Peeking Around the Corner

I'm nervous to say this out loud for fear that I might somehow jinx it, but I believe I've turned a major corner in January. I feel better emotionally and physically than I have in a long time.

My mom was admitted into the cardiac unit again for the same angina that has been bothering her for months. The medication was not controlling it anymore. She had a blocked artery and wasn't getting enough oxygenated blood to her heart. She agreed to have a stent put in. That is a vast improvement because six months ago she refused. I had a terrible day where I couldn't feel anything but despair for the situation. She has given up on her health, and that's that.

It also brought up some feelings about the divorce that were unexpected. My husband left four years ago, and I keep thinking that the pain of that is over. Anyway, when I heard about my mom, I didn't know who to call. I don't have a husband or a boyfriend to help me deal with these things. That's one thing that I lost in the divorce, someone to help manage a crisis. Well, I called someone unexpected and had a good cry over the phone. That turned out to be ok. I put a message on Facebook, and lot of my friends responded. I'm not really alone. There are people who will help me if I'm willing to ask. Then two more friends called me later in the day. Again, people that I would not have expected. And they both offered useful words of wisdom.

Everyone had the same advice for me: you have to be afraid. There is no running away from or trying to bury fear. You just have to feel it and move through it. That was pretty awful to hear, but I knew that they were right. So I tried it. I didn't go to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. I didn't go to Dairy Queen. I just felt sad and frightened for a whole day. And when I woke up the next morning, it was gone. I don't mean my feelings were gone, but the overwhelming pressure on my chest was gone. I could go about my day.

And I didn't turn to food for comfort.

I'm still sugar free after 25 days, and I have given up fast food as well. I'm steadily losing weight, but more importantly, my performance at the gym has seen significant improvement. I feel great. I jogged a mile today in 11:37. That's a personal best. :)

C'mon, Jen!

I am so angry that I am shaking. Texas sent me a couple of emails today that have me furious, but I'm furious with myself. There were parts of our relationship that were abusive. I pretended I didn't see it so that I could have a boyfriend. How sick is that?

Today I called him out on it and used the word abuse. His response was, "What? I didn't know I was abusing you." I listed all of the behaviors that I've been objecting to for two years. Then he says, "Oh yeah. I knew I was doing those things, but I didn't know it was abuse."

I think it's time for a little Feminism 101.

We all know what physical abuse is, right? I don't need to explain that a man should never use physical or sexual violence to control a woman. But what about the other stuff? The verbal stuff can be very damaging as well, and this is the stuff that tends to get missed. Or in my case, blatantly ignored due to my own insecurity about being unloved. Read this...

"Abuse is any behavior that is designed to control and subjugate another human being through the use of fear, humiliation, and verbal or physical assaults." Counseling Center at University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

When a man makes demands and attempts to control your behavior, insists that his feelings are the most important, and ignores your basic human rights by threatening to leave, blowing up in anger, and generally disrespecting you, THAT IS ABUSE.

I ignored this controlling behavior and to some extent let it succeed for far too long. I was walking on eggshells to avoid fights. I looked the other way when he said I made him do it. I had accepted his excuses for his behavior and rationalized that he had a bad childhood, he's insecure, and he's really trying to change. But none of that matters. I was the one accepting it. I was the one who kept coming back for more. Who can I blame for being treated badly except the person who let it happen? Me.

So I'm angry at myself. I want to be a strong woman who doesn't take abuse from anybody. How could I have been so pathetic? Is feeling love worth giving up my self-respect?

More importantly, why on Earth did I think that what he was giving me was love?

Only As High As I Reach Can I Grow

I heard something on the Biggest Loser last week that has been stuck in my mind. (Yes, I love the Biggest Loser. Shut up.) Jillian was yelling at some fatty as usual to, “Reach for it! Reach for it!” The fat girl was barely extending her arms all the way. Jillian stopped her and said something to the effect of, “Don’t you know how to reach for something?” The girl started crying and had a major breakthrough. That’s why I call Jillian the “Fat Whisperer.” She knows just what to say to get fatties moving.

Anyway, I have been stuck on that idea of reaching for what you want. There are people in this world that let fear, or pain, or history, or whatever stop them from reaching for things that they want. I am not like that at all. If there is something that I want, I go get it. When I wanted to be a Montessori teacher, I picked the whole family up and moved to Wisconsin for a year. That’s who I am. I reach for things. And more often than not, I get them.

[Side note: this is why the food behavior has been a weird struggle for me. I want to be healthy, right? But if I really wanted to stop eating junk, do the work, and get thin, I would. I obviously don’t want it deep down. So the question is “why?”]

Recently I learned that the private school where I started my teaching career is looking for a head of school. Moving into a leadership position has always been my ultimate goal in the Montessori world. It would mean a huge bump in salary and getting back on track with my career.

