Beauty, Changing, Fear, Healing, Health, Positivity, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love

. Gluttonous Self-Harm .

 

 

I had a very personal, painful realization as I was stuffing my face with mac’ n cheese last night. I didn’t stop eating until I felt my stomach protest from the expansion and fullness; even then, I didn’t want to stop. It’s the only thing I “felt” since last Friday. This is not good self-care practice. It is, however, a good awakening.

I work in Social Services. I’m aware of the “self-harm” phenomenon, I just could never get my mind around it. “How can someone willingly cut themselves to ‘release pain’ and ‘feel alive, to feel something'”? I have been really critical in my way of thinking towards this. Having come from an abusive past, I could never fathom openly harming myself until I bleed.

As I was sitting on my couch, “shoveling” food into my face, feeling the effects of it expanding my stomach to the point of pain, I strongly realized I am no different. You can’t see my self-harm scars in forms of angry red scars on my skin. Nope. You see it in my weight.

I am morbidly obese; those who read this know this.
I am a health risk; those who know me personally know this.

But, I realized, I don’t eat enough on a day to day basis. I’ve been told time and again by family and friends, “You eat like a bird.” I’ve heard from nutritionists who put me on a caloric intake diet, that I’m not meeting my daily needs by about 200-500 calories a day. This is true. I’ve tracked it with myfitnesspal. I have seen it, black and white, that I’m lacking caloric intake. But, I shrug my shoulders. In a sense, I don’t care. Food is just not a thing for me. When I do eat, or even think about eating, I tend to do a lot of nibbling/grazing. (Which I’ve been told is healthier, but eh..)

On the other hand, when something emotionally charged triggers my C-PTSD, the only thing I can control is my food. Hell, I can’t even control my thoughts until well after gorging. It’s become somewhat of a rebellious act, since my teen years. I heard, “You’re too fat to do that” or “Lose weight and conform” so much in my youth through puberty, I went the route of “Fuck you, I’m going to eat anything I want, and how much I want!”

My sister, whom I love dearly, took it the other route. She has an eating disorder binge / purge. We both are self-harming, but not in the obvious ways we hear about. Over eating should really be looked at as a self-harm, just as cutting is.

So, here I am. Fully aware of my obesity. My mortality. My mental illness. And now, fully aware that I cater to that demon that lives inside me that said, “You only have control of this in your life.” I thought I had exorcised my demons that last few  years of therapy. I thought they were shoved back down to the black murky hell they emerged from.

I’m now learning that there will always be one that shows itself when least expected.

Where do I go from here?  I’m really at a loss with this reality. I want to fight this like a warrior. I want to show that I can grow through this. Where do I start?

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Beauty, Blessings, Changes, Changing, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing, Health, Journey, Love, My Life, Positivity, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit

. Check Engine Light .

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Turning 40 has been interesting and surreal. At 40, you’re in this strange place where your mind believes you’re still in your late 20 – early 30, but your body says, “Um… nope.” But it’s not a sudden denial of fantasy. No, no, it has more of a subtle creeping approach that slowly draws your attention towards it. Like a well loved car.

The key to successful aging is to pay as little attention to it as possible. ~ Judith Regan

Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart. ~ Caryn Leschen

You’re driving along, sun is shining down on your pretty red car. You haven’t noticed your car in a long while, as it’s all become automated; get in, get to work, get in, get home. But the car, the paint, body and soul of this vessel hasn’t caught your eye in many moons; that is, until this sunny day.

The sun hits the paint just right, and you’ve noticed that the shine has really started to weather and fade. “That’s okay.” you say to yourself, “she’s been well loved.” You start taking inventory, as you sit in traffic for longer than desired. The fabric on the seats have thinned, thread and weave showing it’s still holding together. The dash and the doors, calloused in area where it’s provided the most support for hands. The windshield, and windows, a bit blurry from road f.o.d., but you can still see well enough to get you to and fro. Her engine sings wonderfully, even in moments of hiccups, burps, stutters. The frame, body and wheels may creak, stick, and resist movement, but she always finds a way to venture on. She may be aging, but she’s still a beaut. She’s got spunk and desire to continue escorting you and your kin, even if her age is showing. You don’t fully notice these changes, because you’ve grown old with her.

