One of the things that I am most grateful for happening to me in 2012 was that I found out for sure that I was sick. I had been afraid that I was sick all of my adult life, but did not know what it was. It is called Borderline Personality Disorder. It develops in early adulthood, so I have been sick for well over a decade. Now at the ripe old age of 27 I have finally discovered that what I have has a name, and that my fits of self-rage, lonesome blues, extreme self-devaluation and intense fear of abandonment are symptoms.
While I am not my illness, understanding the nature of it has helped me to understand and forgive myself. It has helped me come to grips with my life and have hope and courage to face what will come. It has also broadened my awareness of the many people suffering from mental health issues. This has been a very formative year for me. Difficult, intense, painful at times, but beautiful and necessary.
Without a doubt, though, the most beautiful and wonderful thing that happened to me this year was discovering that I had never stopped loving my ex-fiance. That we loved each other regardless of any illness. Whatever happens now, I know that I will not walk through life alone. And that is because of God, and my best friends and the man I love.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Reflections on 2012-The birth of Our Lord, The Flight into Egypt, The Holy Innocents
Merry Christmas Everybody! Wow...2012 is almost over already. Why does it seem like the more I mature, the faster the time escapes me? Anyhow, 2012 has been a very eventful year for me. It was a difficult and sad year in many respects. Yet it was joyful and wondrous and full of love and learning as well.
One of the things that happened that was sad was that at the beginning of the year I had begun a new life in a strange new place with a person who was untrustworthy. Then I had to run away from that family member and flee in the night and seek refuge in a women's shelter and aid from a convent of nuns. It is a very lonely feeling, running into the darkness, dragging your suitcase over the icy sidewalk, avoiding the gaze of drunks stumbling out of bars, and hearing only the moan and wail of the nearby railroad yard to drown out the ponderous silence...There is a special vulnerability to being a homeless young woman and being so alone. Hence, there is a special kind of courage that to which God calls me and all of the other ladies-young and old, from every race and social class and creed-who sheltered with me in that Safe-House, during that cold winter. I do not think I will ever forget that experience.
One of the graces that came from that experience blossomed this Advent Season. We all remember the horror as children, at the first mention of poor baby Jesus having no place to stay in Bethlehem. I remember telling the story to one of my baby siblings and she burst into tears. Another child looked at the infant Jesus doll nestled under the tree, picked it up, carried it to her room and set it in her doll's bed and covered it with blankets. I have always felt so sorry for St. Joseph at that moment in time. He had this unplanned responsibility of taking care of and protecting the Mother of God. Now he arrives in his town of Familial origin, obediently awaiting the census, Mary is big with child, and probably senses through the Holy Spirit that this will be the night that her Lord will be born! So he runs around knocking on inn doors and looking for a place to shelter the Queen and the infant King placed in his care and everywhere he goes people say, "I'm sorry, we simply have no more room. Try someplace else."
"No room for them in the Inn?" Really?
There is a young man standing out in the winter night with a pregnant teenager and NOBODY in all of Bethlehem can take notice of them or give them a safe place to give birth? Really?
The King of Kings has to be born in a heap of hay in a cattle stall and laid in a feed-box. Woo Hoo. Great job, world.
The memory of Christmas was still in the winter air as I called the Women's Shelter and explained that I had been assaulted and needed a safe place to stay until I could find a permanent place. "I have a job," I explained, "I am not on drugs, I have no criminal record and I am starting to get to know people in this parish, it will not be for long. The parish priest knows me! Please!"
"I am sorry. We simply have no room. Try someplace else," said the cordial sounding lady on the phone.
"I understand, thank you, anyway." I sighed and tried hard not to cry. My nose was running from the cold and I took off one mitten and used it as a handkerchief and felt very unladylike. "God," I prayed, "Help me! I can't go back to where I was. I won't go back. But I can't stay out here all day and all night! Please help me!" I walked to the public housing, and they were all full up too, with a looooooonnnnnggg waiting list. "In the winter, every place is always overflowing," They said, "Good luck finding ANYTHNG ANYWHERE!"
I kept walking to stay warm and tried to think of what place to try next. I called the social worker again and she was out of ideas. I called my parish priest again and explained my lack of success with him. "I feel so terrible about causing you all of this trouble, father! I am sorry!" "No!" the kind old, Irish priest said, "You need some help right now, and this is my job. Do not worry. Pray and don't worry. Keep being brave. God will find a place for you to stay tonight one way or another. There has to be room, somewhere!"
I walked to the other end of town to the Adoration Chapel and waited with Jesus. In the half hour or so that passed I though of Our Blessed Lady, expecting baby Jesus, waiting with St. Joseph for some place to open up. Finally having to walk to the outskirts to shelter in a cave. Then I thought about the other homeless outcasts who would be out on the street this cold winter night, or shivering in their car somewhere or huddled next to dozens of other strangers in a Salvation Army shelter. I thought of the ones who were struggling with mental health problems, ones who had abused with drugs and were haunted by criminal pasts. Compared to them, I was still very fortunate. Now it would be very hard for them to earn anybody's trust or charm the charity out of anyone. And they felt the cold the same as I did. They were as lonely as I. Except that I had a warm coat. I felt very sad for them and utterly powerless to help them when I could not even help myself. I prayed to God for them again. And then I kept praying for me. Then my cell phone rang.
It was Father A who had spoken to Sister B and Sister B wanted to meet me and see if she could help me. I blew my nose in my mitten again, stuffed it into my pocket and shuffled back outside to meet Father A and be driven to the convent. Sister B, it turned out, was on the board for the same Women's Shelter that I had called earlier. So after seeing me and hearing about my predicament, she called the Women's Shelter and informed them that they did have room for me. That they would have to make room on the couch if they had to. She said that she would put me up in a motel room herself, using her own precious savings, for three nights to give them time to make the necessary arrangements. I gave that dear old nun a big hug and thanked her with all of my heart.
This Advent, I was remembering all of this. Remembering the nights in the motel room, the flight in the dark, and the nine days that I spent in the Shelter before I found a home. Poor Baby Jesus. He was abandoned by the world and left out in the cold. For my sake, for the sake of us all, He willed to come into the world and be born in a barn. He chose to come into the world, when He knew, as God, that the wicked King would hunt him down and try to murder him. Poor St. Joseph and Our Blessed Lady! No sooner had they settled into a safe place, they had to arise, grab their things and flee into the night to an unfamiliar land.
One of the sorrows of the Immaculate Heart of Mary is the Flight Into Egypt. Did she know about the mothers who would weep for their murdered babies and toddlers when that fearful dawn broke to greet the Church's First Martyrs? Did she weep for her poor little son, who had to be plucked from His cradle and jostled on the back of a donkey across the desert because a ruthless tyrant wanted His infant blood? Did she feel a loneliness a thousand times greater than the loneliness I felt as I ran into the darkness toward the motel on the side of the highway. When she guided my steps on the icy road, had my Heavenly Mother's heart ached again for her adopted child (who was not nearly as brave and trusting as she had been in obeying God's command)? I ponder all of these things in my heart as I lift them up to God who has preserved me in all my adventures and upheld me in existence. I am so filled with gratitude in remembering all of this now. I am so grateful to God for the graces He gave me and the joys and sorrows that He lived within me. "The Almighty Has done great things for me. And Holy is His Name."
