an honorable woman

I'm finding myself becoming more and more of a prude.  It all started when Katelyn was born.  I was presented with a fresh-from-creation human being and an absolute specimen of perfection.  And, in that instant, I was also handed the responsibility of training her to become a righteous, responsible, happy, and well rounded adult.  All at the noble and wise age of twenty five.

As the days and week and months have rolled on, I find myself experiencing more and more of my world through her eyes and ears.  Instead of just listening to whatever is being broadcast on the radio or watching whatever airs on TV, I am tuning into the bigger message in case Kate sees or hears because, let me tell you, Kate sees and hears everything.

A few months ago, I was driving in my car and listening to the radio and a song came on that I had heard many times.  It wasn't a song that I particularly liked so I had never listened to it intently.  I didn't know what the words were and I never thought it mattered.  I mean, I wasn't really tuning in.

But, for some reason, this time I did.  And my ears perked up right as he said, From the top of the pole, I watch her go down.  She got me throwing my money around.  Ain't nothing more beautiful to be found.

And it was as if I had to stabilize myself from swerving off the road.  Mr. Flo Rida was talking about a stripper!  WITHIN EARSHOT OF MY BRAND NEW PERFECT PERSON!

So, now I listen for these things and I'm finding that I have to switch the radio station a lot.  Mostly, I just listen to NPR.

Really though, I've always kind of been a prude.  I've always tried to keep the muck of the world out of my car, my home, and my universe.

Apparently, not enough.

I love the movie Hook and that line where the little girl turns to Captain Hook and yells, "You need a mother very, very badly."  I mention that because that is what I would like to say to Mr. Flo Rida, and Mr. Robin Thicke, and Mr. Macklemore.

And don't even get me started on Master Bieber.

Stop telling my child and future children that it is okay to smoke enough marijuana to necessitate pilot gas masks.  That is unacceptable behavior!

It's not just the radio either.  Tonight, Dave and I were watching the Olympics.  Let me repeat it for emphasis.  THE OLYMPICS!  There should be no complaints about the Olympics, right?  Well, buckle up because during a commercial break, I saw my least favorite ad of all time.  It is for the Cosmopolitan casino in Las Vegas and basically consists of a series of words and pictures in the classic brainwashing style that say things like "Fight right" and "Wild gets laid" and "Normal is boring."  Dave and I looked at each other with open jaws and couldn't believe the audacity of evil.

And suddenly, part of me felt stupid.  I imagined us not as young twenty somethings just starting our family.  I saw us as an old curmudgeonly couple with reading glasses perched on our noses and permanent downward frowns on our faces.  Our fingers were arthritic from years of wagging at the youth of "these days" and we didn't know how to use our "newfangled" phones.  I was working on knitting some beastly looking sweater and Dave was only half watching the TV from behind a giant newspaper that nobody buys anymore because we all have computers.  And we smelled like old cough drops.

And that's the problem with our society.  Expressing shock and horror at a shocking and horrifying commercial is associated with an "inability to tolerate" or being "behind the times."  It is something to be embarrassed about and a sentiment to hide from everybody else.  Being a prude is so not cool.

Well, I'm not having it.  I'm a prude and I don't care who knows it.  In fact, I want everybody to know it.  Please help me guard my children from songs about stripper poles and commercials about casual sex.  I worry it's going to take more than just Dave and me to help them see the good in the world.  Please don't be afraid to be a prude with me.  We can even call it something else like, "Really Great Person Who Wants to Make Our Society a Little Better."  I mean, I guess that name is kind of long so I'm open to suggestions.  Or here's an idea.  The term prude originates from French meaning an "honorable woman."  How about that?

Anyway, my point is, I'm a prude and I'm fine with it.

The end.  Rant over.  For now.

sitting on the fence

 
I often find myself balanced between two extremes of the weight loss debate.

