Taking Me Back

I'm posting this for one reason - it's a break through.  I wanted my blog to continue chronologically because I am a Type Small A personality and order has always been in my life... but I had to write this.

Trying to mix up my cardio (as I am recognizing NOW that weight training can only do so much when you have another 50 lbs to lose), I decided to join a belly dancing class with a fellow friend.

I missed the first two classes - no childcare one day and recovering morning from a big Valentines' Day Feast I throw each year.  So I walked in the yoga studio fairly confident.  Knowing how far I have come so far, this step into a group class was less scary than I had thought.  Four weeks ago, I started a Zumba class an hour away from my house to join a group of girlfriends who swore by it - difference between this class and my new class - full length, see all that you can see mirrors that stretched and deformed your body the further you walked away from them.

I entered in the class, put the little hip scarf around my body (the one with the bells and chimey things on them) and was ready to move my hips.  I felt pretty confident.  I wore a spaghetti strapped black tank and pair of skin tight capris yoga pants.  I felt good.

Then the 20-something instructor walked in with a few teen girls and only two participants over the age of 30.  All of a sudden, as we stood in a long horizontal line across the width of the hot yoga room, all looking in the mirror at each other, I flashed back.  This has rarely happened to me - reason being, I am pretty good at pushing my feelings aside and staying completely disconnected with my body and mind.  So I allowed the flashback - let me paint the picture for you.

I am 13 years old.  I hit puberty at 11 so was fairly developed and already showing signs of being an overweight kid. Still had that pretty face and a head full of blond locks that sometimes distracted people from what was below my neck.  I wanted to take dance lessons.  I was never into any sort of group activities growing up.  Don't know why really - just never was.  So I approached my parents wanting to take Jazz.  When we went to the orientation, full body leotard was mandatory - no t shirts, shorts; no hiding of your body so the instructor could see form and 'grace'.

I was already nervous.  Knowing my body was different and having to wear a full length, skin tight stretchy thing was making me sick to my stomach.  And to top it off, for the first class, it was that time of the month.  And we are looking back to wear discreet feminine napkins weren't on the market yet.  So here I am, trying to fit into this electric blue outfit my mom had gotten me, with a new set of boobs and no hiding the fact I had my period.

I was there - in front of that mirror where it was impossible to hide - with many slender, pretty girls to either side of me.  The class was 45 minutes and I received great feedback from the owner and instructor.  But I decided I didn't want to return.  I really can't remember what I said to my parents or what their response was but that was it.  My one, feeble attempt at joining something where I could opening express myself and it was only me that prevented me from doing it.  And at the young age of 13.

You may ask, how did this experience impact me moving forward?  Well, I could no longer hide from the fact that I was different.  I had a body like no other I had known.  This is when I officially starting writing in my diary about how I was different - how, one day, I wanted to wear the torn jean shorts and neon yellow tank top (come on!  It was the 80's!).  I still have that diary.  And as I read entries from almost 25 years ago I see that they are almost identical in spirit to what I think and feel now.

Twenty Five years of pushing away my feelings and awareness of my body.  That's a quarter century.  That's nuts!

Now, here I am, feeling what I felt when I was only 13, at the age of 36 in among a class of women who are physical opposite of me.  My hips are big, my backside jiggles, my boobs are still big!  But, the difference now?  I am aware and embrace my feelings and make sense of where those feelings are coming from.  And, I now see the amazing transformation my body is going through.  I can keep up with the smaller women in the class (and honestly, when holding our arms up for as long as we did, I kept mine up the whole time!  Not some in the class).  When on my tippie toes, I have a defined calf muscle.  My bulge around my mid-section is almost gone - that hip scarf fits around me no problem.  Yes I was sweating like a pig, but that mostly had to do with the room being set at 32 degrees.  And what else?  I had fun!  I might have had moments of being self-conscious because I was comparing, but I reminded myself every second that I was here, for me, and I was getting stronger because I worked through that hour with confidence and determination.

And... I'm going back next week.

The Early Years

With First Introductions done, and I know it didn't delve in too, too deep, we are all forced when reflecting on where we are now, to know where it is we came from and under what influence.

I grew up in small(er) town Ontario. Lived in a big A garden that was gi-normous, bussed into school, spent most of my time outdoors and had a very small group of kids in my area that I could visit on foot.  My childhood was pretty awesome - at least as memory serves me. Bon fires, snow forts, Easter egg hunts, using our imagination and never seeming to care about anything was life.

