Trust and Betrayal

By nature, I’m a very trusting person. Maybe it’s just the way I was raised – in a very small town where you knew everyone and they knew not just you, but your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. Where nobody locked their doors or windows, and folks slept out on the screen porch during hot weather. Where everybody took care of everyone else’s kids as if they were their own, and you were always welcome at a neighbor’s house and dinner table. Maybe that’s why I have gotten hurt so many times in my life since – I always seem trust people until they prove that they can’t be trusted. You’d think I’d learn sooner or later. Looks like it’s going to be later.

Why are some people so selfish that they don’t care about what happens to someone else as long as they get what they want? How do they get to that point? Did no one care about them when they were young? Did life screw them over so badly that they feel like they deserve whatever they can get, no matter what? It’s always been a mystery to me why some people are such assholes. I keep thinking there must be a reason for it, and if I could understand it, I could deal with it. After 55 years on this earth, I still do not understand, and at this point, I doubt I ever will.

For me, life is all about loving and being loved. It’s about giving of yourself to make others happy. It’s caring about people you don’t even know – wanting life to be better for them, and doing what you can to make it that way. It’s about finding that one person that you want to spend the rest of your life making happy, and doing everything in your power to do just that. It’s about treasuring friends and family above everything else, and being there for them whatever happens. It’s about not running away from problems and uncomfortable situations with the one(s) you love, but hanging in there and fighting for the best outcome for everyone. It’s about giving love whenever and wherever you can.

Unfortunately for me, that means that I get disappointed and hurt all too often. When people tell me something, I believe them. When someone says they will do something or be somewhere, I believe that they will. And when they don’t, I’m not always half as mad at them as I am at myself for being such a sucker! Which, of course, means they win twice – once when I believe them, and once when I beat myself up for being so foolish.

Sometimes I wonder what the right answer is, here. Is it to trust no one and believe that everyone you meet has ulterior motives? Is it to “play the game back” and hurt rather than be hurt? Do I just withdraw from life altogether to avoid being hurt? Or is it my lot to keep believing, keep hoping, keep trying and, in the end, keep being hurt and disappointed.

In case you are wondering, this week someone I thought was a friend turned out to be someone who only wanted to use me to get something they wanted. They offered me some things that I value – friendship, caring and companionship – only to get me to let my guard down so that they could manipulate me to get what they wanted. I’m left feeling like dirt under their feet. And somehow, I doubt that they care one bit. After all, they got what they wanted in the first place. Mission accomplished.

The Dreaded Plateau

Trying to lose weight is a series of occasional highs surrounded by a vast sea of frustration. At least that’s the way it works for me. When the number on the scale goes down, there’s just no better feeling. In my case, those occasions are generally spaced out with a lot of incidents of frustration when the number either doesn’t change at all, or actually goes up (temporarily). It’s so easy to get discouraged when you are following the rules and exercising frequently – and seeing no results. Perhaps part of the problem is that we live in a time when we are accustomed to immediate gratification – cause and effect being adjacent to each other in a timeline – and we don’t deal as well with the “eyes on the prize” scenario.

In the dieting world, this is referred to as a plateau. Plateaus can be anywhere from a week to several months. This is the point at which your body decides to fight back and try to maintain your weight – a built-in response to prevent starvation by holding onto the pounds. Even if you are extremely obese, like I am, your body still responds to weight loss that way. It is during plateaus that people usually “fall off the wagon” – all that hard work and self-denial and nothing to show for it. I’m no different – every diet I’ve ever undertaken has resulted in a long plateau, which ended when I decided “to heck with it – I’m going to eat whatever I want – might as well!” and that was it. Once you fall off a particular diet or way of eating, it is so very much harder to re-start – you always have that feeling of “what’s the use? I’ll just quit losing again”.

I’m a tough case, to be sure. I’ve probably lost at least 500 pounds – if not more – in my lifetime. In the end, I give up and start eating things that aren’t good for me again – and put on everything I’ve lost and more, and I do it very rapidly. It’s not out of the question for me to gain 20 pounds in a month. I had a metabolic study once, and the endocrinologist told me that I was too efficient – that my body needed fewer calories to maintain my weight than anyone he had seen in his practice (and he wasn’t a young man, either!). That’s not an excuse for giving up, but it is a contributing factor in my frustration with weight loss efforts.

