Yesterday was my fifth anniversary of word vomiting all over you on this corner of the Internet. You're welcome for that visual.
So, five years ago, I was 23 years old, sort of single, an aspiring actress getting ready to move to NYC, sitting on my butt on my parent's couch, and I decided I wanted to start a blog about my dad's team and the postseason lifestyle that we've come to consider normal when it's really anything but. I figured I was about to become super busy and famous when I moved to New York so it would be the last time I would have the time to travel with the team in any major capacity. So I opened up Blogger, bullshitted a few lines, and pressed publish. Then, I told The Boneyard about it.
And now we're here. In the past five years I've moved to NYC, had a ton of adventures, moved right back home, had a horrible year or so, dated a few huge douchebags with a couple good guys in there that just weren't right, started and finished a Masters program, applied to PhD programs, became a teacher and an aunt, finally found a guy that my Nonna approves of, and own my very own property. With help from my mother but whatever.
It's been an absolutely insane ride and I want to thank all of you - the 250 people who follow my blog on Blogger, the people who Liked my page on Facebook, and all 1,711 of you crazy bastards who follow my insane rants and live-tweeting of major pop cultural events on Twitter (I MISS YOU, I'll be back in four weeks!). You guys make me think I'm funny. Which is a new thing for me.
So in honor of this milestone, I'm going to do the "50 Things About Me" tag that I've seen floating around. This is going to be a really random list of stuff that you probably already knew, but whatever. Here's to a few more years of this ridiculousness!
1. You name the clothing item, I have it in sequins. Except for underwear. That would be really itchy.
2. I have a permanently damaged coccyx (that's your tailbone, for all of you tittering pervs) from falling down a flight of concrete stairs. It was during a dress rehearsal of a musical I was performing in; while running to the green room for a costume change my character shoe broke and I went flying. I was wearing a very thin costume so it felt like my ass was slamming into a concrete corner. I felt my entire body go hot, which made me think I broke my tailbone because I'd heard that when you broke a bone you'll get warm, and I immediately started crying. I spent the rest of the dress rehearsal laying down in the audience with an ice pack on my ass, and because the show was in Torrington I had to drive an hour home and made my mom practically carry me into bed. I had to sit on a pillow when I drove my car for two weeks. Now, if I sit in a leaned-back position for too long, standing up sends a shooting pain down my butt.
3. I hate peas, unless they are in a dish with a lot of other components like rice or something. If they're just laying there on a plate I won't eat it. If there's a dish at a restaurant that comes with a side of peas I won't order it.
4. I drink a Powerade or a Vitamin Water every single day because of the electrolytes.
5. I successfully signed up for AccessHealthCT's version of Obamacare last week. It's probably the best thing I've done for myself in a long time. Go get your beautiful butts covered.
6. My favorite movies when I was a kid were A League of Their Own, The Sandlot, Now and Then, and Little Giants.
7. My favorite New Kid on the Block is Joey. My favorite NSYNC-er is JC. My favorite Spice Girl is Posh. And I don't have a favorite member of the Backstreet Boys because screw those guys. NSYNC was my 90s boy band.
8. Lately I've been coming around to the flavor of Jif peanut butter, but I'm definitely still a Skippy girl.
9. I still have yet to see the entirety of the original Star Wars trilogy. I've seen bits and pieces of it on TV and randomly in my 7th grade science class, but that's about it. My boyfriend is promising me that one day this summer we will watch the whole trilogy, probably on a day when it's too hot to do anything but hug the air conditioner.
10. I dye my hair from a box. It drives my mom insane, but I look at it from a realistic standpoint - right now, I would rather buy a $5 box of hair dye, mess it up, and correct it with another $5 box of hair dye, rather than get it dyed by a salon for $90, and run the risk of blowing that money on a bad job. I've been doing this for two years and have yet to go bald, so bear with me. Right now my hair is the closest it's been to my natural color in a long time, which is why I'm probably dyeing it red soon.
11. I'm very knock-kneed, and no amount of yoga is ever going to correct it.
12. My posture sucks, and no amount of yoga is ever going to correct it.
13. When I was a kid all I wanted was to get boobs when I hit puberty. I got an ass instead. You win some, you lose some.
14. The first boy to make me feel feelings was Devon Sawa. I pretty much wore out my tapes of Now and Then and Little Giants.
15. I was terrified of sleeping at my Nonna's house as a kid because she had this giant picture of da Vinci's Last Supper on her wall, and if you slept facing it, it was like Jesus was staring straight into your soul. It creeped me the hell out. That, and if you slept in a different room at Nonna's there was a GIANT rosary hanging over the bed.
16. Contrary to public opinion - and by 'public opinion' I mean 'things Dad has said about me' - I was a pretty good basketball player. I did rec teams, AAU, travel teams (the now-defunct Silk City team in the Connecticut Girls Basketball League) and I played all through middle school. In my rec teams I averaged about 10 points per game and I think my career high was 18. I loved me some three-pointers. The last time I played competitively was during college on an intramural team with some of my buddies (Deuces Wild!) and I got my ass kicked.
17. I played softball for one year in eighth grade and I'm pretty sure it was because I watched A League of Their Own way, way too much as a kid and wanted to be a Rockford Peach.
18. I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder when I was 10 years old. My ADD manifests itself in procrastination, mild to severe anxiety, and a tendency to over-load myself with tasks.
19. I am in love with Tom Hanks. Like, if I met him I would instantly vomit.
20. I wouldn't call myself highly religious - I was baptized and confirmed and I am a godmother to one of my nephews but have severe issues with the way the Catholic Church conducts their business. That being said, I do think there is something out there, or an energy in the universe, that is shifting all of us towards the positive. I have to believe that we are here for a reason, otherwise I don't really know what I would do with myself.
21. In high school and about four months into college I drank half a liter of Diet Coke every single day. On some days, that was my breakfast. Then I tried to quit cold turkey. NEVER DO THIS. I thought I was going to have an aneurysm.
22. If The Mother ends up dying on the final episode of How I Met Your Mother I will literally throw my TV out of a window.
23. I have yet to watch Scandal, House of Cards, Orange is the New Black, or Girls. On that note...
24. I don't get Seinfeld. I just don't get it. Or The Simpsons.
25. I have at least five VHS tapes of recorded SNL episodes from 2001 to 2003. I was obsessed with Jimmy Fallon. Still am.
26. I have a back porch on my condo that I can never use, because there are several male feral cats in my complex and they like to hang out on that porch and scream at each other. It's a great alarm in the morning.
27. I prefer iced coffee over hot coffee.
28. I still do Tae-Bo.
29. My favorite food is French fries.
30. I love YouTubers. My favorites are Grace Helbig (It'sGrace), Mamrie Hart (YouDeserveADrink) and Hannah Hart (My Drunk Kitchen, MyHarto). They are just so damn funny.
31. When I was in high school my group of friends decided to figure out which members of South Park we all were. I got Butters Stotch. I look at that as a compliment. Butters is a damn tool but he's adorable.
32. Still haven't read Twilight. I may have to eventually in order to just understand the compulsive nature of it. But it will be a begrudging read.
33. I honestly feel like most Hollywood marriages end in divorce because actors are fucking crazy.
34. For my 21st birthday I went to Husky's on the UConn campus, which is a cross between a bar and a club. I had two martinis with gummy bear garnishes - because I am such a damn girl - and then my friend Gina told the bartender to make me a Grateful Dead. I just looked up the ingredients for the first time: Gin, light rum, white tequila, Triple Sec, vodka, sour mix, and raspberry syrup. WOOF.