I was stuck in traffic this evening; bad, heavy traffic. It was raining in true Washington State fashion, which caused major back-ups and long periods of being at a stand still for no other reason than it’s wet out. In those moments where traffic paused, I realized that my body is my vessel.

I know that this should be obvious, and it probably is for most. However, I’ve been somewhat disconnected from my physical body my whole life. I’ve never paused long enough to practice mindfulness and truly connect with my skin, bone, and sinew. I only learned the art about a year ago. I used this dark, dreary day to connect within. I began to take inventory of “me”.  I never realized that when you hit 40, your warranty really does expire and parts start changing in rapid pace.

My eyes, as I have aged, have gotten much worse; much like the windshield on a well traveled car. I can still see, with assistance of glasses. But, age has changed them.

My hair has totally thinned out. It seems with the more silver strands that have staked claim to my temples, the thinner my hair is. It’s much like the well used fabric of the seats in the aging car. My threads are still there, just not as thick.

My hands are soft, but calloused in areas where I’ve used them well over the years; painting, typing, etc. Much like the interior of the doors and dash. They’re still viable and supportive, but well used and worn just right.

My body, I will admit I haven’t taken great care of it. It’s aging like the wheels on the car above. I creak. I groan. My knees and ankles resist movement. But, alas, I’m still able to move towards the desired destination.

I’ve taken stock in my physical, emotional, and mental changes. Age has affected me, all for the better. I may be at the point in life where my mind is young, but my body gently reminds me that it’s surpassed roller skating with ease, taking stairs two at a time, or dancing until early dawn. But we’re an old couple now, connected at the hip. I accept my aging process. I’ve tuned my dial, and turned up the vibration and will remain grateful that I’ve had the chance to connect with this body of mine; well before my check engine light turns on.

. Writing ., Beauty, Compassion, Family, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing, Hope, Hug, My Life, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit

Like a bowl full of jelly…

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It’s been a long, long while since I’ve blogged. I’ve had quite a few flowing in and through my conscious mind, but I have lacked the drive to make them come to fruition. But this morning, I felt that a healing, cathartic blog was due.

Running late today, I pulled into my coffee stand, placed my order, and waited. It’s Monday morning, and I’m not fully with it yet, physically anyways. Mentally, however, I’m steamrolling through thoughts.

The barista came back with my cup o’ heaven, she made a joke and I laughed; full belly, from the soul laugh. This laugh stopped my steamrolling thoughts instantly, like I ran into a brick wall. The realization hit me with a force that both warmed me and saddened me.

I am my mother’s daughter. 

I fought this thought for many years; fought it harder than Ali fought and knocked out Foreman in 1974. I never wanted to become my mom. There were so many ways she carried herself that I disagreed with, from her drinking to how she hated herself so much that drove her to drinking. It wasn’t until I went through domestic violence that I finally realized all of her wonderful qualities too.

I am my mother’s daughter.

I may not carry the same traits as her, but I do mirror a lot of who she is. This blog is about recognizing and accepting that I carry a lot of her within me.

My looks: I am similar in size. My hair is the same flyaway texture, with the same streaks of grey at the temples. I have the same eyes, mouth, and nose. I’ve always thought she was beautiful, even if she can’t stand how she looks. Fat or thin, she’s always been beautiful in a young daughter’s eyes.

My personality: We have the same laugh. The exact same laugh; except that I tend to snort lol. Our laugh has always been fully, deeply, authentic. It’s the kind of laugh where you cackle and your whole body gets into it. There’s no little laugh with us, it’s always been “Go big, or go home.” It’s something I’ve always loved about her. I never realized until today, when I heard my laugh at the drive thru window, that I harness that power as well.  

Humor, which rides alongside laughing, we have the same quick wit, dry deliverance sense of humor.

We also have similar intellect. Although hers is very mathematical minded, we both have the ability to communicate and debate with an intellectual side. She taught me from a young age to look up words, be friends with a dictionary, and hold myself to a higher standard. My love of reading and words extends from the hand she put out.