This time around, I’ve hit a number of small plateaus already. So far, the weight loss has restarted in 2-4 weeks, as long as I keep working at it. There could be any number of reasons for this - for example, I have greatly increased the amount of physical activity in my schedule, and I’ve been building muscle. Muscle weighs more than fat. So sometimes, even when I don’t see the scale number change, I do see a change in the tape measure or in the fit of my clothes. Other times, I can be retaining water – this frequently happens when I suffer a bout of fibromyalgia. I don’t know what the relationship is – I just know that for me, there is one. Regardless of the reason, I can see my weight fluctuate as much as 3 pounds in the course of a few days.

What I can say this time around is that there has been a change in my attitude. While I’d love to see the scale show weekly progress, I have committed myself to doing this even if I don’t see it. I’m determined that this will work and I’ve gained an understanding that it may not happen quickly. I truly believe that this time I will be able to take off a large chunk of my weight. Maybe not all that I’d like to see gone, but a significant amount – enough to allow me to have the knee surgery I need and regain some mobility. I want to enjoy whatever years are left to me, and part of that enjoyment would come in being able, not disabled, if there is any way I can accomplish that. And so now I’m going off to the gym to run 35 laps and 30 minutes of resistance training in the warm water pool.

When Words Hurt

I hate prejudice! Prejudice against obese people is the one that hits me where I live, but I truly hate any type of prejudice, and I find myself becoming angry about it more frequently as I get older. Prejudice is a close-minded, irrational bias against some group of people – usually based on some cultural or societal perception – that leads, or allows, people to express themselves in a way that is demeaning and devaluing to those about whom they speak. Sometimes, this prejudice is so ingrained in their background that their expression of it becomes natural and without forethought. But words can hurt others deeply, and even jokes made at the expense of others are unkind and unacceptable.

This was brought home to me this week by a blog post by someone I know (I won’t name the person, so don’t ask) who posted and publicized (on Twitter) her newest rant, which she referred to as “FAT, STUPID People”! I was absolutely shocked and frankly, didn’t know what to think. However, I’m all for giving people the benefit of the doubt, so I read her post. Her subject was an incident that she said happened at the grocery store, where she was confronted by a “fat beluga” for taking all of the sale pasta, which the woman went so far as to take away from her. She ranted on and on about how huge the woman was, using all sorts of nasty, vituperative and vulgar clichés. Reading it made me want to vomit, it was that nasty.

Now, this person is what is generally called a “drama queen” – someone who can take a small, seemingly insignificant incident in her life and turn it into a huge, nearly international incident – always with her as the innocent victim. But even if every word she wrote was true, the size of the woman she referred to had nothing at all to do with the situation. The woman was pushy and incredibly rude, yes – but she could have as easily been a normal sized person and acted the same way. Her size didn’t cause her to grab the pasta, as the writer assumed – it was most likely her desire to feed her family for less, rather than her being a greedy pig, as the writer characterized her. The woman was wrong to do what she did. But the writer was also wrong to unleash such a stream of invective about the woman’s weight.

One of the reasons I found this so difficult to take was that I thought she was someone who was aware of my battle and would not have deliberately said something so hurtful. She not only did that, she was angry when I confronted her about it and asked her to stop being so offensive. She ranted on and on about how I was just another fat tub of lard and I had no right to tell her what she could or couldn’t write. In that respect, she is right – I probably should not have gone as far as to ask her to stop. I probably should have stopped at telling her that she was offending me and others. She has a right to write anything she chooses, just like the neo-Nazis, the KKK, terrorists and I do. We all enjoy the freedom of speech that we find on the internet. In the end, I exercised my right to not subject myself to that type of offensive negativity – I “unfollowed” her on Twitter so that I didn’t have to be poisoned by her venom any longer. I hope that someday she might find some peace in her life, but that won’t happen until she learns to take responsibility for herself and her actions and stop blaming others and “acting out” to get attention.

Remember the old saying “Sticks and stone will break my bones, but words will never hurt me”? I guess words will never put a cast on my leg or stitches in my arm. But they certainly hurt me emotionally, as I’m assuming they do you, as well. I experienced that from the other side this week when I called a friend an unflattering name – I was only joking, but he was in a bad place and didn’t get that. I hurt and angered him, something I would NEVER do deliberately. But it happened, and I learned from that experience as well. Words can hurt you and others. I know a lot of people who rant and rave about having to watch what they say because of PC (political correctness). Sometimes they’re right, and there certainly are people who LOOK for things to be offended by. But everyone needs to be at least somewhat conscious of how their words may be received and interpreted by others. When in doubt, please don’t say it. It isn’t worth hurting someone – whether it’s someone you love, or not. There is enough hurt in this world already.