One of the things that happened that was sad was that at the beginning of the year I had begun a new life in a strange new place with a person who was untrustworthy. Then I had to run away from that family member and flee in the night and seek refuge in a women's shelter and aid from a convent of nuns. It is a very lonely feeling, running into the darkness, dragging your suitcase over the icy sidewalk, avoiding the gaze of drunks stumbling out of bars, and hearing only the moan and wail of the nearby railroad yard to drown out the ponderous silence...There is a special vulnerability to being a homeless young woman and being so alone. Hence, there is a special kind of courage that to which God calls me and all of the other ladies-young and old, from every race and social class and creed-who sheltered with me in that Safe-House, during that cold winter. I do not think I will ever forget that experience.
One of the graces that came from that experience blossomed this Advent Season. We all remember the horror as children, at the first mention of poor baby Jesus having no place to stay in Bethlehem. I remember telling the story to one of my baby siblings and she burst into tears. Another child looked at the infant Jesus doll nestled under the tree, picked it up, carried it to her room and set it in her doll's bed and covered it with blankets. I have always felt so sorry for St. Joseph at that moment in time. He had this unplanned responsibility of taking care of and protecting the Mother of God. Now he arrives in his town of Familial origin, obediently awaiting the census, Mary is big with child, and probably senses through the Holy Spirit that this will be the night that her Lord will be born! So he runs around knocking on inn doors and looking for a place to shelter the Queen and the infant King placed in his care and everywhere he goes people say, "I'm sorry, we simply have no more room. Try someplace else."
"No room for them in the Inn?" Really?
There is a young man standing out in the winter night with a pregnant teenager and NOBODY in all of Bethlehem can take notice of them or give them a safe place to give birth? Really?
The King of Kings has to be born in a heap of hay in a cattle stall and laid in a feed-box. Woo Hoo. Great job, world.
The memory of Christmas was still in the winter air as I called the Women's Shelter and explained that I had been assaulted and needed a safe place to stay until I could find a permanent place. "I have a job," I explained, "I am not on drugs, I have no criminal record and I am starting to get to know people in this parish, it will not be for long. The parish priest knows me! Please!"
"I am sorry. We simply have no room. Try someplace else," said the cordial sounding lady on the phone.
"I understand, thank you, anyway." I sighed and tried hard not to cry. My nose was running from the cold and I took off one mitten and used it as a handkerchief and felt very unladylike. "God," I prayed, "Help me! I can't go back to where I was. I won't go back. But I can't stay out here all day and all night! Please help me!" I walked to the public housing, and they were all full up too, with a looooooonnnnnggg waiting list. "In the winter, every place is always overflowing," They said, "Good luck finding ANYTHNG ANYWHERE!"
I kept walking to stay warm and tried to think of what place to try next. I called the social worker again and she was out of ideas. I called my parish priest again and explained my lack of success with him. "I feel so terrible about causing you all of this trouble, father! I am sorry!" "No!" the kind old, Irish priest said, "You need some help right now, and this is my job. Do not worry. Pray and don't worry. Keep being brave. God will find a place for you to stay tonight one way or another. There has to be room, somewhere!"
I walked to the other end of town to the Adoration Chapel and waited with Jesus. In the half hour or so that passed I though of Our Blessed Lady, expecting baby Jesus, waiting with St. Joseph for some place to open up. Finally having to walk to the outskirts to shelter in a cave. Then I thought about the other homeless outcasts who would be out on the street this cold winter night, or shivering in their car somewhere or huddled next to dozens of other strangers in a Salvation Army shelter. I thought of the ones who were struggling with mental health problems, ones who had abused with drugs and were haunted by criminal pasts. Compared to them, I was still very fortunate. Now it would be very hard for them to earn anybody's trust or charm the charity out of anyone. And they felt the cold the same as I did. They were as lonely as I. Except that I had a warm coat. I felt very sad for them and utterly powerless to help them when I could not even help myself. I prayed to God for them again. And then I kept praying for me. Then my cell phone rang.
It was Father A who had spoken to Sister B and Sister B wanted to meet me and see if she could help me. I blew my nose in my mitten again, stuffed it into my pocket and shuffled back outside to meet Father A and be driven to the convent. Sister B, it turned out, was on the board for the same Women's Shelter that I had called earlier. So after seeing me and hearing about my predicament, she called the Women's Shelter and informed them that they did have room for me. That they would have to make room on the couch if they had to. She said that she would put me up in a motel room herself, using her own precious savings, for three nights to give them time to make the necessary arrangements. I gave that dear old nun a big hug and thanked her with all of my heart.
This Advent, I was remembering all of this. Remembering the nights in the motel room, the flight in the dark, and the nine days that I spent in the Shelter before I found a home. Poor Baby Jesus. He was abandoned by the world and left out in the cold. For my sake, for the sake of us all, He willed to come into the world and be born in a barn. He chose to come into the world, when He knew, as God, that the wicked King would hunt him down and try to murder him. Poor St. Joseph and Our Blessed Lady! No sooner had they settled into a safe place, they had to arise, grab their things and flee into the night to an unfamiliar land.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
On The Third Day of Christmas
1-Talking to my darling boyfriend.
2-Taking a friend out for coffee.
3-Getting a ride home.
2-Taking a friend out for coffee.
3-Getting a ride home.
On The Second Day of Christmas...
Okay, so the things that I am grateful for that happened today/yesterday/during this season are as follows:
1-I got to sing at Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve in the choir.
2-Caroling party on Christmas Day. There is nothing like singing around a piano with a steady alto, two valiant basses and a virtuoso tenor when you are a soprano. ;)
3-I got lots of books to read as presents! Just the thing for a bibliophile like me!
What are you thanking the Christ Child for today?
1-I got to sing at Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve in the choir.
2-Caroling party on Christmas Day. There is nothing like singing around a piano with a steady alto, two valiant basses and a virtuoso tenor when you are a soprano. ;)
3-I got lots of books to read as presents! Just the thing for a bibliophile like me!
What are you thanking the Christ Child for today?
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
On the First Day of Christmas...
Merry Christmas ya'all!
Even though everybody expects you to be happy around the holidays, those of us struggling with our mental health know that it is not always that simple. But we are not the only ones, lots of folks get the Holiday Blues. It's okay. You are not an evil person because you cried on Christmas Day.
Maybe you miss your family because you could not afford to go visit them.
Maybe you lost your job recently and could not afford to buy your loved ones any gifts.