On the one hand there is the idea that we need to be more accepting of everyone regardless of shape or size.  I read articles that denounce the evils of portraying a picture perfect idea of reality to our children and I raise a fat fist in solidarity as I think to myself, "I'm sick of being vilified as dumb, gross, and lazy because of my weight."  I want Katelyn to grow up loving herself in spite of her body.

And then there is the theory that if only for the sake of our health we all need to eat healthier, cleaner, better, and less.  There is the part of me that takes pride in the way I look when I wear make up and jewelry and am having a particularly good hair day.  I don't think it's evil to want to look good.  This is accompanied by the part of me that wishes I weighed less so that I could feel better about myself both in looks and health.  I want Katelyn to grow up loving herself because of her body.

I am sitting atop a body image fence and depending on my mood, my mindset, or the opinion editorial I have just read I am pitching to one side or the other.

I'm starting to wonder if that's the best place to be though.  If birds can perch on telephone wires, why can't I sit on the fence?  I don't fully identify with either side and on top of the fence I can rise above the noise of everyone's loud opinions.  I can see clearly into the distance and think for myself.

The truth is I think there is truth hidden in the tents of both camps.  I try to peer in long enough to understand the opinions of others but not long enough to get lost in the paradox of it all.  Like a scientist, I can gather the data from everyone and everywhere and use it to construct my own personal reality.  These are the truths I believe.

1. My body is sacred.  It was created by a loving Heavenly Father and He does not make mistakes.  To ridicule one of His precious creations would be wrong and disrespectful.  However, I was given this body with the charge to be a steward and to care for it and treat it with respect.  Hating my body would never be right but allowing myself to destroy is also wrong.

2. I am more than my body.  I have a soul with the drive to feel and to live.  I have a heart beating with the love of my family, my world, and my life.  I have a brain sparking with the energy to learn and to understand and to grow.  I am a whole person inside of my body and my shape does not define me.

3. Moderation is a learned principle and one that I need to acquire.  It is a key to living that I need to cultivate and hone and it will follow me through the eternities.  If I have to learn moderation in work and in leisure and in everything else, why shouldn't I learn moderation in food?

4. I am always changing.  No one is static.  I will change for the better and I will change for the worse.  I will always be faltering, checking my premises, and correcting my course.  This is what life is.  It is meant to test us, teach us, and make us better but it is also meant to be enjoyed.  Sometimes I will be thin.  Sometimes I will be heavy.  Always I will need to find a way to observe and correct while maintaining a respect for myself in the process.

5. Negative energy is never a helpful thing.  Even though I have accepted the fact that I need to be healthy, I should never put myself down.  I would never angrily criticize Kate for stumbling over her clumsy little feet.  She is just learning to walk and falling down is part of the process.  Likewise, it is not acceptable for me to chastise myself for a skill I am only trying to learn.

There is truth in most of what you hear.  There is a lot of good out there but also a lot of bad.  When I was thin, I would have sided with the people who champion weight loss.  Up until a while ago, I would have identified with the opposite.  Now, I see the truth of it all.  I see my truth and that is true enough for me.

victimized

So last Tuesday I threw myself a big giant pity party because I was mad about everything.  Instead of using the glorious afternoon nap time to do something productive I decided to watch TV.  Because, really, what's a pity party without some daytime television?

I started to watch the Dr. Oz Show and I have to say, I used to really like Dr. Oz but I think his show is starting to run out of ideas.  There are only so many episodes where you can tell people to start eating Chia Pets before they stop watching.  Also, if you took every vitamin and supplement that Dr. Oz has ever recommended over the course of his program, you would be taking millions of pills a day.

Anyway, this particular episode was about toxic relationships.  They showed three different couples: a mother and her daughter, two best friends, and a husband and wife.  In each situation, one person was overweight and claiming that the relationship was toxic because her mother/friend/husband was doing things that prevented her from losing weight.

