Word Therapy

Therapy was hard. It was actually really hard. I think it was hard because it makes you ask and answer some tough questions that you otherwise apparently are avoiding on your own. Instead of actually helping, which I guess I thought it might, it left me feeling disgusting and raw and emotional. I guess that means it is working right. I kind of didn’t like that feeling at all. I guess I didn’t really like what was said. The hard truths my friends. The hard truths; which is never fun to hear. I guess I thought I knew what was going to be said to some degree and on some level I was not surprised by what was said. Ugh. The point in this is that I left therapy all fucked up and angry. I was upset and sad. A giant emotional mess. Confusion ball. That is the best way to describe it.

I have entirely learned over the past couple years that I am not one of those people who instantly can process information and make snap decisions. I have to REALLY think about things and work on them in my brain for a period of time before I can rationalize and come to any real understanding. I guess what that means is that I have to probably have a few days distance from the session to actually determine what the take-away is from it. To see if it was helpful. Oh, I’m sure hearing the stuff was helpful but in order to actually really relate it to my life I think I need some time to process. I am just not an instant processor. I HATE with a passion, beyond a passion actually, move into I will fucking snap your head off territory being hounded about what I think about something instantly after it occurs. I hate someone poking me and saying, what happened? What did you talk about? What are you going to do? There is nothing that pisses me off more than someone I guess demanding or expecting an answer from me. Probably because I don’t even have the answer yet so how on earth can I begin to share my feelings on it when I haven’t come to terms with my feelings.

Communication is a huge issue in life in every single relationship we have. Understanding communication styles and how to effectively deal with the people around us is one of life’s greatest challenges. If you know me, if you want to love me, you have to understand that no good will ever come of immediately expecting me to behave rationally if you are poking at me expecting answers I am not prepared to give. I am a processor. I instantly react badly and then need a few days to sort it out before I can embrace whatever it is.

After therapy, probably in part because I had not exercised and was clearly suffering from a double whammy of lack of positive emotions, I decided to hit the mall for a while to walk around. So much going on in my head, sometimes we just need to escape. I guess for some reason I thought shopping would help clear my head. Not that this is ever a viable reality but sometimes it does temporarily make you feel better I guess. So I went into the mall, still not fully embracing the craptastic mood my brain was in, and hit up Victoria Secret. This is my favorite store, like ever. This undoubtedly stems back to my teenage years where I would lust after I guess the image of what I thought the Victoria Secret models projected. It wasn’t so much that I was lusting after their bodies or even entirely the clothing, although I did desperately one day want to be able to wear the clothes in the catalog. I think I was mostly lusting after the image of beauty that so closely aligned with my own personnel assessment of beauty. You can say what you want about skewed body images, etc., but I actually think Victoria Secret does a pretty good job of it.

Sure, are some of the models stupidly thin? Of course. But as a general rule they embrace a curvy girl. They really do. At 220 pounds I still wore Victoria Secret clothes and undergarments. They make size XL clothes which fit my 220 pound frame. I wore their bras even at my heaviest. Aside from that even their smallest clothes now are generous in their sizing. I pretty much wear an XS in everything at VS and let’s face it, while I might be in shape I am generally not an extra small. A small at most stores for sure, but not an extra small as Victoria Secret would have me believe. Nonetheless, when I was a teenager looking at that catalog I used to fantasize about being that healthy looking and beautiful and thin I guess but mostly put together. Those girls were so put together and I imagined the lives they must have. And I wanted it. I was so hooked from an early age that it is not shocking that the first time I ever lost weight one of my first desires was to order from the Victoria Secret catalog, the clothes. The real pretty dresses and shirts, etc.

Consequently it is not shocking that today I am an avid VS shopper and most of my wardrobe comes from there. Clearly, as an adult, I know better now that simply being able to fit into the clothes does not come with the fabulous life I imagined. But the essence of my youth remains. That forever appeal that I am somehow worthy. I have discussed this with both my husband and my mom on occasion. My mom made one very good point which was, “well, it’s not like you didn’t earn your body or work hard for it.” It was a nice compliment and has resonated with me. You can say what you want about having the influence of VS fuck up my idea of what beauty is, but it’s not like it was ever handed to me. I had to work over and over again to be able to wear VS the way that I perceived it should be worn. I did earn it. Or rather work my ass off for it.