Maybe you work hard every day at a thankless job that does not pay well so you still could not afford to buy your loved ones gifts.
Maybe you just broke up with someone.
Maybe you are going through a divorce.
Maybe this time of year reminds you of a loved one who has passed away.
Maybe you don't even know why you are supposed to be happy during Christmas and you are depressed by the rabid displays of materialism, greed and hedonism that abounds this time of year. ("It's alright, Charlie Brown, I'll tell you what Christmas is all about.")
Maybe you are fighting depression, feel like a failure and are wondering if your life has any meaning. ("Get me back to my wife and kids! Help me Clarence, Please! I want to live again! I want to live again! I want to live again...Please, God...let me live again...")
Maybe somebody at school is bullying you and casting a shadow on your celebration. (In which case, don't make like Rudolph and just run away. Tell a Teacher, your parents, the School Counselor, your pastor, or your physical ed coach!)
You are all not alone, whichever the case may be. While gratitude is not the same thing as happiness and one does not follow automatically upon the other, it helps sometimes to start your day with three things that you are grateful for that happened in the last 24 hours. So for each of the 12 days of Christmas, I am going to share some of mine, in the hope that it will remind you of something that you can be glad about. ("Don't let's be gloomy! Let's play the 'glad game'!)
(singing) On the First Day of Christmas Baby Jesus Gave To Me...(hehe)
1. All the little children that I gave gifts to loved the small gifts of candy that I gave them! Yay! Gotta love unspoiled children!
2. A chance to go caroling for the elderly in my home town. I wanted to visit some people who might be lonely around Christmas or in pain. So I went with my choir from my parish and sang up and down the corridors and in the rooms in all the resting homes I knew about. You should have seen the smiles on their faces...it moved me to happy tears.
3. Lots of Ham, Turkey, Mashed Potatoes and Homemade Toffee!
Thank you Baby Jesus! Merry Christmas to All, God Bless you and go drink some Hot Cocoa with Peppermint Schnapps! Go eat some more turkey and ham! Go hug a relative you hardly know! Go kiss your loved one under a mistletoe! Go have a caroling party! Go eat a sugar cookie! Go build a Gingerbread house! Or just curl up on the couch with a blanket, put on a pair of silly-looking fuzzy socks and watch the Christmas movies that warmed your heart when you were younger and wiser. Sending everyone in the whole world lots of love and wishing you all peace and joy this holy season.
Even though everybody expects you to be happy around the holidays, those of us struggling with our mental health know that it is not always that simple. But we are not the only ones, lots of folks get the Holiday Blues. It's okay. You are not an evil person because you cried on Christmas Day.
Maybe you miss your family because you could not afford to go visit them.
Maybe you lost your job recently and could not afford to buy your loved ones any gifts.
Maybe you work hard every day at a thankless job that does not pay well so you still could not afford to buy your loved ones gifts.
Maybe you just broke up with someone.
Maybe you are going through a divorce.
Maybe this time of year reminds you of a loved one who has passed away.
Maybe you don't even know why you are supposed to be happy during Christmas and you are depressed by the rabid displays of materialism, greed and hedonism that abounds this time of year. ("It's alright, Charlie Brown, I'll tell you what Christmas is all about.")
Maybe you are fighting depression, feel like a failure and are wondering if your life has any meaning. ("Get me back to my wife and kids! Help me Clarence, Please! I want to live again! I want to live again! I want to live again...Please, God...let me live again...")
Maybe somebody at school is bullying you and casting a shadow on your celebration. (In which case, don't make like Rudolph and just run away. Tell a Teacher, your parents, the School Counselor, your pastor, or your physical ed coach!)
You are all not alone, whichever the case may be. While gratitude is not the same thing as happiness and one does not follow automatically upon the other, it helps sometimes to start your day with three things that you are grateful for that happened in the last 24 hours. So for each of the 12 days of Christmas, I am going to share some of mine, in the hope that it will remind you of something that you can be glad about. ("Don't let's be gloomy! Let's play the 'glad game'!)
(singing) On the First Day of Christmas Baby Jesus Gave To Me...(hehe)
1. All the little children that I gave gifts to loved the small gifts of candy that I gave them! Yay! Gotta love unspoiled children!
2. A chance to go caroling for the elderly in my home town. I wanted to visit some people who might be lonely around Christmas or in pain. So I went with my choir from my parish and sang up and down the corridors and in the rooms in all the resting homes I knew about. You should have seen the smiles on their faces...it moved me to happy tears.
3. Lots of Ham, Turkey, Mashed Potatoes and Homemade Toffee!
Thank you Baby Jesus! Merry Christmas to All, God Bless you and go drink some Hot Cocoa with Peppermint Schnapps! Go eat some more turkey and ham! Go hug a relative you hardly know! Go kiss your loved one under a mistletoe! Go have a caroling party! Go eat a sugar cookie! Go build a Gingerbread house! Or just curl up on the couch with a blanket, put on a pair of silly-looking fuzzy socks and watch the Christmas movies that warmed your heart when you were younger and wiser. Sending everyone in the whole world lots of love and wishing you all peace and joy this holy season.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
You Are Not Abandoned
Probably the most common trait of BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) is the disproportionate fear of abandonment.
Now to those of you healthy people, people like me seem unstable and unbalanced to you (and rightly) because of the drastic measures that people like me take to avoid real or imagined abandonment.
To us, however, our extreme behavior makes perfect sense (that is why we are sick). For many people with BPD, one of the things that goes hand in hand with an unstable self image, is the frequent devaluation of self. Let me put it to you this way; if you believed in the depths of your being that you were unlovable (that you were a waste of everyone else's space, that you had no worth, that your face was a blight of nature, that God Himself could not bear the sight of you) then you would also know that abandonment was inevitable. Nobody stays with what they don't love. Nobody loves what is not loveable.
"But how in the world could ANYBODY think that about themselves? That your life has no worth! That you have no value as a person!? How could anybody think that about themselves?!"
Well...(wry smile)...that is why they call it a disorder. We are sick. I am sick.
And how do we get that way? There has been a lot of study that suggests that child abuse and neglect is linked to people who develop this disorder. You have to get warped and carefully trained to develop this emotional core belief about yourself.
So today is Sunday, and that is always a difficult day for me. Because it is a day I set aside to not drown myself in work and think about God. But if I think about God I need to think about my relationship with him.
I need to reaffirm to myself mentally that He is upholding me in existence at this moment. That He created me with LOVE and continues to uphold me in existence. He created by loveable and beautiful and good and with a purpose in mind. This to me is mind-boggling. And wonderful. And almost too good to be true. Almost too painful to think about. Thinking about God's love for me not being dependent upon or conditional of anything that I do is mind-blowing!