Part 3 - The Diet-Go-Round or “Just Call Me Duncan”

My life started as a big baby – 8 lb. 8 ½ oz – oddly enough, my mother’s smallest newborn (the largest was 13 lbs., 2 oz). My earliest memories all have to do with people fussing about my weight. My paternal grandmother was particularly persistent – offered me all sorts of incentives (new wardrobe, trips to visit, Packer games, etc.) if only I’d “buckle down” and lose that weight. She was such a nag about it – I never saw her or got a letter from her that wasn’t full of pleas to “get that weight off”. I know now that she meant well, but at the time, I felt “picked on”.

No one who knew me could ever figure out why I was a heavy child. I was extremely active – always outside, running up and down the hillsides with my cousins, biking, swimming, etc. In spite of that, I gained A LOT of weight every year. I don’t remember what I weighed as a child – but I have a very strong memory of an incident that occurred in 7th grade – my first year of junior high school, in a classroom full of other children that I didn’t know. Every year, even in elementary school, we were weighed and measured – not sure what that had to do with academics, but it was common practice then. Prior to 7th grade, I attended a small school in my hometown – so small that grades 1-3 were in one room and 4-6 in the other. In those years, the teachers called us into the office one-by-on and weighed and measured us privately. However, in 7th grade we were called to the front of the class and weighed and measured in front of everyone – and to add insult to injury, the teacher then called out each student’s statistics to a teacher’s aide, who recorded them. I’ll never forget that day as long as I lived – the humiliation of hearing her call out “5’5”, 185 pounds”, and the gasps and then outright laughter than followed. That incident alone has left a deep scar and I feel myself turning red just writing about it here.

Needless to say, I’ve been a yo-yo (that’s the Duncan reference, if you didn’t get that) dieter all my life. Down a few pounds, up a few pounds more. Sometimes even down a lot of pounds (as many as 125, at one point), but then gained back all that and more. Every time I gain it back, it becomes harder to lose the next time. And getting older is also a weight loss deterrent. My metabolism, never robust, is slowing down even more. It takes twice as much hard work to lose a pound as it ever did before. Of course, that makes it easier to get discouraged. That doesn’t mean I’ve given up, however.

Back in February of this year, I started having severe pain in my left knee. Now, I’ve had degenerative joint disease in my knees, hips, back, and feet for years, but this pain was different. I could barely walk. But this was different – it didn’t come and go, it wasn’t worse some days than others, and it was excruciating whenever I put weight on it. Eventually, I went to see my doctor and get it x-rayed. The verdict – I have no cartilage at all on the right side of that knee – absolutely none. I went to see an orthopedic surgeon – his assessment was that I need my knee replaced. HOWEVER – he won’t do it now. He wants my BMI (body mass index) to be under 40. At the time of the visit, it was 62. I got a series of SynVisc shots in my knee to try to give me some mobility back, and – lucky for me - it worked. I also began physical therapy to learn some exercises that might help strengthen the muscles around the knee. While I am now able to walk short distances without a cane, it’s a poor substitute for a working knee.

In April, I also began another attempt at weight loss, using a plan that has a slightly different approach and philosophy to preparing and keeping your body in a weight-loss state. So far, it has been working – I’m down 43 pounds as of today. I’ve also added a LOT of exercise – since land-based exercise is out of the question, I do my workouts in a warm water pool at my health club. I hope I can maintain the momentum. Experience has taught me never to take anything for granted.

I intend to chronicle this journey here on this blog. My hope is that my experiences will be useful to someone else who fights this demoralizing battle. I’ve never had a “thin day” in my life, and don’t know if I would recognize one if it happened. Many people I know who have lost a LOT of weight still have a body image problem –they still see themselves as extremely fat, even though you or I looking at them would think them normal. When we’ve spent many years being ashamed of who we are and how we look, it is difficult to imagine not feeling that way. But it’s an experience I hope to have. Come along with me. The only promise I will make is to be totally honest and open. I invite you to share your thoughts, dreams, hopes and fears.

Things I'm Thankful For

My three prior posts have all been about my pain and anger. In this post, I want to talk about what and who I'm grateful to and for. There is so much more to my life than the pain and anger - I just needed to get that out before I could move on to the more positive aspects - plus I wanted to give my readers some context for where I am now.

First and foremost, I'm glad to be alive. There were lots of days/weeks/months when that was not the case. On two occasions, I even tried to end my own life, because I just didn't want to deal with the pain any longer. Hopefully, those times are past now. Every day that I see is another chance for happiness, satisfaction and accomplishment. I hope that I can keep focusing on that.