I can also say, with a full heart, thankful soul, and open mind, that I am grateful to be able to grow out of the stubbornness that could only focus on the negativity when I was a child. Those who know me know that I did not have it easy. My childhood was rough, and incredibly hard to laugh and maneuver through. I could have grown into something a lot worse than what I became. I’d like to thank my mother for that. Even through the negatives, a friendship and understanding was formed in my adulthood. It is possible, to put anger aside and be the daughter needed. It is possible to be the daughter who puts the disappointment aside and call out to her mom when she needed her the most.

I am my mother’s daughter. I am thankful for it everyday.

 

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Abuse, Beauty, Belief, Blessings, Changes, Changing, Compassion, Counseling, Depression, Faith, Fear, Forgiveness, Friends, Friendship, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing, Hope, Journey, Love, My Life, Positivity, Romance, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit

. Obsessed .


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So… Ack!! Let’s just start with that. AAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhccckkkkkkkkk!! Shake it off, right?

I have spent the last couple years focusing on healing from my domestic violence situation. It has driven me to push forward and through the emotional traps that have sprung up over the course of my healing. I have assumed this whole time that my abuser was the wicked source of my lack of self esteem, self care, and insecurities. Boy, was I ever wrong.

Let me catch you up a bit, and then I’ll come full circle into my statement above. I have been in counseling hard core since March 2015. I have been averaging two group therapies a week, as well as a 1×1 session with my therapist bi-weekly. I have worked hard on myself, my mind, my emotions and my ability to communicate what my needs are before I break down into a suicidal depressive state. I have come to thoroughly enjoy each week and the topics the group settings introduce. I love it so much, I’m working towards Peer Counseling. My overall goal is to go back to college and finish my psych degree. I want to work with domestic violence victims and/or become a d.v. advocate. I am venturing into my 40s exactly how I wanted to two years ago when I left my abuser. “I will enter my 40s as a rock star.” As my counselor says, “You’ve always been a rock star, it’s just getting you to believe it as well.” So here I am, a freaking advocate for mental health . . . and I wouldn’t change the path it took me to get here for anything.

In these groups I have created a safe, supportive group of friends. It is amazing who your tribe begins to morph the more you grow and establish your own boundaries.  I learned to purge those from my life that were not healthy for me anymore. I learned to establish a set of boundaries by changing my vibe, especially in regards to myself. I changed my view of “me” and that allowed me to see who around me was supportive. I can honestly say I am thankful for the new troup I have built around me. I have some strong female friends to thank for that. (Karla, Julie, Mary, Suzanne, Kerry… to name a few). Changing my inner voice to question my negative self talk is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. That’s not to say, however, that I am perfect. I still have moments of doubt, it’s just not crippling or damaging anymore. Those boundaries and self discoveries aided in my ability to see romantic relationships differently as well.

After a few messy dates, and my capacity to see what was happening and not what I wanted to happen, I finally met a fantastic man. The greatest thing about this is I am not blinded by “newness” of a relationship. I went in knowing who I am, my boundaries, my strengths and weaknesses. I met someone who is in a great place spiritually and mentally as well. We are taking our time, moving slow. It helps that we’re about an hour apart from one another; that forces us to be slow. One of the biggest compliments he gave me recently, “I like that I don’t feel like I need to save you. You’re doing such a great job saving yourself.” Hell Ya I am. It is about time as well. I’ve said it quite a few times, and I will say it again, I am thankful for the path my relationship history has put me through. It has helped forge and guide me to who I am today. However, I have come to quickly realize, not only in my counseling, but from my current relationship that my abuser is not my sole focus.
My ex-husband is.

How does that work out? My ex-husband is my biggest hurdle in the ghost of relationships past. Wow. I didn’t fully recognize this until my current beau enlightened me that in almost all of our conversations I have made mention of my ex-husband. Not only have I made mention, it’s usually negative. This is not healthy. When his words landed that blow on my emotional
psyche, I ruminated on it for about an hour. He’s right, you know. I do mention my ex quite often. It’s not a “hung up on him” scenario. It’s the fact I have never really mourned our friendship. The friendship was severed beyond my control. I wanted an amicable divorce. I didn’t contest, or fight, or push. I wanted it easy, in hopes to mend and keep our friendship. We’ve known each other for 26 years; almost longer than his new wife has been alive (I think she’s 27 now). I believe, deep inside, if she wasn’t a factor in preventing him and I from talking, we’d be able to at least have closure. It was all so brash when she became involved. So where does that leave me? Apparently, it leaves him at the forefront of my mind . . . . so much more than the abuser ever was. How do I “get over it”? Or, “Let it go”?