What is more familiar to me, hence less frightening, is attention-seeking. Doing good deeds to earn God's love. Wearing beautiful clothing to gain approval from my girlfriends, wearing "modest" clothing to gain "respect" from Christian families, wearing attractive colors to gain attention from men. Praising people so that they will tolerate your presence because you make them feel good about themselves. Never complaining or criticizing because then they won't like you anymore. Smiling so that you will make other people feel more at ease. Buying people gifts and picking up the tab so that you will not feel like you burdened people by spending time with them. Being "low maintenance" so they will leave you alone if they are mean, and not leave you alone if they are kind.
The idea of someone whose love I could NEVER EARN but who loves me ANYWAY is something very difficult to imagine. But it is something that I desperately want and need. It is what we all want and need, no matter how healthy, wealthy or wise we are.
Dear Lord,
Please touch us with Your healing hand. Help us to believe that You are always with us. Help us to know that we will never be completely abandoned. Please let me briefly feel a little of Your love so that I will feel a little safer. Today I resolve again to rest secure in Your love, and to resist to urge to try to gain your love and be dependent on the attention or approval that I get from others. Please help me. Amen.
God bless and keep us all.
Now to those of you healthy people, people like me seem unstable and unbalanced to you (and rightly) because of the drastic measures that people like me take to avoid real or imagined abandonment.
To us, however, our extreme behavior makes perfect sense (that is why we are sick). For many people with BPD, one of the things that goes hand in hand with an unstable self image, is the frequent devaluation of self. Let me put it to you this way; if you believed in the depths of your being that you were unlovable (that you were a waste of everyone else's space, that you had no worth, that your face was a blight of nature, that God Himself could not bear the sight of you) then you would also know that abandonment was inevitable. Nobody stays with what they don't love. Nobody loves what is not loveable.
"But how in the world could ANYBODY think that about themselves? That your life has no worth! That you have no value as a person!? How could anybody think that about themselves?!"
Well...(wry smile)...that is why they call it a disorder. We are sick. I am sick.
And how do we get that way? There has been a lot of study that suggests that child abuse and neglect is linked to people who develop this disorder. You have to get warped and carefully trained to develop this emotional core belief about yourself.
So today is Sunday, and that is always a difficult day for me. Because it is a day I set aside to not drown myself in work and think about God. But if I think about God I need to think about my relationship with him.
I need to reaffirm to myself mentally that He is upholding me in existence at this moment. That He created me with LOVE and continues to uphold me in existence. He created by loveable and beautiful and good and with a purpose in mind. This to me is mind-boggling. And wonderful. And almost too good to be true. Almost too painful to think about. Thinking about God's love for me not being dependent upon or conditional of anything that I do is mind-blowing!
What is more familiar to me, hence less frightening, is attention-seeking. Doing good deeds to earn God's love. Wearing beautiful clothing to gain approval from my girlfriends, wearing "modest" clothing to gain "respect" from Christian families, wearing attractive colors to gain attention from men. Praising people so that they will tolerate your presence because you make them feel good about themselves. Never complaining or criticizing because then they won't like you anymore. Smiling so that you will make other people feel more at ease. Buying people gifts and picking up the tab so that you will not feel like you burdened people by spending time with them. Being "low maintenance" so they will leave you alone if they are mean, and not leave you alone if they are kind.
The idea of someone whose love I could NEVER EARN but who loves me ANYWAY is something very difficult to imagine. But it is something that I desperately want and need. It is what we all want and need, no matter how healthy, wealthy or wise we are.
Dear Lord,
Please touch us with Your healing hand. Help us to believe that You are always with us. Help us to know that we will never be completely abandoned. Please let me briefly feel a little of Your love so that I will feel a little safer. Today I resolve again to rest secure in Your love, and to resist to urge to try to gain your love and be dependent on the attention or approval that I get from others. Please help me. Amen.
God bless and keep us all.
Friday, November 16, 2012
How to Make the Most of a Low Day
If you have dealt with depression (and let's face it, a staggering number of us have, at one point or another) you know what I am talking about when I say "I am having a low day".
You can't move. You can't think. Your mind is a fuzzy, sad mess, as though you had the weight of a head cold, but only with emotional congestion. Wooziness, anxiety, extreme fatigue and sorrow are your constant companions.
Here is a list to abide by, if you can possibly.
1-Sleep.
Go back to bed. At least for a little while, if you can. If you have the leisure, sleep in as long as you need to, even if you have to sleep until four in the afternoon (I have).
2-Do not guilt yourself.
Don't say "But I am not doing anything!" You are doing something. You are taking care of yourself. You are recuperating. This part of the process cannot simply be will-powered away and cannot be rushed. Sleep and giving yourself permission to rest is one of the most important things you can do for your recovery.
3-Take your medication.
And a mutivitamin. Take every pill you need to perscribed by your health care provider. Boom! There, you just accomplished one of the most important tasks of the day! Hooray for you! (happy dance)
4-Pray when you wake up.
Sure, some days you wake up and say, "Good morning,God!"
Others you wake up and say, "Oh God! It's morning!" Either way, at least He is your first thought when you wake up. ;)
Some days we wake up and kneel down by the beds others we pray from on our backs in bed because we are so weakened. Even if you can't get up, at least roll over onto your back and look out a window to look for God in the beauty of the morning, or to the crucifix on your nightstand, or the picture on your wall. Heck, look up at the ceiling fan. He will know that you are talking to Him. And if you can, say to Him, "God, today I give you my life. I give you my whole day. All of my sufferings, all my sadness, all my weakness, because those are the gifts you want right now. Because I love you. Because you gave yourself a heart so that you could bleed with me. I believe that you are fighting this battle with me."
Now, from here, your day is already a whole lot better.
4-Get up. Never mind when.
You will eventually. Try again and get up. You will feel better, I promise.
5-Wash your face.
Brush your teeth. Put on moisturizer and sunscreen. Sunscreen especially. Because now you won't stay indoors all day because you did not put sunscreen on. Hehe. Look at you go!
6-Look at yourself in the mirror. And do not be negative about how you look. Say out loud to yourself in the mirror, "I am a precious, loveable son/daughter of God. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Christ purchased my life and hope for my soul with every drop of His blood."
Repeat this again and again if neccessary, until you believe it in your heart.
7-Get out of your room, go down to the kitchen and brew yourself a nice hot cup of tea or coffee. Or pour yourself some milk or orange juice. Sit down and drink it. Open the window and let some fresh air and morning light in (or afternoon light in). If you are like me, you probably will not be able to think about eating, or will have no appetite, or you will just hardly be able to think. So drink the juice or milk or tea or coffee. The juice will give your brain the sugar and vitamin boost it needs to start the thinking going. Protein from the milk will give your body lasting energy to propel you forward. Tea is very good for you. Especially green tea, echinacea, chamomile and other such herbal delights. Wrap your hands around your mug and let it warm your hands. If you are a coffee drinker like me, the caffiene will trick you into alertness, while calming you down a little. Which is good if you suffer from anxiety.
