30 Days of Blogging, Day 7: Eat This Blog

It's been a hard day in the world. I don't have a lot to write, and I'm not feeling particularly prolific today, so this is going to be a short and fluffy post. Hit me in the comments. You'll win a participation metal.

To preface this post, you'll need to watch the video at this link to completion (and for the love of God someone teach me how to embed a video from Twitter to Blogger).

Don't forget to speak loudly so I can hear you. I'll pay you in hard candies.

I'll wait.

All good?

Don't tell me we're good if we're not good.

Did you watch it?

Okay, I trust you.

Here we go:

DON'T. TOUCH. MY. FOOD.

Unless you have received a clear invitation from me to delicately taste a petit sampling of my delicious dish which I have agonized and second-guessed to unhealthy extremes since the waiter whisked away with my order--do not touch my food.

Unless you and I have entered into a verbal contract that we are meant to be sharing this dish--do not touch my food.

Unless I have had to flee due to tend to some kind of medical emergency or matter of national security and I didn't have the forethought to have my food packaged up to go--do not touch my food.

Do you think Liz would share her Mac and Cheetos?

What, am I some kind of greedy food monster? A selfish-Sally who never learned the concept of sharing? Maybe a little--but mostly it's due to a bizarre neurosis when it comes to my eating habits.

Now I'd place bets that there are a lot of folks who have odd little eating habits. In order to make this a safe space to share, I will share with you some of mine:

1) Did I mention I struggle with sharing?

2) I make a plan for how I will consume my food before I eat it. For example, if I have, say, a piece of chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas on my plate, there is a predetermined order in how this is going to go down. Scoop of potatoes, each bite gently pressed into the peas then enjoyed. Chicken, while delicious, is given attention last since it is not a delicious starch. The order is always: vegetables, starch, protein.

Look at this work of art, waiting to be consumed from right to left--the way God intended.

3) I eat one thing at a time. With the exception of dipping potatoes into peas, I enjoy one thing at a time, carving a path to the item I've decided to save for last. It was once pointed out to me by a close friend that this is freaking odd. I still struggle with that concept. Why not take your time and enjoy each component of your plate without cross-contaminating? This, I was told, was not normal eating behavior, and that the correct way to eat is to graze throughout the plate; a bite of this, a couple bites of that. That stressed me out; however, due to my epic admonishment I began to develop a bit of of a shame complex when eating in front of other people. Eating with friends requires a constant inner monologue that usually goes as follows--don't eat one thing at a time...okay you took a bite of this, take a break--don't go back to soon!!!--okay go to the chicken--you're doing a good job--do I look stressed out?--oh God, they know--I'm a freak!

Is it paranoia or narcissism? Why can't it be both?

4) I struggle with guilt every time I eat. I'm in a constant state of self-judging. As a person who has struggled with both my weight and bullying, I am always in a state of fear that people are judging me, even when I'm hungry. There's always a fear that if someone sees what I'm eating that they will observe and judge not only what I eat, but how I eat. Don't eat too fast--you'll look like a pig and they'll see you and then they'll know you're an actual pig--don't eat too much--don't order too rich food--be sure to leave something on your plate so you don't look greedy.

Time to move and change my name. Again.

My relationship with food is steeped in neurosis and in a constant state of evolving.

I'm figuring it out.

Your turn. What's your thing? Hit me in the comments.

30 Days of Blogging: Blog 1

How odd is it that I feel so old-fashioned writing in a blog? Is blogging still a thing? Do people still read blogs that aren't owned by a tech enterprise or The Huffington Post?

The first blogger

No matter! This is my challenge. For 30 days straight I will write in this blog. It may be nonsense. It may be droll with splashes of acerbic whit, because that's totes my style. It may be a story, or it may just be complaining about the lady at work who drives me insane.

Why the challenge?

I started this blog a couple of years back with the intent to write in it every day about my weight-loss journey. Then it evolved into a place for me to save my stories that I've been writing for storytelling shows. Then it just became a place for my stories for storytelling shows to be stored in draft form that I never could drum up the energy to edit and publish. Then I just stopped writing altogether.

That's pretty much what it looked like...

There's always reasons for not writing. The last year has been filled with a lot of challenges. Job changes to living changes, never feeling safe and secure.  Letting go of familial relationships and friendships that were toxic.

Some folks when faced with trouble in relationships and life are so strong. They fight! They are resolute in that they will not be defeated. I, on the other hand, lay down the flag of surrender pretty fast. I'd be a terrible soldier.

Beetle Bailey is my squad captain

My apartment could tell a story without speaking, and the title of that story would be "Depression: What the Piles of Garbage in This Apartment are a Sign Of". Depression is the Sisyphean boulder that I've been rolling up a hill for the majority of my life. For a long time I'll do really well. Daily functions aren't a challenge. I can do things like shower, take out the garbage, cook a healthy meal, spend time with friends, go to shows.

Gradually, as depression sets in I begin to make little allowances. Ordering out for dinner every night. Canceling plans with friends. Skipping shows. Showering maybe every third day. Not taking out the garbage until it becomes difficult to step over. Eventually becoming a full-fledged shut in and having a daily conversation as to whether life is worth living because I am an unlovable pile of garbage.