My parents divorced when I was four and my mom and I moved in with my would-be step dad with what felt like no time in between.  I have an older brother, four years my senior, who would live with my dad after the breakup.  I own no memories before this time in my life - but I guess... does any one?  I have a younger sister of 6 and a half years from my mom and step dad whom no one would come to know as my half-sister. We behaved, fought and made up as siblings do.

No before you move on, please dismiss any sympathetic thoughts you may be experiencing about  this poor, future obese girl came from a broken home - because while my situation may seem that way under the definition, my family was pretty normal.  I don't blame any of my adult challenges with where I was when I was five! What I account for from my childhood, is who I became.  My character, my values, my belief systems.  This foundation would become who I am today - the product of my decisions and my feelings is where my circumstances brought my physical and mental health - not because my parents separated.

I was a smart kid.  I excelled in school, was one of those leaders in the class that seem somewhat annoying now when you meet them in your child's classroom; but overall, dependable, reliable, eager to help and learn and a go-getter.

By the time I was eight, something changed.  While I am not prepared to share this in any sort of public forum, a traumatic event happened in my life and that is when food became comfort and feelings became buried.  This may be a story you have heard a million times, but frankly, most of our stories are very similar. Those who embark on changing what they thought was the scripted course of their life, to only realize there are alternatives!  So, you may choose to read on, or choose to stop. Quite frankly, the new me doesn't really care what you do; I just know I will keep writing.

Trauma is a very sad, scary and complex thing.  The word “trauma” is used to describe experiences or situations that are emotionally painful and distressing, and that overwhelm people’s ability to cope, leaving them powerless (http://www.nonviolenceandsocialjustice.org). When trauma happens, especially to a child who already feel powerless, the magnitude of impact can be great. Did I know this at the time?  Sure the hell not.  Did I know this 20 years later - maybe a bit. How do I know this now almost 30 years after the fact - because I am finally talking about it.  There was 25 years of my life that I didn't know if that event was real or a dream - do you know how that can fuck you up?  Pretty bad.  So, without having anyone willing to talk about the truth, I need to trust my 8-year self and start playing back what happened to find my power again. That is a monumental task and one that I may never check off my list, but I feel a hell of a lot better knowing it's at least on that list.

So, I quickly learned to bury; my feelings were pushed deep down!  That summer I spent some time away at a family member's house - when returning home, I have been told (to this day, mind you!), it looked as though someone had put an air pump in my mouth and blew me up. Now to anyone, this isn't very encouraging; to a kid, not very supportive and to an adult making endless attempts at losing weight and understanding the root of the issue, a very, very easy scapegoat for why I was overweight.  It was my caregiver's fault, that's who did this to me!  No one in my support circle ever took notice that maybe it was something that had happened or was happening to me at the time.  Blaming fault is a very, very easy scapegoat!

First Introductions

I think it is important you first know who I am. Or at least who I thought I was until I started a crazy-ass path a year and a bit ago to better health both mentally and physically.

I am the girl with the pretty face. I have always been the girl with the pretty face. In grade school I was pretty but never was noticed by the boys (until I sprouted my boobs and then glances went from my pretty face to my chest). In high school I was super active in activities, had a hundred crushes but never dated. I was always told, "You have such a pretty face".

Now, while some may say I should be thankful for such compliments, I was and still am. This aided in my self confidence growing up and having the big personality that I have, having a pretty face was an ok package. But when people say that to a young girl and then a girl in her teens, she begins to understand what the underlying message there is... You have a pretty face; but the rest of you needs a little work to catch up.

So started my complete disconnection with my body.  I didn't know that at the time, but realize this now as I only now start to really feel, experience and listen to what my body goes through daily.  I didn't feel that what I was eating was making me obese; I didn't feel how absolutely terrible I felt every day until I knew the difference; I didn't recognize that indescribable exhaustion I was experiencing every day - all this was happening because I wasn't in my body.  And because I am where I am now in the process, I only realize that this is how I was living.

Maybe calling this post First Introductions is all that accurate because this really isn't who I am/was, but it's a good place to start, at least with looking back on where my health was.

I was "happy"; personable, had a lot of friends, did well in school, overly successful at anything I did from a young age - but worked hard for what I had.  The Girl with the Pretty Face was that and seemed to have a perfectly content life...