8. Eat.
This is another important job that nobody else can do for you. Eat something simple and comforting and nourishing. I like oatmeal because I make it hot and fresh on the stovetop and it is so filling and comforting. Grits are good too though, or Cream of Wheat. Eating hot things are good for your stomach. Eat some fresh fruit with your oatmeal. I like mine with cinnamon and a fresh apple or just bananas and milk. Avoid adding sugar, if you can. That will make you feel worse, in the long run. Or if you don't know how to cook cereal, eat some whole wheat toast instead, and spread some greek yogurt on top with some fresh fruit.
9. Talk.
If you live with somebody, talk to them. Especially if you are feeling anxious or extremely depressed. Talk therapy is wonderful. Sometimes voicing your fears will make you see how unlikely they are to happen. Sometimes ennunciating your sorrow to an understanding person or a good listener will help get some of it out of your system. This is hard work and it is important. Call a trusted friend. Or a family member if one can be had. If none are to be had, call your spiritual director and your counselor. Schedule an appointment if needed.
10-Get dressed.
Because you are stepping out of the house for at least a few minutes.
Shower if you need to, get your teeth brushed again. Get all sunscreenized and mousturized again. This time it will be easier because the second time of the day is always easier. Everybody has jeans and a shirt. Put on a colorful scarf for comfort and style. Maybe it will make somebody smile. Put your shoes on because you are going outside.
11-Put your sunglasses on and step outside. Take some deep breaths. Look at the sky. If it is bright, take note of that wondrous shade of blue, a shade that stimulates as it soothes simultaneously. If it is cloudy note the different colors in the clouds, so illusive at first glance. If it is gray and overcast, ponder how marvelous it is that something can be so dark and yet so full of light at the same time. Look at the trees. Watch a squirrel. Stretch.
12.Go take a walk. For fifteen minutes at least to a half an hour. But do not overwork yourself, especially if you are prone to fainting. A small grocery store and a dollar store are about a five minute walk from my house, so when I am one that walk, I stop there. If I remember something I need while I am there, I pick it up. Look, now you just got some exercise, and you got some shopping done. You probably needed toilet paper. Who doesn't need more celery and cucumbers? Milk! You can never have too much milk! While you are at the dollar store, look at the greeting card section. If you see something that catches your eye, buy it for a friend.
13. Stop and rest. Sit on a bench. Sit in the store if you need to. But don't push yourself too hard when you are already tired. Go at a steady relaxed pace. Avoid frenzied places like supermarkets and overly noisy places. For that matter, do not listen to any heavy metal, rap or any music that is angry, moody or sad. If a car zooms by spewing hatespeech or obscenities, cover your ears. Reject it in that very physical way.
14. Do a good deed. Do you know where the women's shelter is in your neighborhood? How about a food pantry. If it is not too far from your walk, go there and drop off some groceries that you just got from the store. If you need to, get your car. It takes almost no money and almost no effort. Heck, if it is walking distance, you do not even need to spend gas money. You just get a little more air in your lungs and stretch your legs a little further.
15. Go home and do another good deed.
Get a pen and a stamp. Write a message of encouragement on the card to a friend or an aquaintence or family member that you know is struggling too. Now put it in the mailbox. You just might brighten their day. And look, you just brightened yours!
16-Go look at your closet.
Pick out your outfit for tomorrow.
This will help you remember what you need to do. If you get sad thinking about it, get some more tea going, and another healthy snack. Pick something to wear that is comfortable that has a bit of color to make you smile.
17-Step into the laundry room.
Just one load, I promise. Just one load. Just pick the whites out of the hamper and wash them. You will need whites. If you don't have clean underwear to wear, you are going to be miserable, and our goal here is keep misery at bay! Now while that is in the wash...
18-Empty the dishwasher.
It is super easy. If you need to take a break while you are doing it, go ahead. If you need to turn on some cheery music while you are doing it, go ahead! Move your feet to the beat. Nobody is watching. Sing if you know the words. Keep drinking water. Shoot, I forgot to mention...
19-Drink at least eight glasses of water today. One glass when you wake up. Another after you have brushed your teeth and washed your face. Another after breakfast. Another after you have showered. One big one before your walk, another big one after your walk. That is six right there. You are almost there. Then there is after dinner and dishes doing. Dehydration is a big factor in daytime fatigue. You need to stay well lubricated ESPECIALLY if you have low energy. Also it will be good for your skin so your lovely face will greet you fresh in the morning. Keep emptying the dishwasher. Now are there any dishes in the sink. Put em in. The kitchen looks worlds better. Good for you! Do not worry about the rest. You can fix it tomorrow.
20. By now your day is ending, because your energy is spent and so is the daylight (because you did not have much to begin with and that is okay). So go to your room, get ready for bed (lather on night cream and hand cream and body butter and everything. It will make you look and feel so much better in the morning.) Now relax. If you are on your bed, let your muscels go all limp. Now breathe deeply, and with each breath you take, push away all negative thoughts. Exhale the negative, inhale the positive. Reject the negativity. As you breathe, focus on relaxing the muscles in your face...and then your neck, and your shoulders...and so on down...all the while breathing deeply and inhaling positive thoughts and pushing out the negatives with every exhale. Place all of your sorrows into the wounded side of Christ. He is carrying your cross with you. Now when you are relaxed at length, say to yourself, "Tomorrow is going to be a good day."
21-Pray one more time.
Dear God, I gave you my day today. Today I loved you as hard as I could. Help me to love you more every day and do a little more every day. I love you. Thank you for today. Thank you for my life.
There you go. Even if you can't do everything on this list yet on your low days, don't worry, you will. And you are not behind. One of the most important things to do is to not let perfectionism or our own ideas of what productivity is ruin our day. No "compare and despair" please! You did the job that God wanted you to do today. Today He wanted you to take care of yourself, and you did. You have had a productive day. The secret is not to panic. To trust in God. He has a plan. He knows what to do. You do not need to carry the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. You do not even have to carry your weight alone. God will carry it with you. Exercising trust, when it is emotionally very difficult, will make all of the difference between a good day and a bad day. God be with us all!
You can't move. You can't think. Your mind is a fuzzy, sad mess, as though you had the weight of a head cold, but only with emotional congestion. Wooziness, anxiety, extreme fatigue and sorrow are your constant companions.
Here is a list to abide by, if you can possibly.
1-Sleep.
Go back to bed. At least for a little while, if you can. If you have the leisure, sleep in as long as you need to, even if you have to sleep until four in the afternoon (I have).
2-Do not guilt yourself.
Don't say "But I am not doing anything!" You are doing something. You are taking care of yourself. You are recuperating. This part of the process cannot simply be will-powered away and cannot be rushed. Sleep and giving yourself permission to rest is one of the most important things you can do for your recovery.
3-Take your medication.
And a mutivitamin. Take every pill you need to perscribed by your health care provider. Boom! There, you just accomplished one of the most important tasks of the day! Hooray for you! (happy dance)
4-Pray when you wake up.