Anyway, I went into VS and found my favorite bra style, the bombshell. As I have lost weight and more weight I have discovered that as the girls have given way to gravity and emptiness the most extreme bra that Victoria Secret has is the only one that really makes me look like I have boobs. I have come a long way. Turns out I am now a 32B. I had a hard time embracing that B cup thing. I have always been a C plus. But turns out that is weight. I am a B. The moment I actually embraced it enough to put on the correct size bra I knew instantly it was right. The difference the correct size bra makes is incredible. So I am bombshell 32B wearer. At least until the day I get a boob job. Until then I will allow Victoria to make the world believe I have boobs where there are none.

After Victoria Secret, where I did get a new bra and undies that I entirely did not need but was hoping to retail myself happy, I headed to Sports Authority to just check it out. I had a disturbing moment in Sports Authority that put my shitty mood into perspective.

I was looking at workout clothes. My workout wardrobe is like 99% Victoria Secret, but I still like to look at other stuff. Anyway, I was walking around looking at stuff and happened to glance at my reflection in the mirror. I was horrified. Like beyond horrified. I walked back and took a better look. This mirror, at Sports Authority, inside the mall on a Thursday evening at approximately 7:45 PM, made me feel the most conscious I have been of myself in ages. I suddenly, for the life of me, could not get the fat girl out of my brain. I looked in the mirror and saw a FAT girl. An awful, frumpy, disgusting fat girl. I almost cried. Seriously. I could not shake the fat girl I saw in the mirror.

Clearly something in therapy was fucking with the brain in the most awful way. Clearly things were all muddled up there and I unlocked some part of the insecure girl that clearly lives within me. Exposing raw emotions on that level left me completely vulnerable to my deepest insecurities. And suddenly there it was staring back at me in the mirror. The 220 pound version of myself. I saw a disgusting stomach fat roll. I saw gigantic thighs that would not stop. I saw extra skin and fat everywhere. I had a real moment of complete crazy. I say crazy because I understand that 140-142 pounds is not a crazy fat person, but honestly, in that mirror, all I saw was how much more I needed to improve. Improve on everything. It was so awful and I knew in that moment that I was too emotionally drained to be partaking in any such thing so I left the store and the mall.

Here’s the deal; I know I am not a gigantic mess. I know I am not perfect either. I have areas that will always bother me. I have come a long way, but I am not now nor will I ever be perfect. It’s just not going to happen. It really was the combination of opening up gigantic gaping wounds at therapy mixed with the lack of exercise high that I thrive off of. My emotions were just so all over the place.

It made me realize that as much as I have this most days, I am still a scared little girl from time to time. I still need someone to hug me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. As we grow older, and become stronger and braver in life, it’s easy to get caught up in our own maturity or identity and forget that at our core we are all vulnerable from time to time. Last night was a good reminder of that.

Of course when I got home, I had to fight all night long to not console myself with food. Old habits die hard. I did end up eating way too many pop chips, but they were pre portioned 100 calorie bags. Yes, I ate too many of them, but it wasn’t awful. In fact, I pretty much ended my day exactly where I was supposed to be calorie wise. These days it’s about a 1500 calorie day for me most days. I was right around that. It might not have been the best quality food, but it wasn’t over the top and I’m thankful for that. On days like yesterday, that really is the best I can hope for.

So today is a new day. Today I woke up and was so excited to get to go to the gym tonight. Yes, I am crazy like that. I want to get rid of some of the negativity in my brain and exercise thru some of the issues that were brought up yesterday. As I ponder what was discussed, on a treadmill really is where I do my best thinking. I have my gym bag packed and seriously am chomping at the bit to get to the gym. So crazy!

My Friday night will be spent exactly where I want to be, at the gym, sweating thru as much of all of this emotional baggage as I possibly can. My body does not feel sore today, in fact, it feels ready, primed and pumped to go. I need my exercise free therapy.