35. I hated red wine until I was 23 years old, when I moved to New York and started going to dinner parties thrown by my friend from high school. Her only rule was that you brought a bottle of red wine, so I quickly got accustomed to the taste.
36. I have smoked cigarettes exactly twice. Don't do it. It's stupid.
37. I have costochondritis, which is chronic inflammation of the ligaments that connect to your rib cage. It gets exacerbated by changes in air temperature (so, going from warm house to cold weather, or from hot summer weather to a house with lots of AC blasting) and when that happens, my rib cage tries to heal itself by refusing to expand when I breathe. That means sometimes I get short of breath easily just from my ribs being sore.
38. I try to set aside one day a week to clean my house, otherwise I feel like I'm living in filth.
39. I collect Disney DVDs. Because I am an adult.
40. My favorite hobbit is Pippin.
41. My favorite books as a kid were the Nancy Drew, Anastasia Krupnik, and Ramona Quimby books. I was also obsessed with Anne Shirley.
42. Junior year of high school I told my drama teacher that I was auditioning for the role of Rosie in Bye Bye Birdie, which was at the time my #1 dream role in musical theater. Her response? I should audition for the role of Mama Petersen (normally played by a slightly more hefty woman) because "girls like you aren't built for the leading lady parts." That just pissed me off. I went into the audition, kicked the shit out of it, and got the part of my dreams.
43. The first movie I saw in a movie theater was Beauty and the Beast.
44. I write inspirational messages on my wrists before stressful days so that I can look down at them and find some grounding comfort in the message.
45. When I was in high school I was in a musical production at an all-boys school near mine and developed a borderline psychotic crush on the guy playing the lead, to the point that I literally couldn't look at him without giggling. I remember one time he was trying to hit people up for gum and when I told him I had some he gave me a huge hug, and I'm pretty sure I peed a little. If you're wondering why I'm disclosing this sensitive information about my childhood crush, it was completely goddamn obvious to everyone in the cast that I was in love with him because every time I had to speak to him I turned purple, so this isn't shocking information!
46. I prefer going to movies by myself, because I like to form my own opinions about the film in order to consider it in critical context.
47. My favorite kind of dog is a Welsh Corgi, and I want one so bad it hurts.
48. The boyfriend and I don't really have "a song" like most couples do - we feel a lot of that stuff can be kind of dumb and not indicative of a true relationship if you're putting tons of labels on things. But if we did, it would be "Madness" by Muse.
49. I had mono about 7 years ago and it ended up putting me in the hospital because I developed peritonsillar cellulitis, a tonsil infection that can result in an abscess. I'm pretty sure I also had tonsillitis because according to the doctor that treated me, it is incredibly rare for PC to develop in people with mono. I felt very special.
50. I fully believe leggings are pants.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
Life without social networks, 2014.
If you've followed me for more than two years, you know that I gave up Tweeting for Lent 2012. It honestly wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be, particularly because I was still hitting the Facebook Kool-Aid pretty hard in the absence of Twitter. But this year, I decided to go a little crazy.
On Ash Wednesday, I took to my Twitter for the last time in 40 days, and also to my Facebook. And my Instagram.
I announced, "Hey guys! I'm going off my social networks for Lent. See you on Easter!"
Yep. With the exception of Pinterest (which I don't really regard as a social network, since you're just pinning shit to online inspiration boards), I'm completely and utterly shut off from all of my networking sites until April 20th. The response has been a mix of "Dammit!" and "Good for you."
Here's the deal, people. I'm a teacher, a writer, and an academic. My life is lived on a computer screen, trying to connect words together that make sense and radicalize conversations about children's literature, gender, sexuality, and feminism. And I also think Buzzfeed lists are awesome. My social networks are to connect with the other like minds that share my aspirations, and without those networks I would not be in touch with a lot of the people I consider to be my closest friends, simply due to distance and time. Basically, I use Facebook and Twitter and social networks as a desperate link to the outside world. So I did have a bad feeling at first when I deleted the apps off my phone and got ready for a month and a half without any of the things that I normally use to procrastinate.
Surprisingly, it's been much, much easier than I thought it would be. I haven't felt the urge to check my networks once except for when I randomly go onto Facebook to clear my notifications; I don't want to get back on Easter Sunday and be faced with sorting through a billion red flags. And what have I learned from this mass hiatus from constant connection and status updates and sharing?
1. Woah, talking to people is terrifying and awesome.
I've reconnected with so many people because of Facebook, and that's not something I'll ever take for granted, but that being said, it's been very interesting to see how many people are contacting me now that I'm not on it. I've gotten lots of texts from people who just genuinely want to talk and see how I'm doing without Facebook, and it's made those interactions richer because I can't just look at their newsfeed and see what they're up to in life - I have to actually ask. I went to a baby shower this weekend and because I couldn't just stare at my phone when I felt awkward, I had to actually go up and talk to people. And because of that, I actually had the best time ever rather than retreating into myself. It felt great. Plus, I got to put on a rubber horse head and dance around to Taylor Swift, and eat a shit load of Swedish meatballs.
3. Look at all the free time!
I was productive as shit this week, and not just because for half of it I was laid up in bed with a rampant sinus infection; I was legitimately doing things that fed my soul. Did a ton of yoga, ate great food, hung out with friends, and taught great classes without having to share it with everyone. I mean, sure I'm tired as hell but that's just because my brain is overstuffed with a lot of things and I'm actually allowing myself to deal with them, not just pushing them aside in favor of a sassy tweet. I can't wait to see how this continues from now until April 20th.
There are a LOT of things I want to talk about (OMG I still haven't found out about PhD stuff, OMG I want to see what my friends are up to, OMG I think the Mother ends up dead on How I Met Your Mother, OMG the men are playing St. Joe's in the first round, this is my worst nightmare manifest) but I will have to wait.
4. Holy stress reduction, Batman.
Ever get that heart-punch feeling when you wake up in the morning and the day literally cannot start until you check all of your social networks, and if you're not caught up with everything in your friend's lives you feel horrible? I don't have that anymore. And it's awesome. Sure, I substituted it with looking at my YouTube channels, but still! Also, I have a history of panic attacks and it's awesome to be away from something that can be a trigger for those emotions.
5. Relationship privacy, man. Do you speak it?
I've been dating my boyfriend for two and a half years. I've gotten questions from people sometimes about him, mostly hinging around "How do you make a long-term relationship work when you're both so busy?" My answer usually is something like "Well, when it's the right person, blah blah blah" but what I really want to say is "Our relationship is lived out in real time and not on a social network." We actually talk to each other, not to each other's Facebook, and my Lenten sacrifice has made me fully realize how awesome (or stalkerish) our communication is. We keep our business private, and that's quite rare among people my age.
The boyfriend will remain nameless and faceless on this blog, but I hope that my writing and the urgency behind it has taken on a new facet since we've been together. I think that would be the best way to reference him -he's changed me as a person, and as an extension he's vastly improved my writing. When I got off Facebook, our communication didn't change at all, which I don't think would happen with a lot of people I know. Which is kind of…gross. I have friends who post, like, every single thing they do with their significant others and it makes me nauseated. Do they say these things in real life? I feel like they just want to brag.