Sure, some days you wake up and say, "Good morning,God!"
Others you wake up and say, "Oh God! It's morning!" Either way, at least He is your first thought when you wake up. ;)
Some days we wake up and kneel down by the beds others we pray from on our backs in bed because we are so weakened. Even if you can't get up, at least roll over onto your back and look out a window to look for God in the beauty of the morning, or to the crucifix on your nightstand, or the picture on your wall. Heck, look up at the ceiling fan. He will know that you are talking to Him. And if you can, say to Him, "God, today I give you my life. I give you my whole day. All of my sufferings, all my sadness, all my weakness, because those are the gifts you want right now. Because I love you. Because you gave yourself a heart so that you could bleed with me. I believe that you are fighting this battle with me."
Now, from here, your day is already a whole lot better.
4-Get up. Never mind when.
You will eventually. Try again and get up. You will feel better, I promise.
5-Wash your face.
Brush your teeth. Put on moisturizer and sunscreen. Sunscreen especially. Because now you won't stay indoors all day because you did not put sunscreen on. Hehe. Look at you go!
6-Look at yourself in the mirror. And do not be negative about how you look. Say out loud to yourself in the mirror, "I am a precious, loveable son/daughter of God. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Christ purchased my life and hope for my soul with every drop of His blood."
Repeat this again and again if neccessary, until you believe it in your heart.
7-Get out of your room, go down to the kitchen and brew yourself a nice hot cup of tea or coffee. Or pour yourself some milk or orange juice. Sit down and drink it. Open the window and let some fresh air and morning light in (or afternoon light in). If you are like me, you probably will not be able to think about eating, or will have no appetite, or you will just hardly be able to think. So drink the juice or milk or tea or coffee. The juice will give your brain the sugar and vitamin boost it needs to start the thinking going. Protein from the milk will give your body lasting energy to propel you forward. Tea is very good for you. Especially green tea, echinacea, chamomile and other such herbal delights. Wrap your hands around your mug and let it warm your hands. If you are a coffee drinker like me, the caffiene will trick you into alertness, while calming you down a little. Which is good if you suffer from anxiety.
8. Eat.
This is another important job that nobody else can do for you. Eat something simple and comforting and nourishing. I like oatmeal because I make it hot and fresh on the stovetop and it is so filling and comforting. Grits are good too though, or Cream of Wheat. Eating hot things are good for your stomach. Eat some fresh fruit with your oatmeal. I like mine with cinnamon and a fresh apple or just bananas and milk. Avoid adding sugar, if you can. That will make you feel worse, in the long run. Or if you don't know how to cook cereal, eat some whole wheat toast instead, and spread some greek yogurt on top with some fresh fruit.
9. Talk.
If you live with somebody, talk to them. Especially if you are feeling anxious or extremely depressed. Talk therapy is wonderful. Sometimes voicing your fears will make you see how unlikely they are to happen. Sometimes ennunciating your sorrow to an understanding person or a good listener will help get some of it out of your system. This is hard work and it is important. Call a trusted friend. Or a family member if one can be had. If none are to be had, call your spiritual director and your counselor. Schedule an appointment if needed.
10-Get dressed.
Because you are stepping out of the house for at least a few minutes.
Shower if you need to, get your teeth brushed again. Get all sunscreenized and mousturized again. This time it will be easier because the second time of the day is always easier. Everybody has jeans and a shirt. Put on a colorful scarf for comfort and style. Maybe it will make somebody smile. Put your shoes on because you are going outside.
11-Put your sunglasses on and step outside. Take some deep breaths. Look at the sky. If it is bright, take note of that wondrous shade of blue, a shade that stimulates as it soothes simultaneously. If it is cloudy note the different colors in the clouds, so illusive at first glance. If it is gray and overcast, ponder how marvelous it is that something can be so dark and yet so full of light at the same time. Look at the trees. Watch a squirrel. Stretch.
12.Go take a walk. For fifteen minutes at least to a half an hour. But do not overwork yourself, especially if you are prone to fainting. A small grocery store and a dollar store are about a five minute walk from my house, so when I am one that walk, I stop there. If I remember something I need while I am there, I pick it up. Look, now you just got some exercise, and you got some shopping done. You probably needed toilet paper. Who doesn't need more celery and cucumbers? Milk! You can never have too much milk! While you are at the dollar store, look at the greeting card section. If you see something that catches your eye, buy it for a friend.
13. Stop and rest. Sit on a bench. Sit in the store if you need to. But don't push yourself too hard when you are already tired. Go at a steady relaxed pace. Avoid frenzied places like supermarkets and overly noisy places. For that matter, do not listen to any heavy metal, rap or any music that is angry, moody or sad. If a car zooms by spewing hatespeech or obscenities, cover your ears. Reject it in that very physical way.
14. Do a good deed. Do you know where the women's shelter is in your neighborhood? How about a food pantry. If it is not too far from your walk, go there and drop off some groceries that you just got from the store. If you need to, get your car. It takes almost no money and almost no effort. Heck, if it is walking distance, you do not even need to spend gas money. You just get a little more air in your lungs and stretch your legs a little further.
15. Go home and do another good deed.
Get a pen and a stamp. Write a message of encouragement on the card to a friend or an aquaintence or family member that you know is struggling too. Now put it in the mailbox. You just might brighten their day. And look, you just brightened yours!
16-Go look at your closet.
Pick out your outfit for tomorrow.
This will help you remember what you need to do. If you get sad thinking about it, get some more tea going, and another healthy snack. Pick something to wear that is comfortable that has a bit of color to make you smile.
17-Step into the laundry room.
Just one load, I promise. Just one load. Just pick the whites out of the hamper and wash them. You will need whites. If you don't have clean underwear to wear, you are going to be miserable, and our goal here is keep misery at bay! Now while that is in the wash...
18-Empty the dishwasher.
It is super easy. If you need to take a break while you are doing it, go ahead. If you need to turn on some cheery music while you are doing it, go ahead! Move your feet to the beat. Nobody is watching. Sing if you know the words. Keep drinking water. Shoot, I forgot to mention...
19-Drink at least eight glasses of water today. One glass when you wake up. Another after you have brushed your teeth and washed your face. Another after breakfast. Another after you have showered. One big one before your walk, another big one after your walk. That is six right there. You are almost there. Then there is after dinner and dishes doing. Dehydration is a big factor in daytime fatigue. You need to stay well lubricated ESPECIALLY if you have low energy. Also it will be good for your skin so your lovely face will greet you fresh in the morning. Keep emptying the dishwasher. Now are there any dishes in the sink. Put em in. The kitchen looks worlds better. Good for you! Do not worry about the rest. You can fix it tomorrow.