There are a lot of reasons why I should NOT apply. First, I’d have to leave Eugene. Second, I’d be living in the same town as my ex and that means more shared parenting. Third, I’d have to run my own household again instead of letting my parents take care of me and the kids. Fourth, it’s actually a pretty demanding job that requires a lot of different skills. Finally, and possibly the worst part, I’d have to start wearing suits and make-up. All of these things terrify me.

But here’s the thing, I would be good at it, maybe even great at it. I have no idea how I will stack up compared to other candidates, but if given the chance, I would be fantastic. I’m very scared about the interview process. I have no idea what kind of reputation I left behind at that school. I’m extremely scared to be disappointed and feel worthless. But the opportunity is right there. I have to try.

I don’t understand people who are so afraid of change that they don’t even try for happiness. You might epically fail and have to pick yourself back up. You might be monumentally successful and discover a life you never dreamed possible. You might end up in the exact same place that you started from. There is NO way of knowing. Why wouldn’t you roll the dice?

Life is too short not to reach for it.

Early Signs of Progress

This was a shitty week. I don’t need to go into all the reasons why. I’m just trying to accept a lot of things that I don’t have control over right now. Breaking up with Texas feels like some kind of spiritual test. I didn’t want to do it; I’m still full of doubt about it, but it was the right thing to do. I can’t continue to make excuses for his behavior and keep my self-respect. So now I have my self-respect, but I don’t have him. What a lousy choice to have to make! And I am not turning to food to numb the pain. I just have to feel sad.

Yesterday I drove to the coast and had a big cry about it. Then I went to the casino and won $150. Life is strange.

Alright, on a positive note, since going sugar-free I have not puked at one workout. This may seem like a silly thing to be excited about, but I was throwing up almost every time I went to the gym. My body was so full of garbage that I just couldn’t handle strenuous work. For the past week, I’ve seen significant improvement to my cardio conditioning. My heart gets pounding and the sweat is pouring off of me, but I don’t feel like my insides are fighting to be outside.

I lost 4 lbs. the first week, and although the end of week 2 is not until tomorrow, I cheated and got on a scale mid-week. I had already lost 2 lbs. I know that weight fluctuates during the week, but I’m feeling very confident that tomorrow will show that the plan is working. My body feels like it’s working. Maybe that’s all that matters.

The Silent Treatment

My mother has access to patient records at Peace Health due to her job position. She broke into her lab tests and read that the growths in her remaining breast are benign. When she informed me of this, I responded with a neutral, “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” Mom was pretty upset that my reaction was not more joyous and energetic; since it turns out that she’s ok. I pointed out that she has made it clear that she does not want to talk about her health with me, even going so far as to tell me to shut up recently. She said, “Well I think not having cancer is a little different than you wanting me to lose weight.”

Something snapped in me. I started yelling, “I don’t give a shit if you lose weight. I give a shit that you have heart disease, and diabetes, and joint immobility, and you are in denial. You don’t want to do anything about it.” She silently got up and starting down the hall to her bedroom. I yelled after her, “See what I mean? You just walk away from the truth. I give a shit that you are going to die!” She locked herself in her room and spent the rest of the day in bed, only getting up to take the dog to the vet. Then it was right back to bed.

I tried going in and talking to her in the evening. She said that she is “done being abused” by me, and until I apologize for my behavior, she had nothing to say to me. I said that I was done being polite about her health problems. She responded, “Then we have nothing to say to each other.” It’s been the silent treatment ever since.

This is ridiculous. Why doesn’t anybody else in the family want to hold her accountable? Should I just put on a good face and pretend this is not happening? She has completely given up, even going so far as to start using a motorized wheelchair when she has to walk long distances.

And Here I Go Again...

2010 was a strange year. In some ways, I wandered off the path of Project Jen. I quit watching my diet, I stayed with a bad coach too long for emotional reasons, and I put a romantic relationship above myself out of fear of being alone. In other ways, I did make some steps forward. I walked a half-marathon, starting competitive weightlifting, and put a lot of energy into my children. In terms of numbers, I was 13 lbs. heavier Jan. 1, 2011 than I was on Jan. 1, 2010. I kinda feel like the year was a wash. I didn't make significant movement forward or backward. Looking back, I can see that a lot of the good work that I was doing was being sabotaged by poor decisions that were based on fear and depression.

Which brings me to food. I've said many times, and will have to say many more times, that food is my addiction. I use it as a coping mechanism just like people use drugs or alcohol. My new coach, at my new gym, personally challenged me to give up sugar for one month in an attempt to break my addiction to using food as comfort. I decided this was a good opportunity to go back to Weight Watchers and try to tackle my bad behaviors with food.