And please, for the love of all that’s sanity, don’t sing the damned song.

How to let it go. I don’t believe in irony anymore. I firmly believe in a path of learning placed before us. I believe that angels come down and take form of  people when you’re truly in need. I believe the universe slaps us upside the head when we’re “really not getting it.” A couple weeks back the discussion in one of my group therapies was around exactly that, “Letting it go.” There was a huge discussion surrounding the fact that you can’t really, “Let it go.” That the event(s) or trauma that lead you to hold onto the pain will always be in your memory. You cannot ever really let it go. What I took from that, what I processed over and over again in my mind, was the fact that you can’t let the event go.. . but you can let the pain go. But first, you have to define exactly what the pain is.

The pain. The truth of the matter. The emotions behind the transient being taking up space and dwelling over and over again in your mind. Pain is healing and growth. But why am I holding onto it with my ex husband? I will never get my credit back. I will never get my car that was repo’d back. I will never get the ten years invested into the actual romantic relationship back. I will never get back anything invested, really. On a cognitive, rational level, I fully understand this. What good is it to harbor those memories though? Fear…? Maybe a little. Fear that I’ll be wooed into a similar relationship scenario. Anger…? Ya, there’s a lot of that. I’m angry over the fact we were friends for as long as we were and it ended in the manner it did. But, it’s done and over, right?

I need to restructure my thoughts so that I do not continue to move forward in this relationship in a way that could potentially ruin it. We’ve been divorced since 2011. Friendship, and any resulting relationship, has been finalized and severed. Closure will not happen, at least not right now. I cannot continue to harbor these thoughts. I have to let the emotions and pain surrounding the relationship go.

From the movie, “Peace, Love and Misunderstanding”

Diane: You want me to just let go of 40 years of irresponsibility, embarrassment, and her total refusal to grow up?
Jude: Yes, exactly.
Diane: [incredulous] Like a balloon that’ll just float away.
Jude: It’s not a balloon, Diane. It’s a sandbag you’ve got to drop for the balloon to get off the ground.

Beauty, Belief, Blessings, Changes, Changing, Counseling, Depression, Forgiveness, Friends, Friendship, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing

. I walk alone .

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I had a chance to reconnect with someone from high school. Our paths crossed, but never connected. We were from different ends of the clique universe. She was a cheerleader and apart of the “in” crowd. I was from the group that got picked on by the in crowd. She, however, was never one to bully or cause problems. She was kind of quiet, from what I remember.

It’s now 21 years later and we’re adults. I posted on Craigslist for the need of strong female friends, purely platonic. I had a few answer, and one happened to be this woman from high school. At the time I did not know it. It wasn’t until we connected through facebook that it dawned on me.

We had a chance to meet up in person on Friday evening. We sat and talked for about an hour, just catching up. I asked her why our peers were relentless towards me. She could only answer for herself, “I thought you were just a loner.”

I’ve been thinking about this so much since Friday night. I wonder now how many perceived me as a loner? I was totally alone, and felt it. I was awkward and didn’t know how to connect to people. My mom says I was really unapproachable. I believe it’s heavily filtered over into my adult life. I still am a loner, and really dislike it. I’m an introvert but I believe it’s more for habit than actuality. I’d love to be able to go out and about without worrying about the crowds.

Is it possible to be one way because of habit, and not influenced by true self?

. Writing ., Beauty, Belief, Blessings, Body Positive, Buddha, Changes, Changing, Compassion, Counseling, Depression, Faith, Fear, Forgiveness, Friends, Friendship, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing, Health, Hope, Journey, Love, Music, My Life, Positivity, Romance, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit, Suicide

. Drops of Jupiter .

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Life is way too short to waste…
Make every moment count.