The only people who can make their relationship through social networks and not piss me off are Wil and Anne Wheaton. Because let's face it, they are absolutely adorable on Twitter. But they've been together for like 20 years, so I'll give them a pass. They didn't bone each other once and then start taking brunch selfies together 10 hours later.
And the top thing I've learned from a week of not being on social networks?
I'm remembering who I am again. I want to lie and say that I'm a snark-filled shitkicker with piss and vinegar in her veins, but in actuality I'm a very vulnerable soul who just wants to leave this world a better place than she came in, and my social networks aren't really helping that positivity. A lot of the time, they make me feel like I need to be more of an asshole, or quieter, or louder, or more educated, or more of a feminist (which, I mean come on, how much more do I have to do? I kind of like shaving my legs TBH, doesn't mean I'm a slave to the patriarchy, I just don't like body hair!)
I'm not spending my days inundated with people who think they have their lives figured out and feel compelled to shove it in my face. I'm not dealing with the comparison trap of the vegan/crossfitting/yoga-ing multitudes who constantly brag about their new lifting/running/whatever PRs and then chased it down with a weird protein shake. I'm not constantly facing my own insecurities in the face of people who I really do think have it all figured out.
I love making people smile and think. I've gotten away from that, partially because I've let the wrong people influence me and partially because I am very much motivated by fear of failure and fear of being myself, which IS this very light and happy person who bruises easily.
When I'm off social networks I am able to remember who I am. Knowing your truth is always worth sharing.
ally
PS. IF the basketball gods are kind, I will be in Music City for the Final Four! But that's only if we get in, obviously. That weekend may be hell if I can't tweet, but I'll power through! We'll just do those good old fashioned Final Four recaps, like in 2009! Although I'm not going to make myself go to every single one of the team's activities…I'm pushing 30, that'd be ridiculous. I'll probably just be blogging about drinking with my grandmother and eating a shitload of Tennessee barbecue.
On Ash Wednesday, I took to my Twitter for the last time in 40 days, and also to my Facebook. And my Instagram.
I announced, "Hey guys! I'm going off my social networks for Lent. See you on Easter!"
Yep. With the exception of Pinterest (which I don't really regard as a social network, since you're just pinning shit to online inspiration boards), I'm completely and utterly shut off from all of my networking sites until April 20th. The response has been a mix of "Dammit!" and "Good for you."
Here's the deal, people. I'm a teacher, a writer, and an academic. My life is lived on a computer screen, trying to connect words together that make sense and radicalize conversations about children's literature, gender, sexuality, and feminism. And I also think Buzzfeed lists are awesome. My social networks are to connect with the other like minds that share my aspirations, and without those networks I would not be in touch with a lot of the people I consider to be my closest friends, simply due to distance and time. Basically, I use Facebook and Twitter and social networks as a desperate link to the outside world. So I did have a bad feeling at first when I deleted the apps off my phone and got ready for a month and a half without any of the things that I normally use to procrastinate.
Surprisingly, it's been much, much easier than I thought it would be. I haven't felt the urge to check my networks once except for when I randomly go onto Facebook to clear my notifications; I don't want to get back on Easter Sunday and be faced with sorting through a billion red flags. And what have I learned from this mass hiatus from constant connection and status updates and sharing?
1. Woah, talking to people is terrifying and awesome.
I've reconnected with so many people because of Facebook, and that's not something I'll ever take for granted, but that being said, it's been very interesting to see how many people are contacting me now that I'm not on it. I've gotten lots of texts from people who just genuinely want to talk and see how I'm doing without Facebook, and it's made those interactions richer because I can't just look at their newsfeed and see what they're up to in life - I have to actually ask. I went to a baby shower this weekend and because I couldn't just stare at my phone when I felt awkward, I had to actually go up and talk to people. And because of that, I actually had the best time ever rather than retreating into myself. It felt great. Plus, I got to put on a rubber horse head and dance around to Taylor Swift, and eat a shit load of Swedish meatballs.
3. Look at all the free time!
I was productive as shit this week, and not just because for half of it I was laid up in bed with a rampant sinus infection; I was legitimately doing things that fed my soul. Did a ton of yoga, ate great food, hung out with friends, and taught great classes without having to share it with everyone. I mean, sure I'm tired as hell but that's just because my brain is overstuffed with a lot of things and I'm actually allowing myself to deal with them, not just pushing them aside in favor of a sassy tweet. I can't wait to see how this continues from now until April 20th.
There are a LOT of things I want to talk about (OMG I still haven't found out about PhD stuff, OMG I want to see what my friends are up to, OMG I think the Mother ends up dead on How I Met Your Mother, OMG the men are playing St. Joe's in the first round, this is my worst nightmare manifest) but I will have to wait.
4. Holy stress reduction, Batman.
Ever get that heart-punch feeling when you wake up in the morning and the day literally cannot start until you check all of your social networks, and if you're not caught up with everything in your friend's lives you feel horrible? I don't have that anymore. And it's awesome. Sure, I substituted it with looking at my YouTube channels, but still! Also, I have a history of panic attacks and it's awesome to be away from something that can be a trigger for those emotions.
5. Relationship privacy, man. Do you speak it?
I've been dating my boyfriend for two and a half years. I've gotten questions from people sometimes about him, mostly hinging around "How do you make a long-term relationship work when you're both so busy?" My answer usually is something like "Well, when it's the right person, blah blah blah" but what I really want to say is "Our relationship is lived out in real time and not on a social network." We actually talk to each other, not to each other's Facebook, and my Lenten sacrifice has made me fully realize how awesome (or stalkerish) our communication is. We keep our business private, and that's quite rare among people my age.
The boyfriend will remain nameless and faceless on this blog, but I hope that my writing and the urgency behind it has taken on a new facet since we've been together. I think that would be the best way to reference him -he's changed me as a person, and as an extension he's vastly improved my writing. When I got off Facebook, our communication didn't change at all, which I don't think would happen with a lot of people I know. Which is kind of…gross. I have friends who post, like, every single thing they do with their significant others and it makes me nauseated. Do they say these things in real life? I feel like they just want to brag.
The only people who can make their relationship through social networks and not piss me off are Wil and Anne Wheaton. Because let's face it, they are absolutely adorable on Twitter. But they've been together for like 20 years, so I'll give them a pass. They didn't bone each other once and then start taking brunch selfies together 10 hours later.
And the top thing I've learned from a week of not being on social networks?
I'm remembering who I am again. I want to lie and say that I'm a snark-filled shitkicker with piss and vinegar in her veins, but in actuality I'm a very vulnerable soul who just wants to leave this world a better place than she came in, and my social networks aren't really helping that positivity. A lot of the time, they make me feel like I need to be more of an asshole, or quieter, or louder, or more educated, or more of a feminist (which, I mean come on, how much more do I have to do? I kind of like shaving my legs TBH, doesn't mean I'm a slave to the patriarchy, I just don't like body hair!)
I'm not spending my days inundated with people who think they have their lives figured out and feel compelled to shove it in my face. I'm not dealing with the comparison trap of the vegan/crossfitting/yoga-ing multitudes who constantly brag about their new lifting/running/whatever PRs and then chased it down with a weird protein shake. I'm not constantly facing my own insecurities in the face of people who I really do think have it all figured out.
