In Just 5 Weeks, You'll Live A Lifetime

It seems a line has been drawn between people who are using MyFitnessPal and those who aren't.  The mighty who praise its benefits and the opposition who chastise it.  Or choose to ignore what it has to say.  I never thought I'd be a gentle preacher of the Pal, but I've converted.  It's an easy, functional App that tracks your daily intake of food & exercise.  Calories, fats, sodium, proteins, vitamin A, cardio, etc.  You have goals, the app helps you monitor their progress.  And if you're listening for the little nutritional health bird to keep you motivated and on track, each day he'll chirp a notation of "You'd Weigh XXX In 5 Weeks."

Once I worked through the curiosities of the program and learned more about the suggestions, it clicked.  Like the Griswolds' 25,000 imported Italian twinkle lights, the switch just needed switching. This unexpected outcome means things are finally tinkering into place, after more than 15 years at the gym.  Before it was just stats and numbers to obsess over, with no defined plan.  Now it's about understanding the cause & effect.  A mental P&L statement ran against what I eat, because I am finally empowered to balance the enjoyment of food with the end result.

But this enthusiasm hasn't come cheap.

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There's been a hugely positive movement with anti-bullying & compassion for people, which is amazing (It Gets Better.)  Far too long people have chocked up incessant playground taunting to "It happened to me; that's just life."  But that's not an answer and it's not ok.  Time on this planet is so limited to not be kind to each other - as humans.  And building that foundation from childhood is only going to make society better.

With that said... The following words are my experience, which may or may not be similar to yours.  You may have been on the receiving end of your own wretched scene, in which I say you are never alone!  Or you may have been the curator, in which I hope you've learned the err and now selflessly help cutesy baby anythings.  Torment by peer is a different kind of trauma that sticks to your guts in ways you don't realize, only discovering later the damages they sought.  And sought me out they did.  These kids ripped my youthful innocence and shredded it like an old newspaper.

I used to say "I am who I am because of it."  maybe.  Would I recommend it as a path to stewardship?  nope.  Because living with these memories for over 20 years doesn't mean I did have a problem.  It means that for over 20 years I've lived with the pain, unsure how to peel away the calloused layers.  And although this journals' focus is about weight, in the days it took me to write this confessional of sorts, I realized it was only one element of my confidence puzzle.  That and the overall notion for how I view myself (ahem... low self-esteem,) have been the basis for the entire self-deprecating image I still revisit.  I realize now it's silly to let who you were in the past, dictate how you drive into the future.  But each of those elements that make up who we are, must all work together in building the most delicate picture.

Through whatever means by which my life developed, today I am a kind, compassionate bird who is only looking to give & receive the same.  I mean I'll judge your character hard, because seriously - don't be lame.  But talking before you is a person who just wants everyone to find their joy.

Only now, have I been able to write through the bullocks.

*

The game of confidence and I have always danced an elaborate courtship.

The grade school I attended was brilliantly supportive, from both kids & teachers.  I got up each morning super excited to eat cereal and rush my mom into the car so we could make the drive to school.  She never felt as eager to start her day though, what with the not eating cereal and having a job.  Outside the classroom, we would play games, listen to records, create art, spend time together.  The only inkling of self-doubt I ever had was with my grades.  The desire for that quarterly paper, printed with DOS vertical A's, felt so totally necessary.  It was something I imposed upon myself because the bursts of extra praise the grownups lent felt good; but beyond that I was carefree.  The kids in my school were beautifully unique, where our differences never mattered; they were celebrated.  I looked like every other student - happy.

Then I switched schools towards the end of 3rd grade, which I've mentioned before is the exact moment my world shattered.

Transitioning from an encouraging environment to a school with intentionally cruel kids and a population of teachers who turned a blind eye to it, was distressing.  Contentment turned to anxiety and humiliation.  I was criticized almost daily about my clothes, my uglyness, my weight (which still baffles me - being a kid who was usually playing outside and whose body type was neither sticks nor stones.)  But the relentless jabs around the classroom & playground showed me just how quickly one must learn their place.  What 3rd grader should be subjected to such nonsense?  She-ra and sleepovers, playing Indiana Jones on the jungle gym, driving R.C. PROam on Nintendo and riding my bike - that was my former life...

I towed years of scattered baggage right on into the 6th grade.  The teasing, the arguments, the fights, the lack of focus, the hormones, my parents malnourished bank account.  There was no comprehension for what it all meant and there was no one I could turn to.  My parents came from a time when you sucked it up and pushed it aside.  You didn't talk about that stuff, are you kidding?  And although the young, cool, next door neighbor ladies took me under their wings, I wasn't capable of saying help.  I didn't realize I needed to.  None of them had any idea the pressure I faced; there was no frame of reference when I would mumble how the kids hated me, called me gross & poor.  I hated the bus.  I hated school.  I hated every grownup for not making the situation better.  I eventually convinced myself I hated me.