20. By now your day is ending, because your energy is spent and so is the daylight (because you did not have much to begin with and that is okay). So go to your room, get ready for bed (lather on night cream and hand cream and body butter and everything. It will make you look and feel so much better in the morning.) Now relax. If you are on your bed, let your muscels go all limp. Now breathe deeply, and with each breath you take, push away all negative thoughts. Exhale the negative, inhale the positive. Reject the negativity. As you breathe, focus on relaxing the muscles in your face...and then your neck, and your shoulders...and so on down...all the while breathing deeply and inhaling positive thoughts and pushing out the negatives with every exhale. Place all of your sorrows into the wounded side of Christ. He is carrying your cross with you. Now when you are relaxed at length, say to yourself, "Tomorrow is going to be a good day."
21-Pray one more time.
Dear God, I gave you my day today. Today I loved you as hard as I could. Help me to love you more every day and do a little more every day. I love you. Thank you for today. Thank you for my life.
There you go. Even if you can't do everything on this list yet on your low days, don't worry, you will. And you are not behind. One of the most important things to do is to not let perfectionism or our own ideas of what productivity is ruin our day. No "compare and despair" please! You did the job that God wanted you to do today. Today He wanted you to take care of yourself, and you did. You have had a productive day. The secret is not to panic. To trust in God. He has a plan. He knows what to do. You do not need to carry the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. You do not even have to carry your weight alone. God will carry it with you. Exercising trust, when it is emotionally very difficult, will make all of the difference between a good day and a bad day. God be with us all!
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Coffee Shop Joys
Yesterday, I resolved to do something nice for somebody, so I bought them a little present (scented soap in the shape of a rose, a little box of chocolates, two girly pens and vanilla orchid spa lotion mini kit, to be exact). Today, I thought I should do something nice for me too, so I stopped at my favorite little coffee shop for lunch on a beautiful autumn day in my home town.
I love this little place because it is privately owned and not a big chain coffee shop. I savored the moments as I wrote in my eco-friendly mauve journal, drinking my bourbon pecan coffee, sitting under a large black and white photograph of Audrey Hepburn, and listened to Adele on the radio, I felt supremely and delightfully spoiled.
It is amazing how taking a few moments out of a busy day to enjoy something beautiful can make the whole world seem better and life seem more steady. That I believe, is the real appeal of the coffee shop phenomenon. Of course, they are also a reactionary symptom of our post-modern, over-worked and under-meditated society. Putting that aside, though, there is something compelling about the notion of taking a few moments and just sit somewhere where the music is not blasting too loudly and people are speaking more quietly (because they are sitting more close to strangers in a small space). Maybe that is the real reason why we pay for the extra dollars and cents for our soy-milk lattes.
Sure, I could have fixed myself a cup of coffee at home. I make a lovely brew of coffee and I have Lactaid to go with it. I can listen to Adele at home, and I frequently do. There is even a lovely view from my kitchen window out into the peach and apple trees and herb garden outside. But if I had walked home and attempted to relax in my kitchen as I brewed myself a cup of coffee, I know what would have happened. I would have noticed a dirty dish in the sink and washed it, or gone upstairs to do my laundry or tidy my room, then I would have gotten distracted by something online, and forgoten about the coffee. After I had tidied up and attempted to sit down again, I would have thought to myself, "There is still time to work out and shower before my Shakespeare pupils arrive!" and set off into belly-dancing heaven. But belly-dancing heaven is a very different heaven from the coffee shop heaven I experienced around lunchtime. I would not have taken the time to enjoy my lunch because I would not have been setting the time aside to go and do just that. I am so glad that I went. Even though I was tempted several times to text my boyfriend, to share my pleasures with him, I am very glad I did not bring my phone or netbook with me. The best way to savor a coffee shop experience is without any other distractions. Because even though I was not sitting in silence, my soul sipped something that tasted almost like silence and quenched a little of its thirst for it. It is those delicious, fleeting moments of mundane yet unearthly pleasure that drive my imagination and nurture my soul. It is that which reminds me of all the things that I have to be grateful for; like my ability to see the cold beauty of an October morning, or smell coffee, or taste some soothing, hot bisque, or hear music.
Today I am more disposed to thank God for the gift that is my life than I would have been had I not stopped walking, gone into the shop and sat down to think. So thank you, God, for life. And everyone else, go sit down for a few minutes, or a half an hour, and pour yourself some good coffee.
I love this little place because it is privately owned and not a big chain coffee shop. I savored the moments as I wrote in my eco-friendly mauve journal, drinking my bourbon pecan coffee, sitting under a large black and white photograph of Audrey Hepburn, and listened to Adele on the radio, I felt supremely and delightfully spoiled.
It is amazing how taking a few moments out of a busy day to enjoy something beautiful can make the whole world seem better and life seem more steady. That I believe, is the real appeal of the coffee shop phenomenon. Of course, they are also a reactionary symptom of our post-modern, over-worked and under-meditated society. Putting that aside, though, there is something compelling about the notion of taking a few moments and just sit somewhere where the music is not blasting too loudly and people are speaking more quietly (because they are sitting more close to strangers in a small space). Maybe that is the real reason why we pay for the extra dollars and cents for our soy-milk lattes.
Sure, I could have fixed myself a cup of coffee at home. I make a lovely brew of coffee and I have Lactaid to go with it. I can listen to Adele at home, and I frequently do. There is even a lovely view from my kitchen window out into the peach and apple trees and herb garden outside. But if I had walked home and attempted to relax in my kitchen as I brewed myself a cup of coffee, I know what would have happened. I would have noticed a dirty dish in the sink and washed it, or gone upstairs to do my laundry or tidy my room, then I would have gotten distracted by something online, and forgoten about the coffee. After I had tidied up and attempted to sit down again, I would have thought to myself, "There is still time to work out and shower before my Shakespeare pupils arrive!" and set off into belly-dancing heaven. But belly-dancing heaven is a very different heaven from the coffee shop heaven I experienced around lunchtime. I would not have taken the time to enjoy my lunch because I would not have been setting the time aside to go and do just that. I am so glad that I went. Even though I was tempted several times to text my boyfriend, to share my pleasures with him, I am very glad I did not bring my phone or netbook with me. The best way to savor a coffee shop experience is without any other distractions. Because even though I was not sitting in silence, my soul sipped something that tasted almost like silence and quenched a little of its thirst for it. It is those delicious, fleeting moments of mundane yet unearthly pleasure that drive my imagination and nurture my soul. It is that which reminds me of all the things that I have to be grateful for; like my ability to see the cold beauty of an October morning, or smell coffee, or taste some soothing, hot bisque, or hear music.
Today I am more disposed to thank God for the gift that is my life than I would have been had I not stopped walking, gone into the shop and sat down to think. So thank you, God, for life. And everyone else, go sit down for a few minutes, or a half an hour, and pour yourself some good coffee.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Weariness, Burdens and Hunger
"Come to me, all you who labor and are heavily burdened, and I will give you rest. Come, oh blessed of my Father! For I was hungry, and you gave me food."