Next, I'm grateful for my friends and family. I have a lot of new and very dear friends that I've met just recently - most of them I've never actually been face-to-face with. They are part of my "twambly" - my twitter family. Especially close to me are @nursebevw, @Caribpop, @KimPossible40, @KimberleKelly, @mbreinholt, @a_simple_girl, @car4dave and @dashingclaire. Some of these are also now my Facebook friends. To anyone who has not experienced the power of social media, this has been an awesome way to connect and share. My Facebook family, mostly people I have met and/or see on a daily basis are also the best. They give me friendship, encouragement, and love.

I'm grateful for the SynVisc shots that have let me regain a portion of my mobility so that I can walk (short distances without pain) and work out in the pool. Without them, I'd be in a wheelchair. And I'm grateful to the orthopedic surgeon who suggested them, after dashing my hopes of an immediate knee replacement.

I'm grateful to Rob Nevins for launching the Skinny Switch Secret diet site. Rob's theory of what we need to do to keep our bodies burning fat resonated for me. Ergo another grateful: I've lost 43 pounds since mid-April and hope to keep it going using Rob's plan.

I'm thankful for that 43 pounds for many reasons, most of which you can probably guess. The most important of those is that I feel better - I have more stamina, it's easier to breathe, and my clothes are more comfortable - loose instead of skin tight.

I'm thankful that I've kept up my membership to Harbor Athletic Club for all these years, even when I didn't use it. Harbor has a warm water pool that gives people like me (fibromyalgia, arthritis, limited mobility) the opportunity to move, stretch, and strengthen. I've gone from barely being able to get in and out of the pool, to doing a full 1 1/2 hour workout 3-4 times a week, which includes running laps (currently up to 25 - from 2) in the deeper end. In many ways, this has been as instrumental to my weight loss and improved health as the diet.

I am VERY grateful that my son is still alive and also losing weight by cooking for me and following the same diet. I've been very worried about him - he has heart problems and diabetes on both sides of the family. I'm so happy that he has finally found something he can live with.

I'm grateful that it's summer. I feel so much better physically and emotionally when I can get outside and enjoy the warm weather, the pool, the flowers, etc.

I'm extremely grateful that I'm working on trying to lose weight and get fit again. There was a time when I thought I'd given up and would just have to suffer the consequences and that fate was not on my side. Thankfully, I've found out that I'm a fighter, not a quitter, and that anything just might be possible if you are willing to do that hard work.

Finally, I'm grateful to all of you who are taking the time to read my posts and take this journey with me. Bless you all for your friendship and support!!

Love, Love, Careless Love

Today I’m feeling like talking about love, and my life experience with it. It isn’t a particularly pretty story, but I think it’s relevant to the discussion of how obesity affects all aspects of your life. And how our societal view of obese people can make finding a life-mate who appreciates you for all of who and what you are challenging.

As a small child, I had a hard time feeling loved. I’m sure that my parents loved me – it’s simply that they were not demonstrative people. The only affection I ever saw between them was an occasional hand touch. However, for some unknown reason, I’ve always acutely craved affection and reassurances that I am loved. I drove my mother to distraction asking her, over and over again, if she loved me or how much she loved me. And no matter what she said, it was never enough.

Fast forward to my teenage years. I watched all the couples with envy – I wanted a boyfriend SO bad! In my freshman year of high school, the unimaginable happened – a boy asked me out. Of course I said yes – I was so excited! I was actually going to have a date for the Homecoming dance! As it turned out, not only did I have a date – I had a boyfriend. I was in heaven. This same boyfriend lasted all through my high school years, but to be honest, he didn’t always treat me very well. He seemed to delight in keeping me off-balance and making me insecure. With my low self-esteem, I accepted that. I thought I didn’t deserve better treatment, and I was incredibly afraid of losing him. Three months out of high school, I married him. That may have been the worst mistake I’ve ever made.

The marriage lasted 8 years, and produced one child – my son Randy. It was, to say the least, a troubled marriage, with him blaming me for all our problems, particularly the sexual ones. After one particularly bitter scene, he told me that “No man will ever want you – you are repulsive”. I didn’t want to believe him, but I did. To my shock, the marriage finally ended when he confessed that he was gay – had thought he was bi-sexual, but now decided he never wanted to sleep with a woman again. To this day, I don’t know if it was more a shock or a relief.

Through the years, there have been a number of men in my life, but not in the way I wanted. All of them wanted me to be their friend, confidant, sister-confessor, soft shoulder to cry on, etc. None of them wanted to be my lover. The last on-and-off relationship lasted around 10 years. The biggest question I have is this: Why do I put myself through it? I think the answer is that it is still the one thing I want most in life – the one big hole left in the center of me that I can’t stopper up myself. Love – for me, is the most important and most unattainable facet to living.