I love making people smile and think. I've gotten away from that, partially because I've let the wrong people influence me and partially because I am very much motivated by fear of failure and fear of being myself, which IS this very light and happy person who bruises easily.
When I'm off social networks I am able to remember who I am. Knowing your truth is always worth sharing.
ally
PS. IF the basketball gods are kind, I will be in Music City for the Final Four! But that's only if we get in, obviously. That weekend may be hell if I can't tweet, but I'll power through! We'll just do those good old fashioned Final Four recaps, like in 2009! Although I'm not going to make myself go to every single one of the team's activities…I'm pushing 30, that'd be ridiculous. I'll probably just be blogging about drinking with my grandmother and eating a shitload of Tennessee barbecue.
Friday, March 14, 2014
Obama 2010 Recap
note: this is from a post in June 2010, recapping our trip to meet President Obama. I deleted the previous post, because I completely forgot some insane troll decided to spam me with a bajillion shitty comments, and I don't tolerate no trolls on this drawbridge. So I'm reposting it for the sake of posterity. I'll have a new post soon.
So, yesterday, I met President Barack Obama.
Again.
I'll try and remember everything, but so much came at me in the twelve hours I spent in Washington, some of it is a grand blur. The day began at the unsaintly hour of 5:25 AM because a certain insane person scheduled our flight at 7:30 and another, even more insane person had to take fifty bobby pins out of her hair. Yes, ladies and gents. I pincurled my hair for Obama. I was a glass of Ovaltine away from being a 50s housewife.
After wolfing down a cherry smoothie and toast for breakfast (and packing a granola bar because lunch wouldn't be until 2:30!), I drove with Dad to TAC Air accompanied by Jenna and Todd, who were making the trip in lieu of my brother and Mom. Mom met Obama last year with us, so unlike me, she decided to stay home.
The plane ride to Washington was uneventful, save for a slightly heated debate between Dad and I about the differences between Republicans and Democrats. Honestly, I have no problem with fiscal Republicans. Indeed, I myself probably identify more with them than I do with fiscal Democrats; I believe in the value of really working for your money and not expecting the government to do everything for you. It's the social aspect of Democratic Liberalism that I really identify with, and I kept trying to explain that to Dad (who is a SERIOUS fiscal conservative) and it turned into a huge thing. I blame CD, who brought up politics in the first place. That being said, Dad really likes Obama and voted for him, so the day wasn't awkward in the slightest in that respect. We also had the same ideas about how to deal with the immigration issues, but when Dad suggested I tell them to the President, I just laughed. Why the heck would I ruin a perfectly pleasant photo-op with talk of the mess in AZ? Although sidebar: AZ, you are horrifying to the rest of the country (at least, the smart, sane parts). The last time the words 'show me your papers' were uttered in the past hundred years, a certain annoying man with a mustache was ruling Germany.
Anyway!! We landed in the midst of a very wet and rainy Baltimore Airport, and Dad proceeded to tell us that the drive to Walter Reed Hospital would take about half an hour to forty-five minutes. It took an hour and a half. I slept for about forty-five minutes of it on Dad's shoulder, and I woke up with a crick in my neck and a view of nonstop traffic for the next few miles. When we finally got to Walter Reed, we split up into our designated two groups. Group 1, my group, consisted of the team and additional staffers like Rosie and our videographer Keith, my family, and a few trustees along with Jeff Hathaway, and we went into the main hospital to talk to the 'Wounded Warriors.' Group two went to the veterans center and met with the soldiers there.
Meeting the injured soldiers was humbling. We had to get our hands sprayed with disinfectant when entering and exiting a patient's room. Cards were displayed on the walls from discharged soldiers thanking the hospital staff. And it was surprising how many of them had great senses of humor about their situation. The first guy we met, an SPC who had been stationed in Afghanistan, had only been overseas for three months and hadn't seen a lick of combat before his injury. A bomb ended up exploding near him, breaking a few bones in his legs. He was my favorite out of all of the guys because of the amazing personality, humor, and wit he displayed. He had zero qualms about showing us his x-rays and spoke with almost gleeful zest about his shattered femur. He was also a Watertown, CT, native, and when he found out my sister teaches at the highschool his own alma mater is rivals with, he immediately called out "We are going to kick your ass this year!"
Not all of the soldiers were so forthcoming. One man, a sergeant, had only arrived the day before after being injured last week. He was covered in a blanket so I couldn't see his wounds, but they seemed severe. We asked him questions and he answered them truthfully, but all the while his eyes wandered back to his TV, which was positioned above his bed in front of his face, and his face was glazed over in an expression that said, "How did I get here?"
The common denominator of all the men there? When asked if they'll go back to their posts overseas, they immediately said yes.
While we were waiting for Group 2 to get back, I chatted with Maya and Jenna for a bit and Jenna accidentally let it slip that not only would Barack be greeting us, so would Michelle Obama! Maya and I totally freaked out. As much as I love Obama, I think I love Michelle even more. I find her to be such an incredible example of a strong, healthy, passionate, powerful woman. Her commitment to children's health is something I find so inspiring, and her marriage to Obama is such a great example of what makes a union work. Plus, I worked at J.Crew during election season 2008, and when she wore that geometric patterned skirt and sweater on Jay Leno, our sales went through the roof.
After Walter Reed, we hopped back on the bus and drove to D.C. After walking up to the White House gate with Dad, he had to turn around to grab his I.D. (after he reminded me fifteen times last night 'make sure you've got your I.D.! DO YOU HAVE YOUR I.D.?!'). I ended up walking with Rosie because she had an umbrella and I had left my jacket on the bus.
After going through security and walking into the East Wing, we were greeted by the same White House staffers that had briefed us last year. It was a real treat to see them again, as I had thought them to be quite professional and very nice. They took us on the tour, which I thought would be a total retread of last year's, but the guy who took us was actually the same guy as last year so he thought he should come up with new trivia for us to learn, so despite walking through the same hallways and rooms and hearing a bit of the same stuff as last year-no way, the Jackie Kennedy Garden is named after Jackie Kennedy? Surely you jest!-there were a lot of very fun facts to be gleaned from it regardless.
My favorite tidbit was the one about President Tyler, who demanded his official presidential portrait be painted of him holding a piece of crumpled up newspaper in his hand to show his hatred of the press. When asked by the painter if he was sure about that choice, Tyler retorted, "Who's the President? Me or you?" We also learned where the phrase 'mind your beeswax' comes from; during the 1800s, makeup was made of the stuff, and if you sat too close to a fireplace, it would melt right off. A screen was constructed to be placed in front of the fire so the flames wouldn't get into the makeup, but if you still suffered from melty makeup, someone would say to you, "Madam, mind your beeswax" and you'd dash off to the powder room for a reapplying and...I don't know what else happened at White House parties in the 1800s. Snuff-taking? Debates over cigars? Pistol-whipping?
Another fun fact: The West Wing was built by Teddy Roosevelt after he told his daughter she could ride her pony around the East Room ballroom, and the noise drove him to such distraction he was forced to construct a whole new chunk of the House. Cool dad you got there, Alice. Also, Teddy Roosevelt got frickin' SHOT while he delivered a speech and KEPT. DELIVERING. HIS. SPEECH. #badass
Due to the inclement weather the press conference was held in that East Room, where Obama signed the new health care bill into law. Therefore, it's the same room where Joe Biden said 'This is a big fucking deal', which I got a HUGE kick out of. Jenna and I tried to go downstairs to use the bathroom but we were told Michelle was on her way up, so we immediately scampered back to the holding area!