No one ever said life was easy or health and fitness was a straight line. Success in anything is a long and windey road. I will also say that this morning when I popped out of bed and felt an overwhelming desire to go to the gym it occurred to me for the first time as a real possibility that perhaps I should eventually consider a career change. If I am that excited about the prospect of waking up and going to the gym that maybe I am doing the wrong thing with my life. I could see it, eventually. This morning was the first time that it really hit me like that, so obvious. Today I just want to get to the gym. I want to spend my Friday night at the gym and my Saturday morning at the gym. Yup, it’s entirely about me and my health, not about my weight.

I am glad my yesterday is in the past and I can move forward today not beating myself up too much. I am glad I did not give in and eat the entire bag of Chex mix like I felt so tempted to do last night. I can tackle today guilt free and ready to go. It’s probably aversion therapy. Avert my reality from what was actually discussed in therapy and what really is bothering me, to something that my brain can handle and comprehend. Exercise. But I really do mean it that I work out my mind the best thru exercise. I sort thru my problems best when I am running on that damned treadmill. There is no moment of time where I feel happier, more at peace and more free to make the best possible, truest to me decisions. So if I have to avert my attention to address the issue than I will simply run thru it. Running has always been there for me. For 10 years of my life, running has been their. That is the true love story of my life.

I watched this week’s Extreme Make Over last night in the wee hours of the night as I battled insomnia brought on by therapy as well. Ha. Anyway, the girl wanted to run a marathon. So Chris Powell made her run 26.2 miles by herself in Paris actually. It occurred to me, probably being fueled by my own 13.1 mile run the other day, that I actually think I *can* run a marathon. I am just about crazy enough to decide to do it and just do one. I do think I’d start with a half marathon, but I am getting pretty close to just doing it. What the hell am I so afraid of? Why am I holding myself back so much? That really is the story of my life anyway. As I said, running is the love of my life, really. Why don’t I embrace it more? It has been there for me when all other things in my life have fallen apart. It has been there for me when things were good too. Running comes and goes in my life but she is always there waiting, accepting, willing to take me back and embrace me. She doesn’t judge me either. She never makes me feel like crap about myself. In fact, she is the one thing that ALWAYS builds me up and makes me feel better about me. She is quite simply perfect. I owe her so much. I owe her my health really. I owe her a lot of any sanity I have in my brain.

Oh Running. You are my forever. You have my heart. Do you see with how much love I discuss running? Creepy and amazing at the same time.

Thank goodness it’s Friday and that means weekend time. Tomorrow morning its gym time with some turbokick and a little one on one personal training with a different trainer, who is going to give me a kick-ass arm workout. Thrilled for that. I can only seem to find true happiness these days at the gym. I guess I need to just be happy that something brings me happiness these days. Until the rest of my life gets sorted out, I am embracing the gym full force. I need it. I need that happiness to temper the rest of the times that are not so happy. I need to look forward to feeling happy again in those moments where life doesn’t seem bearable.

I am certain that there is a happier healthier version of my life out there on the horizon for me. I am just trying to figure out how to get to it. I see it, it’s starting to come into focus, but I’m just trying to find the path to it. And for once it’s not about my health and weight. Funny that when I finally get my health and fitness in check it makes me start addressing all the other issues in my life that don’t fulfill me or complete me. It’s like suddenly I realize I deserve to be happy and am worth more than I am allowing myself. Then why not me? Why the fuck not me? Why can’t I actually be happy? I have these moments of utter happiness and pride at the gym, why can’t I actually truly be happy? I am so damned tired of living an un-authentic life. I am not any less worthy than anyone else, so I need to go and fucking plow down the path to my happiness if I can’t plainly see it.

I know no matter what happens in the months ahead, or along the road I end up traveling, I AM going to be okay. I have a fabulous support system in my life and I have my running. I am slowly giving my heart away to myself for the first time in my life and that is the best gift anyone has EVER given me. To love oneself is really the best gift in life.

And for the record, somehow, I feel like writing all this crap out is more therapeutic than 50 minutes on a couch with a stranger. I said my peace and in some weird way I feel like I know some of you guys and I’m talking to friends ;)