Don’t get me wrong – I do have friends and family that love me. And in their own way, each of these men I’ve been with has loved me, too – but loved me in the same way as friends and family. Not in the special. “Babe, you’re the one” way I’ve always craved.

There are a number of things that could be the cause of this. The ones that come to mind are:

1. I make bad choices. I choose men who are emotionally unavailable – at least to me
2. My body disqualifies me as a life-mate. Because of my weight, I’m certainly not “arm-candy”, “trophy wife” material. Men simply don't find me "sexy"
3. I'm just unlovable. Period.

These days, I have come to the conclusion that having a life companion is not in the cards for me. I need to try to stop obsessing on it and move on with my life – I have goals to accomplish and improvements to be made. I should stop wasting my energy on something that I can’t MAKE happen. As the old Bonnie Raitt song says, “I can’t make you love me if you don’t; I can’t make your heart feel what it won’t”. But it still leaves me feeling sad. And lonely.

Part 2 – Why I’m a Bitch Sometimes

Overheard at the health club pool: Little girl (about 5 years old) “Mommy, why is her butt so big?” Skinny blonde mom: “Well, sweetie, that’s what happens when you eat too much junk food and don’t exercise”.

Now – the subject of that conversation was me, it happened the evening after I posted my first blog entry, and it happened in a health club. What did she think I was doing there, if I don’t exercise? I confronted the mother with that fact – her response was that she needed to teach her daughter the importance of a healthy lifestyle. I told her that the next time she wants to make me or anyone else into an object lesson, she should also consider the opportunity to teach her child not to be judgmental without the facts – and to act respectfully. As you might guess, she just snorted and turned away.

So – here’s my question – should I have confronted her, or pretended I didn’t hear the exchange? In the past, I definitely would have done the latter. It seems like I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to hide and NOT confront people – from cruel children in the schoolyard to adults on the street. Playing deaf, and crying on the inside – certainly, that wasn’t a healthy scenario for me. As I look back on those days now, I realize that it was lack of self-esteem that caused me to act that way – I thought I deserved all that ridicule. Now, of course, I don’t believe that – but it still hurts to hear it.

I used to wonder why it was that someone would say something insulting about me, but wouldn’t to someone with a different disability. For example, if that mother saw a person with only one arm, would she have said “See dear, that’s what happens when you aren’t careful with farm equipment” or something similar? Of course not. In the same situation, she would have tried to hush her child and hope the disabled person hadn’t heard. The difference is that obese people are blamed for their disability, and therefore it seems perfectly acceptable to subject them to public ridicule.

I could go on at great lengths about the causes of obesity and the failure of the medical profession to develop an effective treatment for it. However, there are plenty of resources available on the web and in your library, so I won’t. If you are really interested, all you have to do is Google “obesity” and you’ll get all you can handle. What I can tell you is that I’ve tried nearly diet I’ve ever heard of, had 2 obesity surgeries, was on several different “fat” pills, lost (and regained) literally hundreds of pounds – not much I’ve missed – and here I am, still fat. I’ve never been a “normal weight” – the least I remember weighing was 185 pounds in 7th grade. So when someone says “Wouldn’t it be nice to be thin again?” I just can’t relate AT ALL.

I think that the worst part of this experience is the scars I will carry forever – the residual sense of shame that enlightenment can’t totally banish; the years of suffering emotional abuse at the hands of other people – some well-meaning, but still wrong, and the opportunities missed because I was afraid that the theater (or airline, or stadium, etc.) seat wouldn’t be large enough. I still remember being on a flight from San Diego to Milwaukee and having the man in the seat beside me INSIST of being moved to a new seat because I was crowding him. Or the cabin attendant on another flight who moved me to a less comfortable seat from an exit row seat because “it was obvious” to her that I could not be responsible for helping others to exit in an emergency.

So – I’m a bitch sometimes because I’m tired of being judged as “less than” by people who don’t begin to understand about obesity and make a whole set of bad judgments due to that ignorance. I’m tired of being underestimated and dismissed as “not suitable” for any number of things – teams, jobs, relationships – because of my weight. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not a proponent of being overweight, because it isn’t healthy. That’s why I’m working, once again, to try to conquer the problem or at least minimize it. But even if I succeed in losing weight, I’ll still be who I am today – it won’t make any difference in the core of who I am. Only to the packaging.