We ended up waiting in the Blue Room, which is directly below the Oval Office, after leaving our bags in the Dining Room (including all cameras, so sadly I didn't get any candids of anyone). The wait was different from last year. Last year, there was a deadly silence, like people were afraid to even breathe. This year, everyone was talking and relaxed. Our awesome organizer led Jenna, Todd, Dad and I to the side of the room Barack and Michelle would be entering from so we'd get to greet them first. Jenna had the unfortunate position of being first among us, and she turned to us with panic in her eyes, saying "I don't want to be first! What do I do?!"
But it was too late. Because no sooner had she turned around to freak out...there they were.
"Jenna, turn around!" I hissed.
She turned, and her eyes grew to a size I thought only existed in Japanese animation. Because there they were. The President and the First Lady. Barack Obama just high-fived my Dad.
First of all, the room went silent again just like last year, but this time it wasn't the kind of silence where you could tell the majority of people in the room were trying very hard not to wet themselves (and I include myself in this category). This time, it was a respectful, giddy silence. Although when they saw Michelle (which was a surprise to everyone except Maya), they all kind of squealed and jumped a bit.
Obama looked about the same as last year, except thinner and grayer around the temples. He's still an extraordinarily handsome individual, and this time he didn't smell like smoke. Michelle Obama, I must say, is almost unreal looking. She's that gorgeous (and, I must say, ripped. Jenna and I couldn't stop talking about her eyebrows, oddly enough. They are perfectly shaped! As I shook her hand I wanted so badly to mention how I loved her work with kids, and how I worked at J.Crew, and how much I respected her as a strong role model for young girls...but all that came out was, 'HI IT'S SO NICE TO MEET YOU' while I tried not to stare at her humongous diamond earrings, which were the only fancy things about her outfit (J.Crew city-fit cargo pants and flats! Represent!). She mentioned to us that she didn't come down for any other sports teams aside from this one, not even the Lakers, as Barack pointed out. "She doesn't come down for ANY of this stuff!" Also, the connection he and Michelle have as a couple is pretty extraordinary to witness. They walked in barely three centimeters apart from each other, and display wonderful chemistry. When Barack talked to us, I managed to sneak some peeks at his wedding ring - I have a thing about ring design.
After the picture, Barack and Michelle went to meet with the rest of the team while Jenna and Todd and I made our way to our seats in the East Room. The speech was pretty standard and it's been transcribed elsewhere, although the lines about Dad not being able to do math and our winning streak extending back to when Obama got elected were hilarious. We gave him the gifts of a jersey with his name on it and a signed basketball, and Dad managed to throw in a few one-liners of his own.
Then he was gone and it was over. We hung out in the main lobby for about twenty minutes, and I got a picture next to the giant portrait of Bill Clinton (my choice of portraits came down to him and JFK, but the Clinton one had better lighting) and fought off the urge to start gnawing on my cardigan in hunger. Lunch ended up being at Ebbitt's Grill, a fantastic casual dining bar and grill near the White House, and I must say, if you ever go to D.C. and are looking for a good turkey burger, you won't get much better than the one there. And the butterscotch blondie? Perfection. Dad's secretary brought her daughter, Jane, as an early birthday present, and we asked the servers to put a candle in her strawberry shortcake. Sadly, they did not do so, but we told her about it anyway just to let her know we were thinking of her.
After a two hour bus drive back to Maryland (if I ever work in D.C., I will LIVE there, not commute. My goodness, what a bear!), we actually arrived early for our flight. I spent the hour in the air attempting the New York Times crossword with Dad, and we got everything except one four-letter word that stumped everyone.
When I got home I ate dark chocolate almond butter straight from the jar. Barack Obama had shook my hand. Celebration deserved.
ally
PS. Todd told us after the press conference that during the photo with the President, when attempting to put his arm around Barack, he may have accidentally brushed the Commander in Chief's buttcheek. 'I should've just grabbed it,' he said.
So, yesterday, I met President Barack Obama.
Again.
I'll try and remember everything, but so much came at me in the twelve hours I spent in Washington, some of it is a grand blur. The day began at the unsaintly hour of 5:25 AM because a certain insane person scheduled our flight at 7:30 and another, even more insane person had to take fifty bobby pins out of her hair. Yes, ladies and gents. I pincurled my hair for Obama. I was a glass of Ovaltine away from being a 50s housewife.
After wolfing down a cherry smoothie and toast for breakfast (and packing a granola bar because lunch wouldn't be until 2:30!), I drove with Dad to TAC Air accompanied by Jenna and Todd, who were making the trip in lieu of my brother and Mom. Mom met Obama last year with us, so unlike me, she decided to stay home.
The plane ride to Washington was uneventful, save for a slightly heated debate between Dad and I about the differences between Republicans and Democrats. Honestly, I have no problem with fiscal Republicans. Indeed, I myself probably identify more with them than I do with fiscal Democrats; I believe in the value of really working for your money and not expecting the government to do everything for you. It's the social aspect of Democratic Liberalism that I really identify with, and I kept trying to explain that to Dad (who is a SERIOUS fiscal conservative) and it turned into a huge thing. I blame CD, who brought up politics in the first place. That being said, Dad really likes Obama and voted for him, so the day wasn't awkward in the slightest in that respect. We also had the same ideas about how to deal with the immigration issues, but when Dad suggested I tell them to the President, I just laughed. Why the heck would I ruin a perfectly pleasant photo-op with talk of the mess in AZ? Although sidebar: AZ, you are horrifying to the rest of the country (at least, the smart, sane parts). The last time the words 'show me your papers' were uttered in the past hundred years, a certain annoying man with a mustache was ruling Germany.
Anyway!! We landed in the midst of a very wet and rainy Baltimore Airport, and Dad proceeded to tell us that the drive to Walter Reed Hospital would take about half an hour to forty-five minutes. It took an hour and a half. I slept for about forty-five minutes of it on Dad's shoulder, and I woke up with a crick in my neck and a view of nonstop traffic for the next few miles. When we finally got to Walter Reed, we split up into our designated two groups. Group 1, my group, consisted of the team and additional staffers like Rosie and our videographer Keith, my family, and a few trustees along with Jeff Hathaway, and we went into the main hospital to talk to the 'Wounded Warriors.' Group two went to the veterans center and met with the soldiers there.
Meeting the injured soldiers was humbling. We had to get our hands sprayed with disinfectant when entering and exiting a patient's room. Cards were displayed on the walls from discharged soldiers thanking the hospital staff. And it was surprising how many of them had great senses of humor about their situation. The first guy we met, an SPC who had been stationed in Afghanistan, had only been overseas for three months and hadn't seen a lick of combat before his injury. A bomb ended up exploding near him, breaking a few bones in his legs. He was my favorite out of all of the guys because of the amazing personality, humor, and wit he displayed. He had zero qualms about showing us his x-rays and spoke with almost gleeful zest about his shattered femur. He was also a Watertown, CT, native, and when he found out my sister teaches at the highschool his own alma mater is rivals with, he immediately called out "We are going to kick your ass this year!"