"I am the Bread of Life...He who eats of this bread shall not hunger."
"Let the little children come to me, the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."
"By His wounds we are healed."
It occurs to me that in the Scriptures, and in particular, the New Testament, God the Son frequently refers to us as desperately in need of Him. He calls us "weary", "burdened" and "hungry" and tells us that He can give us rest, refresh us, comfort us, strengthen us or feed us.
To somebody like me...to all people who are like me...and there are many, many, more than I wish that there were...this is a source of acute confusion and profound consolation.
To those who read this, who are like me, you know who we are.
We are children.
We are weary.
We are burdened.
We are wounded.
We are hungry.
In this society, in this country, in this century...these are not welcome things to be. In the land of independence, we seem to have forgotten what to do with children. We alternate between wanting to prolong their adolescence and wanting them to "grow up" prematurely. That is, when they are allowed to live at all. And they not always are. Health has become a bit of an obsession in our age, like most things we have found that are natural goods. It has reached the point where the sick man is nearly as intolerable as the disease.
In an age where there is such a fixation with violence, there is a contradictory fear of human passion and human suffering or of having to truly enter into that mystery with a person. And in the United States especially, "the land of plenty", who would have thought that one could be so hungry? There is food everywhere! Yet there is hunger. I know.
I do not remember at what point in my childhood it all began. I was so young when that blinding, breaking, unnatural hunger started knawing at me. My mother used to jokingly say, "The first time I held you after you were born, you looked me right in the eye with this look that said, 'I know who you are, and it's time to eat!"
I was born fat.
I was long overdue, after all. The umbilical cord nearly strangled me.
I had to be cut out of my mother's body, weighing at nearly ten pounds.
My aunts looked at me and warned my mother, "Christina! She is such a HUGE baby! I can barely lift her up, and she is an infant! So dense! She weighs even heavier than she looks! You will have to be careful of her! So she will be more normal looking when she grows!"
My mother would nod nervously or sniff defensively depending upon how confident she felt each particular family reunion of her ability to dutifully cure me of my "density".
Maybe it started when she started cutting down my portion sizes. She would dutifully give me a portion each meal, half the size of those being given my younger siblings and informed me that it needed to be done because "I had a slower metabolism". I was perhaps the only four year old on my block who could say "slow metabolism." When that did not seem to give her the results she desired she started givin me smaller portions of desserts, and less frequent sweets. Not my younger siblings. They could eat as much as they wanted. One by one, ten children came after me. And no matter what age I was, it never had to be explained why Maria had to eat less or why Maria could not have a cookie. Maybe that was one of the reasons why it happened, maybe seeing my siblings eat so much of all the foods that I craved that were denied me, and having them leave the table satisfied, while I still felt hungry, made me even hungrier. Or maybe it was how she kept telling me that I needed to lose weight and be thinner and kept telling me to eat less so I would be "slender and graceful". "Don't you want to grow up to be beautiful? You will be so unhappy if you grow up to be ugly and fat!"
But I don't think that that was it by itself. It made me hungrier, but I think it all started the day I first saw my father scream at and hit my Mom and call her a bitch.
That might have been how it started.
Then it all got worse. Everything got worse.
"Don't grow up to be a stupid bitch like your mother. Grow up to be a smart, obedient woman!"
"Don't ever marry a man like your father! I will disown you! You are not my daughter if you marry a bum like him!"
"Don't eat that cookie, Maria, it will make you fat! No man will love you if you are fat!"
"You will grow up to be beautiful, so long as you work hard to maintain your beauty."
"Your mother is a fat, stupid, ugly bitch! She is not loveable. You have to be loveable for people to love you. Do not be like her."
"Is that a double chin! Oh no! It is not beautiful!"
"I guess God gave you that nose to keep you humble."
"You inherited your mother's ugly chin. But the rest of you is beautiful, even if you are a little overweight."
"Turn around and let me look at you! Hold still and let me see!...Yes...you will need to work on that. If you were just a little thinner...you would be beautiful."
Looking back at old photos of my childhood I am always surprised to see how slender I actually was. I was not skinny, but I was certainly not a chubby child between the ages of 4-14. I thought that I was though. I was informed nearly daily that I was. Children believe about themselves what you say. It is part of the responsibility of parenting. In time, I learned to stop complaining about how hungry I felt all the time.
Emotional eating is one of the most common symptoms of child abuse. The other most common symptom is bed-wetting. My mother saw that most of my ten younger siblings wet the bed. But I never did. I guess she mistakenly thought that it was because I was not afraid, like the rest of the children. Because she never "had to spank me, such a good girl" and my father "did not hit me very often".
He did not as often as he did the others. It was true. He did not beat me mercilessly with that huge handmade plywood paddle or whip me until I got welts on my back with belts and rubber sticks. He did that to his sons mostly, after they turned six or seven. Instead he made me watch. I can still hear their pleas. I can still hear the howls or pain. I can hear my father's screams of rage as clearly as though it were yesterday and I don't think anyone in that neighborhood was ever able to forget that sound. But he did not beat me that way. Because I was "the good child". I used to wish that he would. So it would take away the guilt of not having shared the pain.
But I still had to be "the good child". Nobody loves what is not loveable. Both of my parents told me, at separate instances, between the time that I was seven and ten, that they had nearly left. That they had almost left that good for nothing forever. But that they had stayed because they 'remembered my sweet little face."
It was a very big responsibility for a child of seven or a child of ten. I took my burden very seriously, for you see, I loved my parents.
I loved them so much. I wanted to be with them. I wanted to obey them because I wanted to please them. I wanted to make them happy. They were so unhappy.Poor Dada! Poor Mama! So angry. Had I done something wrong? Was it my fault? Hadn't I done a good job?
Yes, it was my fault. That was made clear to me too.
If she had screamed at me and called me names, it was because I had deserved them.
If he screamed at me and slapped my little face it was because I had not been paying close enough attention for the sound of his voice.
The babies kept coming. We got poorer.
I got busier and busier.
Around the age of nine is when I remember the weariness coming upon me.
The fatigue, the constant ceasless work and the exhaustion. My quest for sanctity became inexorably tied to my struggle for absolute perfection in everything.
Washing, drying, folding laundry. So much, so much laundry.
Endless dishwashing. Cooking, scrubbing floors, changing diapers, wiping noses and bottoms. Dusting, moving furniture, teaching children, studying. There was so much food to cook, so many mouths to feed. Except mine. I was still so hungry! When I reached the age of fifteen I encountered a few more problems.
"Maria, you have really hit a growth spurt!" My mother said, "I need to put you on a stricter diet. We will take long walks every day...and here are some weights to lift. Try to do at least a hundred sit-ups every day! Don't you want to be beautiful?"
My father started appraising me and saying, "You are growing into quite a voluptuous young woman. You have such soft arms and such big,beautiful breasts...What is wrong with you? