Throughout 2015 I dug my heels in, somewhat refusing to consider weight loss as a 'goal' because I wanted to discover a way to truly love myself as I was. I wanted to move to a place where I loved myself DESPITE the scale, not BECAUSE of the scale.
Turns out the best way to show myself love is to take care of my body, the vessel that carries my soul and spiritual self. It's also mentioned in this really great article called What Self Love Means.
Light bulb!
I need to feed my body the way I feed my kids (because I don't).
I need to nourish my body with vitamins and minerals my body needs (because I stopped).
I need to hydrate it with more naturally occurring beverages (because I rely on sugar and caffeine).
So, in loving myself as I am, I must do everything in my power to return to my healthiest self via healthy food choices, balanced indulgences and regular exercise.
Holy S#$&
(sorry mom)
Thursday 31 December 2015
Wednesday 2 December 2015
Change takes time
Early this year, I had surgery to remove two large dermoid ovarian cysts. These mean cysts came on like lightning - I noticed in August of 2014 that they existed, but had to push (hard) for my doctor to send me for an ultrasound. Cognitive distortions, which I've been learning about in HappyYou, led me to the conclusion that she just thought I was f-a-t, and that my pain was nothing more than me becoming f-a-t-er.
Suffice to say, not only was I correct, but from August 2014 to January 2015, they had doubled in size, to nearly 10 and 15cm each. The right ovarian cyst was so large it looked like a centralized mass, and it wasn't until my MRI that they realized it was actually growing from my right ovary.
This was my second ovarian cyst surgery, the first taking place during my university days. I remember the surgeon then saying how fit I was, so thin, and how easy it would be to remove the dermoid thanks to my body's overall physique. I was proud, after all I had lost nearly 50lbs prior to surgery and had never been skinnier (another word I hate).
What he didn't know was that my friends were worried. They felt I wasn't eating enough in a day, and went so far as to sit me down at our usual campus hotspot to express their concerns.
The surgery went well, I was back on my feet in a couple weeks and graduated without issue.
Fast forever ahead to September 2015.
Three pregnancies.
Two natural births.
One emergency C-section.
Eighty extra pounds from my lowest-ever weight, about 50 since I was married.
My May 2015 surgery went splendidly, unremarkable as they say, but my incision line took longer to heal because of something the medical community refers to as "the shelf" - the lovely skin flap which overhangs a woman's body at the pubic bone, post C-section surgery. For me, three incisions later means one serious shelf, and one seriously self-conscious woman.
Nothing, and I mean NOTHING about my body was the same. I am now soft, round and curvy. I have stretch marks, scars from surgeries and rolls of skin where I was once fit and sexy.
The change did not escape me, as I went back to my doctor.
I knew she didn't believe me last year when I said my cysts were back.
I saw the look on her face when I showed her my unhealed scar from this year's surgery, and she made it clear my extra weight was the cause of the problem.
I knew she was disappointed in me.
I felt ashamed.
On this day in September, however, she took me to a place I hadn't been to since I was a teenager.
I visited her to express concerns over breast lumps, which were causing me significant pain. She asked me to remove my shirt and bra. Uncomfortable for me yes, and worse so because my two year old playing with toys at my feet.
I looked up, preparing myself to be examined and then this happened:
My doctor, my FEMALE family physician, looked me up and down and said in an exacerbated tone, "oh Pam, oh my.... (pause).... your body..."
Cue the tears.
For days on end I felt that moment. Her staring at my body, disgusted and worried. Her authentic reaction to a body I'm not proud of, but in a way which took me back to the days of kids who tease, magazines filled with size two models and boyfriends more interested in taking my clothes off then getting to know me.
In some ways, I feel this experience has reverted my inner being to those awkward, uncomfortable teenage years. It's a huge burden to carry around, because it so clearly contradicts my desire for self-love and radical acceptance.
She was wrong. So wrong.
But I am more wrong for letting this experience let my inner voice, ego, tell me more loudly than ever that I am unworthy.
Exploring these past experiences with curiousity is helping me understand how ego works, why it says the things it does. The process is slower than I expected, but I still trust that the path I am on will take me to a more positive, loving place.
Suffice to say, not only was I correct, but from August 2014 to January 2015, they had doubled in size, to nearly 10 and 15cm each. The right ovarian cyst was so large it looked like a centralized mass, and it wasn't until my MRI that they realized it was actually growing from my right ovary.
This was my second ovarian cyst surgery, the first taking place during my university days. I remember the surgeon then saying how fit I was, so thin, and how easy it would be to remove the dermoid thanks to my body's overall physique. I was proud, after all I had lost nearly 50lbs prior to surgery and had never been skinnier (another word I hate).
What he didn't know was that my friends were worried. They felt I wasn't eating enough in a day, and went so far as to sit me down at our usual campus hotspot to express their concerns.
The surgery went well, I was back on my feet in a couple weeks and graduated without issue.
Fast forever ahead to September 2015.
Three pregnancies.
Two natural births.
One emergency C-section.
Eighty extra pounds from my lowest-ever weight, about 50 since I was married.
My May 2015 surgery went splendidly, unremarkable as they say, but my incision line took longer to heal because of something the medical community refers to as "the shelf" - the lovely skin flap which overhangs a woman's body at the pubic bone, post C-section surgery. For me, three incisions later means one serious shelf, and one seriously self-conscious woman.
Nothing, and I mean NOTHING about my body was the same. I am now soft, round and curvy. I have stretch marks, scars from surgeries and rolls of skin where I was once fit and sexy.
The change did not escape me, as I went back to my doctor.
I knew she didn't believe me last year when I said my cysts were back.
I saw the look on her face when I showed her my unhealed scar from this year's surgery, and she made it clear my extra weight was the cause of the problem.
I knew she was disappointed in me.
I felt ashamed.
On this day in September, however, she took me to a place I hadn't been to since I was a teenager.
I visited her to express concerns over breast lumps, which were causing me significant pain. She asked me to remove my shirt and bra. Uncomfortable for me yes, and worse so because my two year old playing with toys at my feet.
I looked up, preparing myself to be examined and then this happened:
My doctor, my FEMALE family physician, looked me up and down and said in an exacerbated tone, "oh Pam, oh my.... (pause).... your body..."
Cue the tears.
For days on end I felt that moment. Her staring at my body, disgusted and worried. Her authentic reaction to a body I'm not proud of, but in a way which took me back to the days of kids who tease, magazines filled with size two models and boyfriends more interested in taking my clothes off then getting to know me.
In some ways, I feel this experience has reverted my inner being to those awkward, uncomfortable teenage years. It's a huge burden to carry around, because it so clearly contradicts my desire for self-love and radical acceptance.
She was wrong. So wrong.
But I am more wrong for letting this experience let my inner voice, ego, tell me more loudly than ever that I am unworthy.
Exploring these past experiences with curiousity is helping me understand how ego works, why it says the things it does. The process is slower than I expected, but I still trust that the path I am on will take me to a more positive, loving place.
Monday 23 November 2015
Exploring self love
I'm working away, right now, on the topic of self love.
According to my notes from Shawna's program, 'self love represents feelings of kindness, acceptance, forgiveness and compassion towards oneself.'
I find this interesting, for a couple of reasons.
One, I am working so very hard to build these skills into my kiddos' DNA. I ask them to use kind words, accept classmates despite their quirks, forgive each other and be patient with themselves as they learn new things at school and in life. I hope these life lessons will result in kids who genuinely care about others, empathize with their friends and learn patience in the face of adversity.
Two, I am terrible at this. I am severely deficient in forgiveness for myself on bad days, and I struggle every. single. day. to accept my new body and the words which come out of my mouth when annoyed or angry with my kids.
Shawna's notes suggest that a lack of self-love largely influences our ability to follow an authentic path. This makes sense to me, as I feel discomfort with my current self.
So.
I am teaching my kiddos one thing.
But living another in my head.
Hmm.
It's time to change this.
This is terrifying.
According to my notes from Shawna's program, 'self love represents feelings of kindness, acceptance, forgiveness and compassion towards oneself.'
I find this interesting, for a couple of reasons.
One, I am working so very hard to build these skills into my kiddos' DNA. I ask them to use kind words, accept classmates despite their quirks, forgive each other and be patient with themselves as they learn new things at school and in life. I hope these life lessons will result in kids who genuinely care about others, empathize with their friends and learn patience in the face of adversity.
Two, I am terrible at this. I am severely deficient in forgiveness for myself on bad days, and I struggle every. single. day. to accept my new body and the words which come out of my mouth when annoyed or angry with my kids.
Shawna's notes suggest that a lack of self-love largely influences our ability to follow an authentic path. This makes sense to me, as I feel discomfort with my current self.
So.
I am teaching my kiddos one thing.
But living another in my head.
Hmm.
It's time to change this.
This is terrifying.
Tuesday 10 November 2015
F-A-T
I hate that word more than most in the English language. Most people who know me aren't surprised by my propensity to swear, however one word you will never hear me use is F-A-T.
It's a major piece of my worthiness. My weight. My size.
I'd say this is an embarrassing thing to admit, but I suspect many of my girlfriends and female family members feel much the same way.
I judge myself based on the size of my clothes.
The number on the scale.
The rolls I never used to have.
This extra... larger than before body mass that I swore I'd never have. Own. Rent.
But man oh man, it's here now.
I am so embarrassed by it. I find myself doing two things regularly:
1. Assuming, when meet someone, they are looking at my body in disgust. I hear things like, 'she thinks I'm the F-A-T mom' and 'wow she got big after her kids were born' most times I meet someone.
and
2. Quickly, and without fail, telling near strangers about how big I am, and how I know I need to lose weight. How's that for a conversation starter? Oi.
Then, last week this meme popped up on my Facebook newsfeed:
Hmm.
That is a pretty worthy statement.
I have learned, through meditation, to separate my thoughts from myself. I have thoughts, but I am not my thoughts.
Why shouldn't I look at my F-A-T the same way?
This meme actually led me to admit something else to myself...
I've been punishing myself, for this extra F-A-T, but avoiding clothes shopping. I have purchased so few items for myself the last two years, always rationalizing it by saying I'll lose the F-A-T and get back into my old clothes.
Well, guess what?
That was a terrible idea.
I have managed to erode my self-worth to the point I need to blog about it :)
All kidding aside, I have struggled with this feeling ever since Ethan was born.
Two and a half years.
Why then? Why still now?
That I don't have the answer to, just yet.
It's a major piece of my worthiness. My weight. My size.
I'd say this is an embarrassing thing to admit, but I suspect many of my girlfriends and female family members feel much the same way.
I judge myself based on the size of my clothes.
The number on the scale.
The rolls I never used to have.
This extra... larger than before body mass that I swore I'd never have. Own. Rent.
But man oh man, it's here now.
I am so embarrassed by it. I find myself doing two things regularly:
1. Assuming, when meet someone, they are looking at my body in disgust. I hear things like, 'she thinks I'm the F-A-T mom' and 'wow she got big after her kids were born' most times I meet someone.
and
2. Quickly, and without fail, telling near strangers about how big I am, and how I know I need to lose weight. How's that for a conversation starter? Oi.
Then, last week this meme popped up on my Facebook newsfeed:
Hmm.
That is a pretty worthy statement.
I have learned, through meditation, to separate my thoughts from myself. I have thoughts, but I am not my thoughts.
Why shouldn't I look at my F-A-T the same way?
This meme actually led me to admit something else to myself...
I've been punishing myself, for this extra F-A-T, but avoiding clothes shopping. I have purchased so few items for myself the last two years, always rationalizing it by saying I'll lose the F-A-T and get back into my old clothes.
Well, guess what?
That was a terrible idea.
I have managed to erode my self-worth to the point I need to blog about it :)
All kidding aside, I have struggled with this feeling ever since Ethan was born.
Two and a half years.
Why then? Why still now?
That I don't have the answer to, just yet.
Thursday 5 November 2015
The problem is...
It has been years since I truly loved myself.
Since I felt comfortable and happy and proud to just be me.
As a human being.
Not as a professional. For some strange reason, that part of my life is not affected by this. I feel confident, intelligent and motivated when I consider my career and the work surrounding it.
But not my being.
In fact, I dislike (strongly) the outer portion of my being, my body, more now than I ever have in my entire life.
Yet I feel like a traitor.
I should love my body.
It nurtured and grew three beautiful children.
It birthed two, and survived the emergency C-section of the third.
It's endured breastfeeding, multiple surgeries for ovarian cysts, a gall bladder removal and continues to endure more crooked neck-sleeping-with-kiddos hangovers than I'd like.
I struggle to accept compliments.
I get antsy when my husband tells me I am beautiful.
I rarely look at myself and think, I am worthy.
When I look into my own eyes, I cringe.
Who am I? Really?
Hmmmm.
I don't have the answers just yet, but I've realized that I am holding on to unworthiness. And so I've created this blog, My Journey to Worthy, to diarize my mindful attempt to move to a place of self love.
Thanks for reading.
I hope to inspire a few friends and family members to reflect, as I will be, on the very essence of their being. xo
PS: I am grateful to Shawna, from Be Free, for the chance to immerse myself in her HappyYou program, as it will provide the basis for the next six weeks of blog posts, and the first part of my journey. In addition, I'll be reflecting and sharing my learnings, stumbles and a-ha moments along the way.
Since I felt comfortable and happy and proud to just be me.
As a human being.
Not as a professional. For some strange reason, that part of my life is not affected by this. I feel confident, intelligent and motivated when I consider my career and the work surrounding it.
But not my being.
In fact, I dislike (strongly) the outer portion of my being, my body, more now than I ever have in my entire life.
Yet I feel like a traitor.
I should love my body.
It nurtured and grew three beautiful children.
It birthed two, and survived the emergency C-section of the third.
It's endured breastfeeding, multiple surgeries for ovarian cysts, a gall bladder removal and continues to endure more crooked neck-sleeping-with-kiddos hangovers than I'd like.
I struggle to accept compliments.
I get antsy when my husband tells me I am beautiful.
I rarely look at myself and think, I am worthy.
When I look into my own eyes, I cringe.
Who am I? Really?
Hmmmm.
I don't have the answers just yet, but I've realized that I am holding on to unworthiness. And so I've created this blog, My Journey to Worthy, to diarize my mindful attempt to move to a place of self love.
Thanks for reading.
I hope to inspire a few friends and family members to reflect, as I will be, on the very essence of their being. xo
PS: I am grateful to Shawna, from Be Free, for the chance to immerse myself in her HappyYou program, as it will provide the basis for the next six weeks of blog posts, and the first part of my journey. In addition, I'll be reflecting and sharing my learnings, stumbles and a-ha moments along the way.
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