The daughter was complaining that her mother served unhealthy meal choices for dinner.  The best friend was claiming that her coworker was competitive when it came to weight loss and that she kept bringing candy to work.  The wife was married to a husband who loved to cook pasta and butter and she couldn't help but eat it.

To be fair, they had their reasons for complaining.  The mother was not only cooking unhealthy meals but was verbally abusing her daughter by spitefully criticizing her weight.  The coworker not only brought food into the office but also was setting up vicious traps.  She once took a picture of her "friend" eating cake and texted it to everyone they knew with the caption, "Look who's eating cake."  The husband claimed that "food is love" and admitted that it would hurt his feelings if his wife turned his cooking down.

I can understand where they're coming from.  I am married to a handsome, wonderful, amazing enabler.  Dave's idea of making me feel better after a bad day is to come home with a pint of Blue Bell ice cream or a king sized Almond Joy.  He knows that it makes me happy but he only sees the happiness in the short run.  He is a bit near sighted that way and doesn't see out into the future where the ice cream and candy has made me fat, miserable, and sad.  Sometimes enablers really mean well.  Almost always enablers really mean well.

I also grew up with a brother who was as thin as a rail and could eat anything he wanted.  One of his favorite foods is Pop-tarts which coincidentally happens to be one of my favorite foods.  I love Pop-tarts and they were always a temptation.  It wasn't fair though to insist that all Pop-tarts be removed from the home.

I would be lying if I said that there was no one who disliked me or wanted to see me fail miserably.  Anyone who has a shred of doubt when it comes to their self confidence usually hopes to see others fails.  Even the best of friends can become competitive and bullies almost always hate themselves.

The whole point of this episode was to prove to these people that their behavior was destructive and they needed to fix it for the sake of their loved ones.  The fat people were victimized.

Here is the problem with that though...

Victims of obesity never succeed.

I understand it though.  Take it from me, it stinks.  It's not fair that my brother can eat a mountain of mashed potatoes with a molten butter waterfall when I have to hold back at the dinner table.  It's a constant struggle being married to someone whose idea of love and support is showering me with ice cream and candy.

It's not easy, it's not fair, and it really, really stinks.  But it's reality and deflecting the blame is not going to change it.

Growing up I had the opposite.  I have a mother who vividly understands the painful reality of struggling with a weight problem.  She was empathetically supportive.  She bought healthy food of every variety.  She hid the Poptarts she bought for my brother.  She practically gave my sister and I carte blanche when it came to our diet requests.  She was a cheerleader when we succeeded and loved us when we failed.  She provided the most optimum environment for weight loss.

And you know what?

It never even helped.

Weight loss happens when something is sparked, snapped, or jumpstarted inside.  It comes purely from within and when whatever it is that jolts you into action happens, nothing can stop you or stand in your way.  It is a deeply personal thing and unfortunately, it can almost never be manufactured outside of yourself.

This means that no one can be a victim of obesity unless she grants permission.  When you have been licked by the flames of a rolling weight loss fire, an entire houseful of cupcakes and french fries can't derail your train of action.

You figure out a way to eat a healthy dinner even if your family is eating fried chicken from a bucket and corn syrup from a bottle.  Your friend loses all ability to sabotage you.  You find a kind and peaceful way to lovingly tell your husband to show his love for you in a nonfood option.

I didn't mean for that to sound as creepy as I think it just did.

The problem with becoming a victim is that you give up your will.  A victim has lost the ability to decide.  Victims don't act.  They are acted upon.  When you claim that someone else has responsibility over your actions, you lose the right to claim responsibility for yourself.  The choice to lose weight, work hard, be faster, stronger, nicer, smarter, kinder, better is yours and yours alone.

So respectfully Dr. Oz, you are wrong on this one.  You may know a lot about heart surgeries but I know a lot about weight struggles and if there is one thing I have learned, it is this...