Lincoln had depression, but at least he had someone to take out the garbage.

So that was my spring, how was yours? Nobody ever said depression was fun. I'm working on it. That's why I'm blogging from the stone ages. Nobody may read this, but getting back into the routine of living may remind me of why it's good to be alive.

The food of my enemy is my enemy.

image source: McDonald's. Please don't sue me.

 

Date: May 2, 2013 Time: 11:27 am
Current state: Unfocused
Location: The Office
Weather: Supe's pretty

Today's menu :
*SIGH* McDonald's Egg White Delight McMuffin, a hash brown, and a coffee
Afternoon
 (running to Trader Joe's)
Frozen Lunch
Salad
Apple
Evening
Chicken Pho
Beer
1 square of chocolate

Oh McDonald's, how do you always manage to place yourself right in my commute path?

This morning I was (as usual) running late, and hungry. In my new neighborhood there is a McDonald's just a couple blocks from where I live, and as I was driving by this morning I saw a sign for their new Egg White Delight McMuffin. This is literally just a regular Egg McMuffin without a yolk and white cheese instead of yellow. All this being said, I thought to myself, "Oh, that's healthier!", and turned into the drive-thru. I ordered the Egg White Delight McMuffin and a cup of coffee, and the person taking my order asked if I wanted to make it a combo. Here's how that conversation went between the angel and the devil on my shoulder:

Devil: Ooo, if you get the combo you'll get the hash-brown!

Angel: You don't need the hash-brown, the sandwich and coffee is plenty.

Devil: Oh, but it's so much more cost effective if you get the combo.

Angel: But you're still paying more money to eat deep fried, genetically engineered potato cake. AND you know you'll get a stomach ache from eating all this heavy food.

Devil: Mmm, deep fried genetically engineered potato cake - *drooool*

So I got the combo. I ate my breakfast while sitting in traffic on the West Seattle bridge, and just as the angel on my shoulder said, I had an immediate stomach ache.

Before anyone asks: Yes, I have seen Super Size Me. No, I have not seen Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead (and I don't plan to). Yes, I know that McDonald's is the epitome of everything wrong with health in America. I get it, I get it, I get it. It's just so. Darn. CONVENIENT.

My problem is that I wasn't prepared. I knew I was out of breakfast items at work (which I'm replenishing today), and I was going to have to hit the ground running when I got in. As my father always said, "Poor preparation is the perfect path to panic", and when I don't plan ahead, or in this case when I don't have what I need on hand, I make bad choices.

So, lesson learned. That was then, this is now. No guilt. Learn, move on.

What's your temptation when you're not prepared? Share in the comments!

Summer out.

Can't win for losing

Date: April 29, 2012
Time: 10:33 am
Current state: Caffeinated
Location: Work
Weather: Bipolar(sunny, cloudy, warm, cold)

Today's Menu:
Morning
Cheerios, skim milk
Coffee w/whole milk and Equal
Mixed nuts
Afternoon
Frozen lunch from TJ's
Bowl of carrots
Whole wheat pretzels
Almonds
Evening
Whole wheat pasta with pesto, artichoke hearts, spinach and tomatoes
Red wine
Square of dark chocolate

I have to start out by thanking everyone that has reached out with words of support and encouragement. It's an important reminder that while even though I am responsible to make a change in my life, I'm not alone. If anyone reading this is thinking about making a change in their life, be it weight-loss, quitting smoking, or taking up the trapeze, surround yourself with a community of people who will support you. No wo/man is an island.

Yesterday a friend on Facebook posted this comic by Paige Hall (original work can be found here):

My reaction to this comic spans across several areas. The first is how we see and compare ourselves to others; be it someone in our everyday lives, or in the media (movies, ads, fashion, etc.). Second is how we feel others see us. Third is unrealistic expectations set by both the male and female gender. I would like to quickly touch on all three:

I would like to say I'm above comparing myself to others, and I would even like to say that I'm above judging others on what they're wearing or how they look. I wish I could say that I don't, but I do. Whether it's judging someone's outfit, or even their weight, I find myself drawing comparisons. It's almost like some sort of evolutional pecking order: the perceived beautiful pick on the less perceived beautiful, and the less perceived beautiful pick on the even less perceived beautiful; otherwise how are we supposed to feel good about ourselves if we don't perceive ourselves as more beautiful than someone else? To that I say: f*ck that sh*t. It's a pretty simplistic approach but an affective one, I feel.

I think back to my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Carter. I was crying because the kids were teasing me. I told her that the other kids hate me because I don't look like them. She looked at me and said, "That's right, you don't. You're not supposed to! You are exactly the way you are supposed to look, and they are the way they are supposed to look." Wise words, and easily forgotten. My wish for my fellow women is to embrace that ideology: you look the way you are meant to look. You are not supposed to look like Linda Carter. You're not supposed to look like that Victoria's Secret model. You are supposed to look like you. Take care of your body, but also love it as it is.