The stress is all reflective now, sure.  I could barely express how I felt then, let alone to a few "girlfriends."  pfft friends.  They were really just bodies floating down jerk river.  The only ones allowing me to hop on the cool kids raft.  I swear the social blow a kid gets if they don't fit in is so ridiculously everything at that age.  yet I wonder whether that's a human development thing or social pressure thing...  Anyway, these chicks were best described in school as 'pretty & skinny,' where I was best described as 'not.'  I regularly thought it wasn't fair I couldn't be like them, because that would mean one less ridicule.  I wanted to peel away my acne-laden skin and reveal a new face.  I wanted to take a knife and slice away the extra pounds and reveal a body just like "hers."  {writing these words, I mourn for that girl and every other person who has/is/will go through this.  so please help spread kindness}

I was alone.  I would cry in my room, a stuffed animal in my arms, the others watching silently in the corner.  They'd listen as I repeated over and over this had to be normal for everyone.  I would stare at them, jealous - I wanted nothing more than to be an inanimate object that could no longer feel.  This was my current life...

I distinctly remember one warm day, a few months before summers' alarm went off.  Most everyone was in t-shirts and shorts, totally ready to start the dog days.  I donned the shorts, but also chose a heavy sweatshirt because my body was doing things I wasn't comfortable with.  So naturally, wearing heavy fabric makes with the feel betters.  It was our first snack break, a group of us gathering on some tables near the basketball court.  For some reason, "how much do you weigh" became the 15 minute game of choice and my stomach recoiled.  Except for me and Elizabeth, all the girls proudly stated their number in the mid 70s.  Elizabeth walked away as she couldn't face the crowd; I couldn't muster up that courage.  I thought if I did, I'd lose the final straw I was grasping at to stay afloat.  I knew I was 92 pounds.  92, 9-2, 9. 2. buzzed like an electric sign.  I stared at the ground, hoping the conversation would move on, but instead they just grew more curious.

All I remember was them laughing and calling me fat.  fucking vicious.

*

Pre-move, I had no idea what body image even was.  You mean like when I'm wearing my favorite gold & white sparkly tiger dress and purple L.A. Gears?

Post-move, I desired & developed an unrealistic view for how I should look.  I gained elements of body-dysmorphia, which thankfully no longer star in my life, but occasionally are featured extras.  Makes me nauseous I still live with this shit.  I constantly screamed an inaudible cry for a fix I could never achieve.  I still haven't heard of anyone swapping bodies during puberty - have you?

In junior high, I eventually rediscovered and embraced my shell (Friend Dating.)  And gloriously more in high school with a bountiful group of beloved misfits.  Truly, honest people were now real - instead of figmented whimseys of imagination.  They opened their hearts to my inner monologue, proving what being a friend could be.  They pinned the question "who am I" to my sleeve and guided me into discovering what that was.  We did it together (of course in the most alternatively, beautiful mid-90s thrift store way.}  And while they never met my former self, it didn't really matter.  I was all they knew.

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When I originally sat down to put words to pixels, the idea was to illustrate the app's positive effects and talk about how dumbfounded I was something so simple, actually worked.  I had set out to change my way of thinking, my approach, and to transition the outdated mold of number focused to science focused.

But it turned into something more.  It no longer became about losing this or eating that... I realized I need to drop those nasty, former little demons that wrecked havoc on my life.  I went round after round with the emotions needed to relive them.  heartache, anger, sadness... I'm sure there's a chart somewhere referencing them all.  I tried avoiding it, I tried pasting the mangled sentences into another draft for another day, hoping other words would find their role.  But if I hadn't confronted those lies, this journal wouldn't have been honest.  So I faced them and won.

The regimen started last October was working and I was fucking madly over the moon!  It's like the vitamins and proteins finally got together and threw a party - and all my muscles were invited.  It was a hugely monumental deal for me!  It wasn't just a physical goal, it more importantly became a change in attitude.  The trepidation I would feel regarding food & the negative views of my body, have been reduced significantly.  Which spawns the question - how did I ever live normally before this?  For me, I guess I wasn't.

Although not my only focus, lower poundage was a natural side effect of studying, implementing & working really hard towards removing this heavy thorn from my past.  I started at my personal highest of 116 and have dropped what I wanted.  But it wasn't because I felt I needed to live up to someone else's expectation, it was because I wasn't comfortable with how I felt.  I have a small body frame, am mid-30s, and overall just noticed some of the choices I made weren't feeling good.  I didn't feel heavy, but my insides did.  So I set out to finally understand the why and then implement the fix.  I get I'm not not solving the worlds' problems, but I am solving something deeply rooted.  I am extremely proud for all my progress and look forward to helping anyone else who may feel lost.  Dude, I am finally equipped with the education and desire to continue this well into the rest of my life!

Knowledge is positive power, YO!

So you'll still be getting all the progress notes I saved - the silly realizations, the weird moments over the last several months - but they will live in draft mode for a minute.  I need to close this page and take a welcomed breath.

A number is a number, but healthy is forever.