No one can make me a victim but me.

judgy judy

There is, I think, a common misconception that people who are overweight are lazy or at least just too unmotivated to actually do something about their weight problem.  This is probably true sometimes but I think it's inaccurate a lot of the time.

I think we often tend to be highly critical, levying harsh judgements on others when we don't really have all of the facts straight.

That homeless guy begging on the street corner might just be choosing a long lonely day of idly hoping for charity.  But he might also have a serious untreated mental illness or a horrifying and brutally sad past.

The young mother letting her kids run wild in the grocery store could possibly be inattentive and careless.  But she might also have a very sick child at home on her mind or an unemployed husband.  Or she might just be tired.  Motherhood makes you very, very tired.

The jerk who cuts you off just to make it through that yellow light before it turns red (a scenario I refer to an "orange" light) is probably just a jerk who thinks he is above conventional traffic manners.  But he could also be a terrified husband frantically rushing his pregnant wife to the hospital before his offspring enters the world en route.  Or maybe he just forgot to check his blind spot and didn't see you there.  I've done that before.

The point is you never know why people are who they are or why they make the decisions they do.  You don't know why a fat person is fat.  I would go so far as to bet that most people who struggle with a weight problem aren't just lazy.  They are using food to medicate.

In my case, I have anxieties.  I worry all the time.  Sometimes I write essays about my anxiety just so that I can release some of the emotional pressure it causes.  Maybe someday I will post them but for now, I have subjected myself to enough terrifying exposure.

I have always worried.  When I was a child, I called them "Bad Memories" because the word "anxiety" wasn't yet in my vocabulary.  I worry about everything from the absurd (rabies) to the more realistic (unemployment, car accidents, SIDS).  If you can name it, I have probably worried about it.

Interestingly enough, binging on carbohydrates (processed and refined ones in particular - you know, donuts and the like) causes an increase in serotonin and dopamine which lead to a sense of well being and happiness.

(Don't believe me?  Ask Dr. Oz)

Well, what do you know?  I've been using food to self medicate.  I eat junk food and my brain says to eat more because it could really use a break from all the incessant worrying.  I am addicted to carbs which is why I'm doing a carbohydrate detox (but more on that later).

The point is, you really can't tell just by looking at a person why they are overweight.  Food is a drug for a lot of people and unfortunately it's not one that can just be abandoned completely.  I think we would all cut the fat people some slack and offer more support if we better understood some of the more complex issues involved.

And then there are times like this past weekend when I posted my weight and received an outpouring of nice words and respect and just kindness in general and I think to myself, "Maybe I'm the one judging all the thin people out there."

Is it me?  It's probably me.  Or a combination of the two maybe...

I think I just taught myself a lesson.

It just goes to show that prejudice and judgmental attitudes go both ways.  The reality is that everyone is really just doing their best: their best to lose weight, their best to be kind, their best to be a good parent, or maybe just their best to solve the crossword puzzle they've been working on.

So this week, I'm focusing on dropping all my preconceived notions about the people around me.  I'm going to see the light in them, the good that God put there and I'm going to stop assuming everyone is out to judge me.

But not before I enjoy the only cookies I am allowed to eat on my carbohydrate detox, compliments of chef Kate.

plus sized manifesto

Let's just talk about the elephant in the room shall we?

And yes, in this one particular occasion I am talking about myself.

I've been thinking about this blog post for a very very very long time.  The words have been tumbling around in my head for years but I just haven't worked up the nerve to put them out there.

For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with my weight.  When I was in the fifth grade, all of the students in my class were weighed.  As I kid, it didn't seem that strange but looking back on it I wonder what made the school administrators think that my BMI was any of their business.  Lice checks?  Yes.  Random group weigh ins?  No thank you.

Anyway, I was one of the last students to be weighed (last name Winn always put me at the end of the line).  I watched as each classmate was measured and their weight quietly and discreetly recorded.  I stepped onto the scale with all of the untarnished innocence that only an eleven year old would have to have my weight shouted out for all to hear.