Summer out.*

*Do you ever find yourself judging others? Reply in the comments section.

Starting over, again...and again...and again...

Date: April 28, 2012
Time: 1:57 pm
Current state: Mildly apprehensive, hungry
Location: Oddfellow's Café, Capitol Hill, Seattle
Weather: Partially cloudy with a cool refreshing breeze

The other day I was perusing through the music catalogue on my Zune (yes, I have a Zune, and I love it), and I stopped on an album I haven't listened to in years: Lit's A Place in the Sun. I started playing "My Own Worst Enemy" and I burst into tears. "It's no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy/'cuz every now and then I kick the living sh*t out of me".

Over the course of my life, I have slowly learned to hate my own guts. "I'm not smart enough." Idiot. "I'm not very beautiful." Ugly. "I'm fat." Whale. Monster. Pig. Glutton. I am literally in hate with myself. When it comes to my health and body image, I am my own worst enemy.

Back in January I decided that I had let myself go too far, and it was time to start living again. I had gone on a trip with my family to Hawaii, and found that I couldn't do a lot of the things that I wanted to. For instance: walk. Walking from our room to the upper decks was physically spending for me, and I hated myself for it. "You're in Hawaii! You should be able to kayak and swim and run and play! Instead you're sitting by the pool icing your knees because walking is too hard. Whale." My weight was a constant topic of discussion, with my well-meaning family providing tips on what I can do to start losing weight. All I wanted was for the earth to open up and swallow me, so I didn't have to feel like I was a monster anymore. When I got home from Hawaii I had resolved it was time to start over...again.

As far back as I can remember, I haven't gone a single day in my life without thinking about my weight. Every time I take a bite of food I think, "Is this right? Should I be eating?", even if I am hungry. Every time I walk through the office or a public space I see people stare, and I feel embarrassed and angry. I even catch the people I care about staring at my gut.

I have spent a large sum of my life feeling like a circus freak. That is until a couple of weeks ago.

After resolving to take better care of myself after coming home from Hawaii I had started exercising more. I would walk around my neighborhood, go to the pool and do water aerobics, and I was eating better. I was starting to feel good, but my knees weren't. They were progressively getting worse; even when I was sitting or laying down, they really hurt. It had gotten to the point where I couldn't stand without my knees buckling, and I would fall down again. I started walking with crutches so I could still be mobile. When my new insurance kicked in, I finally went to the doctor who looked at me, without even taking an x-ray, and said "You'll feel better when you lose weight." I had weighed myself when I arrived at the doctor's office and found that I had actually lost 30 lbs. since the beginning of the year. I told the doctor that I knew I needed to lose weight, but I can't walk and I'm in pain. She sent me to a specialist. The specialist looked at me, without taking an x-ray, and said "You'll feel better when you lose weight." I burst into tears. I told him that I was trying, that exercising hurt, and that I was in so much pain I felt like I was losing my mind. He gave me cortisone shots, told me to lose weight, see a physical therapist and sent me on my way. I sat in my car and cried for an hour after that.

I had a lot of questions for myself. "How can I lose weight if I can't even move? How did I even get here? How could I let myself get this far? How do I live with myself? Monster. Pig. Whale. Glutton." I had brunch the following week with my cousin, K, and told her what was going on. After that we decided to email each other every day what we were planning on eating. The idea behind it was if I couldn't move, I could at least start being thoughtful about how I am eating, and that could be a start. She even packed snacks for me with times written on the baggies to eat healthy snacks throughout the day.*

One morning when I emailed her what I had for dinner the night before, I was saturated with guilt. I had Burger King for dinner because I worked late and I just wanted a burger. She wrote me back and said two words that completely upended me. "No guilt." What?! No guilt?! I'm not supposed to beat myself up until I hate myself again? That's when it occurred to me: I have spent so much time going on "diets", failing them, and giving up. Diet, fail, give up, hate myself. Diet, fail, give up, hate myself. I have been on a 32 year old downward spiral to where I was: obese and in hate with me.

I spent the rest of my day thinking about the concept of "no guilt". We are trained to beat ourselves up when we deviate from the path or expectations we have set, which almost always leads to a sort of "falling off the wagon". I ate fries, I may as well eat a whole pizza. For me, the concept of "no guilt" means: yes, I tripped up, but that was yesterday, and this is today. To dust off an old colloquialism, "Don't throw out the baby with the bathwater."

Since then I  have started to reconcile with myself. I am neither monster, whale, nor pig. I am who I am. No guilt. That part of my life is over; here begins a new journey. It's not going to be easy, and there will be times that I will stumble, but I'm not going to beat myself up.

This blog is not just a diary of weight loss; my hope for this blog is to become a guide towards self-acceptance, and maybe if I gain some readership, a guide for others as well. Every day I will post my menu and thoughts for the day. I would love for readers to ask questions via either the comment section or Twitter (@summerwaldo). Follow me on this journey, and maybe we'll learn something.

P.S.--I feel like this blog was super heavy today, so I would like to end it with a joke: Two strands of DNA were walking down the street. One says to the other, "Do these genes make me look fat?"

*I love you K.