This is so easily read,  just as easily as it is to type. Digesting it, however, is like taking a spoonful of medicine without the sugar aiding it on the way down; bitter, grainy and really hard to swallow. 

Make every moment count. Well, what happens if you wake up 39 years old and realize there are only a handful of moments you chose in your life to make count? What happens if you’re facing death, a mere 30 years if you’re lucky? What happens when mortality, and that fact that you do only have one life to live, knocks the wind out of you?

You become me. Broken, but healing. Lost, but slowly finding my way. Cynical and jaded, reclusively hiding from the world; one book, one netflix program, one video game at a time.

All I can think about, right now at 2:20 a.m. on Thursday, May 28, 2015, is that I really lived this life wrong. I have made so many horrible choices that just flushed the best years away. Most of those choices were for love. They were for men who presented love in a package that was beautifully wrapped, colorfully attired, and perfectly alluded. I was always able to see the best in even the worst of cases. What I was seeing was this brilliantly presented gift, what others could see was a torn trashbag barely holding the contents within. Because I was seeking love. I was searching for it, harder than finding a hidden bedazzled, heart-shaped geocache’. 

Irony here. My favorite quote from the Bible, “Do not arouse or awaken love until she so desires.” Song of Solomon 8:4. I first read it sitting in the most painfully dull church sermon. I absentmindedly thumbed through the Bible, and it jumped off the page at me. I was roughly 17 years old. I was eye deep in bad choices; trying to find validation and love through sex. “Do not arouse or awaken love…” Simply put, “Bitch, stop pushing. Stop fighting to be seen and loved. Stop arousing life with bad choices.”

 Choices. . . that’s a heavy word. C.h.o.i.c.e.s; each letter weighs upon my shoulders like Atlas’ own sphere he holds up. Atlas, who was punished for a choice he made with his loyalties. Atlas, whose common misconception is that he held up the Earth. Atlas held celestial spheres, a globe shape with stars, planets, systems. Humans make wishes every day, almost as many choices are made as wishes. We wish upon those stars, those celestial entities that burdens Atlas. 

If I could time travel, I would go back to pivotal moments in my life where I had made wishes upon stars, and would tell myself to pay attention to my choices, and not so much my wishes. I would travel to those moments when I had opportunities to be a stronger, vibrant, intelligent woman. I would whisper sweet nothings in my own ear, encouraging me to just love me, for everything that I am. I would hold my own hand, pat my own back, and hug myself when times were too rough. I’d offer an encouraging word when the negative in my head takes shape from the shadows around me, pulling in the dark, while it looms over me. 

I would be my own lover, my own soulmate.  

I would do all of this so that I could enjoy being me without the additional hurt I’ve put myself through; by my own words, by my own thoughts, by my own choices. I didn’t follow my creative path, because conforming was expected. I am having a midlife crisis, with a body that feels 60 years old and a mind that never emotionally matured passed mid 20s. 

I love that I am getting to know me. I love that I am working so hard at healing, counseling, and reshaping my thoughts about myself. I hate that it has taken me my whole life to get here. I hate that it has taken suicide attempts, self hate, and the desire to disappear to realize that, by God(dess), I am worth

Every breath.
Every step. 
Every fucking heart beat in my chest.
And every good choice I will make for myself from this point forward. 

Because, I am thankful to wake up and realize my big bang is still forming. That I can still create a livable, viable environment in the next 30ish years.

This point forward, I do not want any regrets. I do not want to look back and see my choices were horrible from puberty to death. I want contentment and genuine happiness; even though I’m clinically depressed. I know that I can be happy. 

A few songs of solar systems, choices, and being okay.

Beauty, Belief, Body Positive, Changes, Changing, Compassion, Depression, Friends, Friendship, Happiness, Healing, Health, Hope, Journey, Love, My Life, Positivity, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love

. Fat Girl Walking .

“Each push forward leaves the former person you were in your wake, creating room for an improved version, one that is stronger, healthier and forward-looking, one who knows that anything is possible.”

A friend and I are going to start walking. It will be slow. I will be fat, slow and out of breath. But, I will be going, one footstep, one pant, one sweaty brow at a time. I am excited to start. I am also already exhausted at the mere thought of starting.