"Eighty five pounds!" he shouted like I was some sort of prized pumpkin at a state fair.

And that's when I learned how the rest of the world looks at fat people.  Like big giant freaks.

A large percentage of our population (no pun intended) struggles with weight and obesity.  It's a horrible thing to deal with.  I agree that it's a public health crisis reaching pandemic proportions.  This is not a post intended to celebrate all the plus sized divas in the world.  It's a problem.  Trust me, I hope beyond hope that precious Katelyn doesn't inherent the offending liquors of my genetic cocktail that will cause her to struggle with it for the rest of her life.  If she does, I hope I can set the right example for her so that she can live a healthy life.

I'm also not trying to disown the fact that I'm overweight by blaming poor DNA.  (Although I will say that I know maintaining a healthy weight is more of a challenge for me than others.)  I'm not trying to justify or rationalize being overweight.  I am working on it but it's an uphill battle that I will trudge forward with for the rest of my life.

Here is what I would like to clarify: fat people are not lazy.  We are not slothful or sloppy or less than.  We have not let ourselves go.

I can't speak for all the plus sized people in the world but I can say that a lot of us are hard working, caring, and intelligent people.  Fat people are strong.  (And if you don't believe me, strap 50+ pounds to your back and spend an hour participating in your usual routine.  What you would consider exercise is just another day's activities for us.)

I have spent years learning how to avoid photographs or if I can't, how to use other people as human shields.  I stay away from swimming pools and beaches and public occasions in general.  I've spent a lot of time hiding but not because I think I'm unattractive.  D tells me I'm beautiful every single day.

I've been hiding because I get the feeling that people look at me and make those kinds of judgements, that people assume that because I'm fat I must have some major moral failing.  I've been hiding from the fatphobes and their shaming view.

But come to the conclusion that just as I shouldn't be judged based on my weight, all the skinnies in the world should have that courtesy extended to them as well.  I've realized that they very well might be looking at me blind to my size.  I could totally be wrong about everyone else, my vision clouded by an insecurity that has been festering for years.

So here's the manifesto part of this prose.  I am done hiding.  I've decided that I'm tired of it and I shouldn't have to hide or explain myself or feel less than a person because of my outwardly appearance. 

So love me or leave me.  I've got to be me.  I'm done hiding and if that's a problem for you, keep it down clown.  I don't need that in my life.  The people who love me will stick around and they are wonderful.

snakes on a plane

So apparently, some parents made little care packages for all of the fellow passengers on their flight.  They wrote a note on the the bags from "the baby" apologizing for crying and such and they offered anyone to visit their row to get some earplugs during the flight.  And now the news has gone viral and everyone on Pinterest is all like, "Oh aren't they the best?  That is the way to parent!  Everyone should do that."

And yes, they were thoughtful and they are probably wonderful people but...

I'm sorry but am I the only one who doesn't feel the need to apologize for my child's existence?  I will do my best to keep my baby calm and quiet but if she cries, well, it's a free country.

If we need to start dispensing ear plugs for crying babies, I would like nose plugs and air freshener from the person with BO and nasty airport food.  And I want tissues and hand sanitizer from the person who sneezes and coughs.  And also an apology from the person sitting next to me who takes up the armrest or the person in front of me who leans their chair back causing my tray table to flip back up.

Once the plane reaches its maximum cruising altitude, we're all just trying to survive the next few hours until the "fasten seat belt" light turns off and we can elbow and push our way off the aircraft like it's burning from the tail.

Babies are just as miserable on a plane.  So the next time you're on a crowded flight next to a crying baby, imagine you're a tiny human in a crowded unfamiliar environment with sore ears and no communication skills other than crying, all the while hoping that these dumb fools you call parents figure out how to help you.

Or better yet, imagine that you're one of the dumb fools and you'll wish you had brought a care package for them.