Not all of the soldiers were so forthcoming. One man, a sergeant, had only arrived the day before after being injured last week. He was covered in a blanket so I couldn't see his wounds, but they seemed severe. We asked him questions and he answered them truthfully, but all the while his eyes wandered back to his TV, which was positioned above his bed in front of his face, and his face was glazed over in an expression that said, "How did I get here?"
The common denominator of all the men there? When asked if they'll go back to their posts overseas, they immediately said yes.
While we were waiting for Group 2 to get back, I chatted with Maya and Jenna for a bit and Jenna accidentally let it slip that not only would Barack be greeting us, so would Michelle Obama! Maya and I totally freaked out. As much as I love Obama, I think I love Michelle even more. I find her to be such an incredible example of a strong, healthy, passionate, powerful woman. Her commitment to children's health is something I find so inspiring, and her marriage to Obama is such a great example of what makes a union work. Plus, I worked at J.Crew during election season 2008, and when she wore that geometric patterned skirt and sweater on Jay Leno, our sales went through the roof.
After Walter Reed, we hopped back on the bus and drove to D.C. After walking up to the White House gate with Dad, he had to turn around to grab his I.D. (after he reminded me fifteen times last night 'make sure you've got your I.D.! DO YOU HAVE YOUR I.D.?!'). I ended up walking with Rosie because she had an umbrella and I had left my jacket on the bus.
After going through security and walking into the East Wing, we were greeted by the same White House staffers that had briefed us last year. It was a real treat to see them again, as I had thought them to be quite professional and very nice. They took us on the tour, which I thought would be a total retread of last year's, but the guy who took us was actually the same guy as last year so he thought he should come up with new trivia for us to learn, so despite walking through the same hallways and rooms and hearing a bit of the same stuff as last year-no way, the Jackie Kennedy Garden is named after Jackie Kennedy? Surely you jest!-there were a lot of very fun facts to be gleaned from it regardless.
My favorite tidbit was the one about President Tyler, who demanded his official presidential portrait be painted of him holding a piece of crumpled up newspaper in his hand to show his hatred of the press. When asked by the painter if he was sure about that choice, Tyler retorted, "Who's the President? Me or you?" We also learned where the phrase 'mind your beeswax' comes from; during the 1800s, makeup was made of the stuff, and if you sat too close to a fireplace, it would melt right off. A screen was constructed to be placed in front of the fire so the flames wouldn't get into the makeup, but if you still suffered from melty makeup, someone would say to you, "Madam, mind your beeswax" and you'd dash off to the powder room for a reapplying and...I don't know what else happened at White House parties in the 1800s. Snuff-taking? Debates over cigars? Pistol-whipping?
Another fun fact: The West Wing was built by Teddy Roosevelt after he told his daughter she could ride her pony around the East Room ballroom, and the noise drove him to such distraction he was forced to construct a whole new chunk of the House. Cool dad you got there, Alice. Also, Teddy Roosevelt got frickin' SHOT while he delivered a speech and KEPT. DELIVERING. HIS. SPEECH. #badass
Due to the inclement weather the press conference was held in that East Room, where Obama signed the new health care bill into law. Therefore, it's the same room where Joe Biden said 'This is a big fucking deal', which I got a HUGE kick out of. Jenna and I tried to go downstairs to use the bathroom but we were told Michelle was on her way up, so we immediately scampered back to the holding area!
We ended up waiting in the Blue Room, which is directly below the Oval Office, after leaving our bags in the Dining Room (including all cameras, so sadly I didn't get any candids of anyone). The wait was different from last year. Last year, there was a deadly silence, like people were afraid to even breathe. This year, everyone was talking and relaxed. Our awesome organizer led Jenna, Todd, Dad and I to the side of the room Barack and Michelle would be entering from so we'd get to greet them first. Jenna had the unfortunate position of being first among us, and she turned to us with panic in her eyes, saying "I don't want to be first! What do I do?!"
But it was too late. Because no sooner had she turned around to freak out...there they were.
"Jenna, turn around!" I hissed.
She turned, and her eyes grew to a size I thought only existed in Japanese animation. Because there they were. The President and the First Lady. Barack Obama just high-fived my Dad.
First of all, the room went silent again just like last year, but this time it wasn't the kind of silence where you could tell the majority of people in the room were trying very hard not to wet themselves (and I include myself in this category). This time, it was a respectful, giddy silence. Although when they saw Michelle (which was a surprise to everyone except Maya), they all kind of squealed and jumped a bit.
Obama looked about the same as last year, except thinner and grayer around the temples. He's still an extraordinarily handsome individual, and this time he didn't smell like smoke. Michelle Obama, I must say, is almost unreal looking. She's that gorgeous (and, I must say, ripped. Jenna and I couldn't stop talking about her eyebrows, oddly enough. They are perfectly shaped! As I shook her hand I wanted so badly to mention how I loved her work with kids, and how I worked at J.Crew, and how much I respected her as a strong role model for young girls...but all that came out was, 'HI IT'S SO NICE TO MEET YOU' while I tried not to stare at her humongous diamond earrings, which were the only fancy things about her outfit (J.Crew city-fit cargo pants and flats! Represent!). She mentioned to us that she didn't come down for any other sports teams aside from this one, not even the Lakers, as Barack pointed out. "She doesn't come down for ANY of this stuff!" Also, the connection he and Michelle have as a couple is pretty extraordinary to witness. They walked in barely three centimeters apart from each other, and display wonderful chemistry. When Barack talked to us, I managed to sneak some peeks at his wedding ring - I have a thing about ring design.
After the picture, Barack and Michelle went to meet with the rest of the team while Jenna and Todd and I made our way to our seats in the East Room. The speech was pretty standard and it's been transcribed elsewhere, although the lines about Dad not being able to do math and our winning streak extending back to when Obama got elected were hilarious. We gave him the gifts of a jersey with his name on it and a signed basketball, and Dad managed to throw in a few one-liners of his own.
Then he was gone and it was over. We hung out in the main lobby for about twenty minutes, and I got a picture next to the giant portrait of Bill Clinton (my choice of portraits came down to him and JFK, but the Clinton one had better lighting) and fought off the urge to start gnawing on my cardigan in hunger. Lunch ended up being at Ebbitt's Grill, a fantastic casual dining bar and grill near the White House, and I must say, if you ever go to D.C. and are looking for a good turkey burger, you won't get much better than the one there. And the butterscotch blondie? Perfection. Dad's secretary brought her daughter, Jane, as an early birthday present, and we asked the servers to put a candle in her strawberry shortcake. Sadly, they did not do so, but we told her about it anyway just to let her know we were thinking of her.
After a two hour bus drive back to Maryland (if I ever work in D.C., I will LIVE there, not commute. My goodness, what a bear!), we actually arrived early for our flight. I spent the hour in the air attempting the New York Times crossword with Dad, and we got everything except one four-letter word that stumped everyone.
When I got home I ate dark chocolate almond butter straight from the jar. Barack Obama had shook my hand. Celebration deserved.
ally
PS. Todd told us after the press conference that during the photo with the President, when attempting to put his arm around Barack, he may have accidentally brushed the Commander in Chief's buttcheek. 'I should've just grabbed it,' he said.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
NEDAwareness 2014: So, Now What? Or, Now the Real Work Starts.