This friend and I have been posting motivational comments, pictures and stories with one another to try to get this going. Our schedules conflict somewhat, so it’s been hard setting a launch date. People can read, see and comment on our facebook posts; even people I no longer with to associate with. These people are mainly from high school.

One of them attempted to add me on facebook. Now, I have spent a great deal of time trying to purge those I no longer want in my life. I have been trying to replace them with a troupe, or tribe, of people that are more aligned with my kinship. Best quoted by my friend above, “The people in my life all share one thing in common…they are all genuine. Seriously real, empathetic awesome people. I have no place in my life for bigots or close-minded people… and all claim different religions, or spiritual callings… yet don’t push it on others.” I need these kinds of influences, and have worked hard over the last two years to develop the boundaries and strength to do this.

The one that attempted to add me, although she’s not a bigot or close-minded, she surrounds herself with individual from my high school years that tormented me. I tried to make amends with that part of my life by attending my 10 year high school reunion in 2004. I was met with comments like, “She got as big as a school bus.” and “Who does she think she is dressing like that?” So I’m here to say, “FUCK OFF” to that era and the people who represent that era of my life. They were NOT kind to me in high school, and never grew up 10 years later. I missed out on my 20th, because, no way was I going to harm my path of healing by attending something that makes me feel more like shit about myself. This person, represents that era, those people, and those wounds.

She messaged me and said she just wanted to root us on, be our cheerleaders. Ya know what, I don’t want a cheerleader who’s expecting me to fit into some ideal of weight loss from high school on. See, I’m a fat woman. I am fat. I weight 324 lbs. There, I put it out there. “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” I was large in high school, BUT NOT OBESE. I was thick, curvy and muscular from JROTC. But, I was called lard ass, fat ass, and cow by those very peers that later called me a school bus.

I am not walking to lose weight, for them or for me. I am not walking to “lose weight.” I am walking to increase my breathing function, especially due to my Sarcoidosis. I am walking to build my endurance. I am walking to free my mind of the thoughts that have been weighing me down; THAT’S THE ONLY WEIGHT I AM LOOKING TO LOSE.

See, I am happy with who I am. If I walk and never lose an ounce, I am more okay with that than anything else in my life. If I walk, and retain the body gifted to me by my maker(s), then by God, I WILL enjoy my BODY. Those that I choose to have in my life, well, they will also love me for who I am. They will not love me for trying to change myself… in anyway; weight, mind, body, soul. This is my life. I am okay with myself, body included.

All this comes down to one thing… You didn’t support me then, don’t try to support me now. I’ve created boundaries for myself. You’re not apart of that inner boundary I have. Thank you for your attempt to cheer me/us on, thank you for trying. But as I move forward into my 40s, I’m doing this my way.

Abuse, Beauty, Belief, Body Positive, Friends, Friendship, Happiness, Healing, Hope, Love, My Life, Outrage, Romance, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love

The “nots” and what not.

I am flooded with vile images and statements about being fat; whether it’s echoes from my childhood, or from my doctor, or from my own cynical self loathing mind. Just type the word “fat” into google and see what comes up. Hell, there’s even a “all fat people must die” subcategory on reddit dedicated to mocking, hating and threatening people who are overweight.

Where do I fit in on this planet? Transgendered individuals have more respected space in our society than an overweight person does. Think about that for a moment. What the hell is wrong with people?

My worth is not defined by my weight. It just is not. I have so many amazing qualities that are unfortunately packaged in an unflattering body; ironically it’s only unflattering because we are in a society that pushes image more than anything else.

I am not a thin woman.
I do not fit in the conventional, conformed ideas of what being a woman is.
I am not okay in my head, I have a lot of struggles.
I am not fat, I have a lot of fat. 
I am not defined by my weight. 

I know that I am worthy of love that I give to others. I know my worth. I have, however, lost all faith in the process anymore; the romance, and the “whole wooing the woman you want for the rest of your life ideals”.