I have been sugar free for 10 days now and also I'm back to following the Weight Watchers program. I lost 4 pounds in the first week. And that's great, but actually I'm more proud of the choices that I have been making when faced with pain or fear. In these 10 days, I have been sorely tested and the pull to binge has been great.

My mother's health continues to deteriorate while her denial deepens. Recently, she literally locked herself in her room rather than listen to concerns about her diabetes, hearth disease, arthritis, etc. etc. (the bedroom where she has a "secret" stash of candy bars.) I learned that my Aunt Joyce is having her SECOND leg removed due to diabetes! And I also decided to end my 2+ year relationship because I don't want to keep compromising myself. He was my best friend. I am depressed people. And I am angry.

But instead of eating chocolate cake or ice cream or going through the drive-thru, I am channeling my feelings into action. These things are making me angry and I feel something completely new: defiance. I do NOT want to be sick and obese and sad. I want to show all of these people that I am stronger than that. I can take care of myself and choose happiness. When I am faced with something that upsets me, I want to rebel against the choices of others and NOT eat. That's new. I have never associated opting to not eat as the self-reward. But defying the pull of all these people around me who are selfish, and making my own happiness, feels like a reward. My relatives can kill themselves. I can't control that. My ex can be ego-centric. I can't control that. All I can control is myself.

And I desperately want to control myself.

High Low

I finished the half-marathon. That's 13.1 miles. Nobody is more surprised or proud than me. I went into it pretty nervous but confident that I could do it. The plan was to jog some and walk most of it. I knew it wasn't going to be fast, but worse case scenario I would walk the whole thing and still could say I did a half-marathon.

The first 5 miles were awesome. I was in high spirits, smiling, and giving high-fives to spectators. Then my right hip started to ache. When I reached mile 7, my whole right leg was throbbing. My left leg didn't start to hurt until mile 9. By mile 10 I was in some serious pain and wasn't sure if I could physically finish. At that point, it became a mental battle. I am too stubborn to do 75% of something and then just give up because my legs hurt. If I sat down, the 10 miles and messing up my legs would have been for nothing. I wanted that finisher's medal.

Somewhere around mile 12, I saw the tower at 5th Street Market, which is where the finish line was. I knew I was going to make it, and I started jogging again. I ran most of the last mile. Partly it was because I was so excited, partly it was because I wanted to be done so bad. My mom was near the finish line and cheering. That was pretty awesome. Nobody ever comes to see me do this stuff. When I turned the last corner and saw the finish line, the big clock said 3:44:14. I really wanted to get it before it turned to 3:45. I sprinted the last 500 feet or so with my eyes locked on that big clock. I made it. I found out later that my official time from the chip on my shoe was 3:42. Not bad for someone who did zero preparation.

It was obvious within minutes that I had seriously fucked up my legs. I had trouble getting to the car. I took a cold bath when I got home, did some stretching, and passed out into a long nap. When I woke up, I was unable to move anything below my belly button. That was two days ago and I'm still pretty sore, although I am looking more homo erectus today. I was feeling pretty stupid yesterday as I laid in bed with my legs propped up, trying to drain out more lactic acid. Why did I do it? I'm going to miss at least 2 days of CrossFit because of this. What was I thinking?

I was thinking, "I can't do a half-marathon. Real athletes do that. I'll embarrass myself." Lately, that's all it takes to get me to try something. And I keep discovering that I can do things. I might not be the fastest or the strongest, but I can do hard things. I'll finish eventually. I don't need to be afraid of anything. I wrote on Facebook, "I did it! I did it! I'm in horrible pain, but I finished! I did it. And I never have to do it again."

That night, as I was nursing my legs and still high off the whole day, my ex-husband called. He's going to marry the woman he cheated on me with. He wanted me to hear it from him before he put the kids on. Then he did. They were all excited because they're going to get "a new mom!" Holy shit.

I got off the phone and started sobbing. Not because I'm jealous of them. They're both miserable people who totally deserve each other. I'm just so jealous of what they have. I'm the one who wants marriage and a family. I want someone to talk about my day with and to celebrate great days with. I want someone to take care of me when I'm sick and I want to take care of him when he's sick. I want to go on family trips with the kids to interesting places. I'm a good person and I'm working hard to be even better. Why doesn't anyone want to be with me? Blah blah blah. There's no need to keep going on; you get my point.

Anyway, things are in better perspective today. I think it was poetic that the half-marathon and the wedding news came on the same day. The half-marathon reinforced my growing realization that I can do anything I choose to do. I don't need to be afraid of getting hurt, or looking foolish, or even failure. All of those things or none of those things might happen, but I'll be fine. Same with being a single mom. I'll be fine. It's hurting right now, but I keep getting stronger. Someday this whole process will be over, and I will be able to say, "I did it. And I never have to do it again."