In a few posts, I've detailed my extensive history with binge eating, overeating, restricted eating, eating habits that bordered on orthorexia, eating habits permitted by overexercising ("I can eat until I feel sick because I'll just work out for two hours tomorrow I AM SO HEALTHY"), and then trying to get back to a place of health and wellness after a back injury. These topics are not new to me, or the blog, or to you as the reader. So for this NEDAwareness 2014 post, I am actually not going to retread that ground. Instead, I'm going to use this space to talk to you about possibly the scariest part of the whole deal - what the hell happens once you're on the road to recovery, or perhaps, what happens when you're nearly recovered? Now what?
I've collated some various tips and advice from years and years of growing to understand my body and my mind, and I wanted to share them with you in case you are in the same position as I am - on the other side of disordered eating, and now slowly starting to deal with the mental stuff that is at the core of the problems to begin with. I will say that it's highly ironic that I'm writing a post about health and wellness when I'm currently battling the head cold from the depths of Mordor. Ah well.
Understand what the problem is, and go from there. I hate letting people down. I also hate feeling like I'm not utilizing my full potential. If you know anything about my family, they operate on the idea that if you work your ass off, you are capable of achieving anything you want in this world. Because of my personality type, this kind of doctrine can be incredibly helpful or extremely harmful. Knowing why you're doing the things you're doing is the first step to maintaining recovery. For me, the body image issues and tremendous physical punishment I inflicted on myself came from, yes, a definite place of wanting to be thinner (and as I've said numerous times, I did need to lose weight simply from a wellness standpoint) but it also came from a place of tremendous physical pressure I placed on myself of wanting to be the best at everything. I have to be everything to everybody, and I would rather die than disappoint my parents, so when my Mom sat me down at the age of 18 and gently told me I wasn't healthy and needed to get in shape, I listened. Probably a little too well, but I listened because I wanted to make her happy*. Once I understood this crucial issue and started trying to figure out what made me happy, it suddenly became a lot easier to let go of my punishing gym routine. I just have to be the best version of myself, and in many ways that has nothing to do with the size on the back of my jeans as long as I'm treating myself well.
*My mom is the best, most lovely person in the world and only wanted me to be healthy and happy. She was an overweight kid and didn't want me to have the same types of issues she did. Also, she's pushing 60 and does Insanity workouts. She could kick my ass.
Love your body however it ends up, and dress for your new shape. You could say that my body type is 'athletic' - broad shoulders, big legs, short legs, and a slight waist. The only way I could get myself down to a body type known as 'skinny' was to deplete myself of muscle mass. I was a size 2 for about three months, when I ate only egg whites and Swiss chard for dinner. Right now, my goals revolve around feeling strong. I also put on muscle very quickly, so at the moment I have enormous shoulders and pretty big legs. I look amazing in skirts, but the supermodel trend of layering tons of clothes in the winter makes me look like a homeless Zeppelin. I know what works for this new body after trial and error. I was frustrated at first with all of the various things I couldn't wear, but I was also pleased to see all of the really pretty things I COULD wear. Remember - sequins don't have a size!
You are going to cry ALL of the tears. Once I let go of the things that weren't serving me in a physical sense, all of the mental trauma and blocks I had placed in my brain suddenly burst open and I found myself completely unable to control my emotions. There were many, many times in the past year or so that I found myself crying over the smallest thing because I wasn't 'stuffing' my emotions with food or exercise. At first, I thought I was going crazy, but then I realized that all of the feelings I was hiding, all of the control I was exerting, all of that was coming to the surface. I do enough yoga to know that we keep all of our experiences in our bodies (relationship issues in our hips, emotional issues in our chests, etc.) and if we don't allow ourselves to process them they will emerge as eruptions. Once I started actually processing that stuff, it was like Vesuvius. Not being afraid of that is the key. Crying is awesome and therapeutic. The other night I cried my eyes out with my mom because the stress of waiting for PhD decisions was on my chest like a ton of bricks; I didn't binge or overexercise, I just allowed myself to feel the feelings. Afterwards, it felt like someone took that brick and crumbled it away. I did eat a BUNCH of Pumpkin Spice Hershey Kisses after that, but that's just a mandatory part of my day.
Get professional help. Yoga can only do so much. When I started up my practice again I considered it to be my therapy ("yoga is my CHURCH, everyone! Screw therapy and actual psychological support, YOGA!"), but now I realize that yoga, as wonderful and beneficial as it is, was putting a band-aid on my more intense traumas. As a result, I'm currently shopping around for a holistic therapist in the Manchester area. Of course you can talk out this stuff with your family and loved ones, but at some point you start to realize you want to spend your time with your loved ones simply loving them, not using them as an emotional dartboard. My boyfriend is possibly the most wonderful and patient person in the world, but he's been telling me for a solid year that getting a therapist would probably benefit me more because they'll be able to guide me through the practice of letting go of all of these issues, not just reiterating the issues for the sake of emotional cleansing.
Don't restrict any food, regardless of what people tell you. This is a trick I learned from a surprising source - Portia de Rossi, aka Mrs. Ellen DeGeneres. While promoting her book Unbearable Lightness, Portia told Oprah that one of the ways she got better from her extreme anorexia was to permit herself to eat any kind of food regardless of portion size and food type; that freedom gave her the permission to eat whatever she wanted, and she found that if she didn't restrict her food the compulsion to overeat or restrict food became more and more minimized. For a while, I was a vegan and because of that I considered myself recovered because, hey, I was eating tons of peanut butter and oils and all of that stuff I had considered "bad"! Woo hoo! Not really. I didn't want to eat meat or dairy because I was afraid they were going to make me fat. As a result, I was stringy and no amount of weight lifting would allow me to maintain muscle mass, and we all know how much muscle mass helps your heart and bones. I've discussed on here before how I cannot eat gluten due to a medical diagnosis, but other than that I allow myself to eat any kind of food given to me. I have to. Otherwise my control mechanisms will cause anxiety.
Surround yourself with people who don't give a shit about what you look like. This is huge. For a very long time I made it a point to only associate with 'cool' people, or people who talked shit about other people, or people who were 'clean'; aka, they worked out a ton and drank all the green juice and practiced body scrubbing on a daily basis and made their body into a temple of broccoli. As a result, I absolutely HATED what I looked like, because they made it subliminally clear to me that I needed to ramp up my physical game in order to be a better person. So I constantly felt like I needed to be more...something. Just more. Over the past few years I've started to clean those people out of my life (Facebook's "Hide All" is wonderful) and as a result, my brain is much more clear-headed. I hang out with people who love me because I'm a nerd, and because I try to be nice to everyone I meet. They couldn't give less of a shit about what pants size I wear, they care if I am a good person who enjoys a good glass or two of wine and eating artisan cheeses at 2AM, and they don't judge me if I end up falling asleep on the floor of their living room in a pile of half-finished crochet projects while watching Adventure Time.
I will add on a special PS to the above point - The more into the recovery process you are, the less inclined you will be to talk shit about other girls and their bodies, and the less inclined you will be to pay attention to the messages in the media that tell you to hate your body. A few weeks ago, I mentioned to a dear friend that I hated how people felt the need to tear down the bodies of others, and she said to me "That's a really good sign you think that, because it means you're feeling really good about yourself and your own journey." It's true. I really try to avoid talking about other people and their bodies, unless I think they're in a position of ill health. In an addendum to my discussion about Rachel Frederickson, I am relieved to see that she's put on at least 15 pounds since winning The Biggest Loser!