I’m have a lot of fat on me, a lot. I also know that if you put me in a line of women, I would never get chosen. Men see with their eyes. They’re very vain and physically driven. The reality, the “raw” of it, is that my humor, intellect and personality are no longer in the running. We are, unfortunately, a society that bases everything on first looks. And I’m too old to try. My youth is no longer on my side. All that remains are the great things that reside inside of me. But it takes someone interested to take the time, get to know me, and learn of my positives. This will never happen because the convenience of everything “in your face” has caused our attention spans to focus on this moment. In this moment, all that can be taken in is my short, morbidly obese, body size. 

I am coming around to the fact that we are just broken. Our society has become so instant gratification and throw away, that dating does not exist. It really doesn’t anymore. Social media, hook-up sites, and airing all our shit on blogs (Yes, that includes my blog as well) has caused us to give up caring about soul connecting. We no longer look for the great person inside of the other person. 

Well, not all of us, I am seeking a deeper soul connection. I’ve had to go through hell and back to come to that realization, but that is what I want. So, knowing that in this life a deeper soul connection isn’t going to happen for me, because we’re so image and body size conscious that most people no longer have the “time” to connect in that manner, I am coming to terms with being alright with my dogs and being alone.

 

. Writing ., Abuse, Beauty, Belief, Blessings, Body Positive, Changes, Changing, Compassion, Counseling, Depression, Faith, Forgiveness, Friends, Friendship, God, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing, Health, Hope, Journey, Love, My Life, Positivity, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit

. Bad Seed .

11054476_1042644772431636_2984777582140298064_nPLEASE CLICK THE PICTURE TO READ THE FULL ARTICLE. IT’S WORTH THE MOMENT TO READ THE EXPERIMENT AND READ THE OUTCOME. IT RESONATED WITH ME.
— In the pic below: Left facing apple got glowing, positive input. Right facing apple got all smack talk.
Words can make you sick. And heavy. And dark.
Words can make you light. And radiant. And energized.
Words infuse.
Words refuse.
Words bless.
Words protect.
Words energize.
Words heal.

MORE OF THIS ARTICLE CAN BE READ BY CLICKING THE APPLE PICTURE

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I really needed to read this today. WOrking and processing through my counseling appointment last week, which was geared around negative self talk vs. positive self talk, this was a visual example of what is taking place.
In an odd observation, I find it rather cathartic and hopeful that the “Bad Apple” is in the hand of the arm with a butterfly tattoo. It may be preserved, internally, as bad, but it has a chance of metamorphosis. The seeds are still there. The seeds can be replanted, thus creating a new growth.
We all have the potential for new growth. We just need to wash away the “rotten” words we keep fertilizing our mind, body and soul with. We need to turn over the soil, and learn to water, feed and encourage in a more positive manner.
Abuse, Batterer, Beauty, Belief, Body Positive, Counseling, Depression, Forgiveness, Happiness, Healing, Health, Journey, Love, My Life, Positivity, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit, Suicide

A day of steady.. blows to the gut.


Shit I work out in counseling – Although it’s not really worked out it, it’s just floated to the surface.

I never really realized how .. mean I am to myself until a friend said something the other day about western state. Aparently during the hike, I was beating myself up under my breath. I mean, I know I am in my mind. I never realized how vocal I am about it. I thought it was primarily in my mind.
But I catch my mom doing it.
“I’m such a dumb ass”
“What a fucking idiot”

And then I noticed … I do it too. “Come on fat ass.”…”cow” fat ass” toad” dumbass” ugly nasty cow”.

The truth behind all the fat / body positive posts is that I’m hiding behind that.

I would love to be substantially thinner; 180 ish.
I flood my page and my eyes/mind with images that it’s okay to be a fat girl; because that’s all I am.

But, I hate it. I hate not having energy. I hate being short of breath because of my sarcoid AND my weight. The two combined are killing me.

I would love to be able to wear clothes that I find adorable, unfortunately they stop at size 22.

I hide behind it, because I’m trying to convince myself I’m okay.

I’m talking this out with a friend. She says to me, “What would YOU tell you? If all those “tapes” disappeared, what would you really say to you?”

Truth be told. If I memory banks were magically wiped, I would be reverted to a child like state. I would have no clue how to positively encourage myself. I have never had that.I have never, in my life, been reinforced. Or taught how to reinforce confidence myself. 

That’s a sad, sad thought.