify ourselves as different, even when others view us as the same?
Thursday, April 2, 2009
PC Oh What?
So I've officially been diagnosed with PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome). What? Me? What? A hormonal imbalance? Endocrine disorder? Metabolic syndrome / insulin resistance? Higher susceptibility to depression and anxiety? Oh - hey, wait - maybe that DOES explain much of my life. Still, I'm feeling overwhelmed and unsure of what to do next. My first inclination is to dive into reading, which I do need to do. But I also need to remind myself to step back and calm down. I have been so anxious and scared and rebellious about it that my food has taken up its residence on my back again, especially the sugary items (exact opposite of what I need to be eating, apparently). One step at a time, one day at a time... there is time to learn about this, time to experiment with what works and what doesn't, time to be me. I've been me for 37 years and probably had this for a good portion of that, so nothing has really changed except my level of knowledge, and hopefully that will help me make good decisions and keep this stuff under control.
I was put on Metformin as of 2 days ago, and so far have had the upset stomach and headache common with that. Hopefully it will go away soon.
If anyone out there in blog land happens to read this and has familiarity with PCOS, could you let me know what you recommend as far as reading, or where to start in general?
I was put on Metformin as of 2 days ago, and so far have had the upset stomach and headache common with that. Hopefully it will go away soon.
If anyone out there in blog land happens to read this and has familiarity with PCOS, could you let me know what you recommend as far as reading, or where to start in general?
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