It's a journey, and sometimes the destination is a better understanding of yourself and your body. The great work begins and ends with you. You've got this. The more love you feel, the more you will give, and the more you will realize that you are more than your body.
"You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body, temporarily." - Walter M. Miller, Jr.
Work your soul.
alysa
I've collated some various tips and advice from years and years of growing to understand my body and my mind, and I wanted to share them with you in case you are in the same position as I am - on the other side of disordered eating, and now slowly starting to deal with the mental stuff that is at the core of the problems to begin with. I will say that it's highly ironic that I'm writing a post about health and wellness when I'm currently battling the head cold from the depths of Mordor. Ah well.
Understand what the problem is, and go from there. I hate letting people down. I also hate feeling like I'm not utilizing my full potential. If you know anything about my family, they operate on the idea that if you work your ass off, you are capable of achieving anything you want in this world. Because of my personality type, this kind of doctrine can be incredibly helpful or extremely harmful. Knowing why you're doing the things you're doing is the first step to maintaining recovery. For me, the body image issues and tremendous physical punishment I inflicted on myself came from, yes, a definite place of wanting to be thinner (and as I've said numerous times, I did need to lose weight simply from a wellness standpoint) but it also came from a place of tremendous physical pressure I placed on myself of wanting to be the best at everything. I have to be everything to everybody, and I would rather die than disappoint my parents, so when my Mom sat me down at the age of 18 and gently told me I wasn't healthy and needed to get in shape, I listened. Probably a little too well, but I listened because I wanted to make her happy*. Once I understood this crucial issue and started trying to figure out what made me happy, it suddenly became a lot easier to let go of my punishing gym routine. I just have to be the best version of myself, and in many ways that has nothing to do with the size on the back of my jeans as long as I'm treating myself well.
*My mom is the best, most lovely person in the world and only wanted me to be healthy and happy. She was an overweight kid and didn't want me to have the same types of issues she did. Also, she's pushing 60 and does Insanity workouts. She could kick my ass.
Love your body however it ends up, and dress for your new shape. You could say that my body type is 'athletic' - broad shoulders, big legs, short legs, and a slight waist. The only way I could get myself down to a body type known as 'skinny' was to deplete myself of muscle mass. I was a size 2 for about three months, when I ate only egg whites and Swiss chard for dinner. Right now, my goals revolve around feeling strong. I also put on muscle very quickly, so at the moment I have enormous shoulders and pretty big legs. I look amazing in skirts, but the supermodel trend of layering tons of clothes in the winter makes me look like a homeless Zeppelin. I know what works for this new body after trial and error. I was frustrated at first with all of the various things I couldn't wear, but I was also pleased to see all of the really pretty things I COULD wear. Remember - sequins don't have a size!
You are going to cry ALL of the tears. Once I let go of the things that weren't serving me in a physical sense, all of the mental trauma and blocks I had placed in my brain suddenly burst open and I found myself completely unable to control my emotions. There were many, many times in the past year or so that I found myself crying over the smallest thing because I wasn't 'stuffing' my emotions with food or exercise. At first, I thought I was going crazy, but then I realized that all of the feelings I was hiding, all of the control I was exerting, all of that was coming to the surface. I do enough yoga to know that we keep all of our experiences in our bodies (relationship issues in our hips, emotional issues in our chests, etc.) and if we don't allow ourselves to process them they will emerge as eruptions. Once I started actually processing that stuff, it was like Vesuvius. Not being afraid of that is the key. Crying is awesome and therapeutic. The other night I cried my eyes out with my mom because the stress of waiting for PhD decisions was on my chest like a ton of bricks; I didn't binge or overexercise, I just allowed myself to feel the feelings. Afterwards, it felt like someone took that brick and crumbled it away. I did eat a BUNCH of Pumpkin Spice Hershey Kisses after that, but that's just a mandatory part of my day.
Get professional help. Yoga can only do so much. When I started up my practice again I considered it to be my therapy ("yoga is my CHURCH, everyone! Screw therapy and actual psychological support, YOGA!"), but now I realize that yoga, as wonderful and beneficial as it is, was putting a band-aid on my more intense traumas. As a result, I'm currently shopping around for a holistic therapist in the Manchester area. Of course you can talk out this stuff with your family and loved ones, but at some point you start to realize you want to spend your time with your loved ones simply loving them, not using them as an emotional dartboard. My boyfriend is possibly the most wonderful and patient person in the world, but he's been telling me for a solid year that getting a therapist would probably benefit me more because they'll be able to guide me through the practice of letting go of all of these issues, not just reiterating the issues for the sake of emotional cleansing.
Don't restrict any food, regardless of what people tell you. This is a trick I learned from a surprising source - Portia de Rossi, aka Mrs. Ellen DeGeneres. While promoting her book Unbearable Lightness, Portia told Oprah that one of the ways she got better from her extreme anorexia was to permit herself to eat any kind of food regardless of portion size and food type; that freedom gave her the permission to eat whatever she wanted, and she found that if she didn't restrict her food the compulsion to overeat or restrict food became more and more minimized. For a while, I was a vegan and because of that I considered myself recovered because, hey, I was eating tons of peanut butter and oils and all of that stuff I had considered "bad"! Woo hoo! Not really. I didn't want to eat meat or dairy because I was afraid they were going to make me fat. As a result, I was stringy and no amount of weight lifting would allow me to maintain muscle mass, and we all know how much muscle mass helps your heart and bones. I've discussed on here before how I cannot eat gluten due to a medical diagnosis, but other than that I allow myself to eat any kind of food given to me. I have to. Otherwise my control mechanisms will cause anxiety.
Surround yourself with people who don't give a shit about what you look like. This is huge. For a very long time I made it a point to only associate with 'cool' people, or people who talked shit about other people, or people who were 'clean'; aka, they worked out a ton and drank all the green juice and practiced body scrubbing on a daily basis and made their body into a temple of broccoli. As a result, I absolutely HATED what I looked like, because they made it subliminally clear to me that I needed to ramp up my physical game in order to be a better person. So I constantly felt like I needed to be more...something. Just more. Over the past few years I've started to clean those people out of my life (Facebook's "Hide All" is wonderful) and as a result, my brain is much more clear-headed. I hang out with people who love me because I'm a nerd, and because I try to be nice to everyone I meet. They couldn't give less of a shit about what pants size I wear, they care if I am a good person who enjoys a good glass or two of wine and eating artisan cheeses at 2AM, and they don't judge me if I end up falling asleep on the floor of their living room in a pile of half-finished crochet projects while watching Adventure Time.
I will add on a special PS to the above point - The more into the recovery process you are, the less inclined you will be to talk shit about other girls and their bodies, and the less inclined you will be to pay attention to the messages in the media that tell you to hate your body. A few weeks ago, I mentioned to a dear friend that I hated how people felt the need to tear down the bodies of others, and she said to me "That's a really good sign you think that, because it means you're feeling really good about yourself and your own journey." It's true. I really try to avoid talking about other people and their bodies, unless I think they're in a position of ill health. In an addendum to my discussion about Rachel Frederickson, I am relieved to see that she's put on at least 15 pounds since winning The Biggest Loser!
It's a journey, and sometimes the destination is a better understanding of yourself and your body. The great work begins and ends with you. You've got this. The more love you feel, the more you will give, and the more you will realize that you are more than your body.
"You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body, temporarily." - Walter M. Miller, Jr.
Work your soul.
alysa
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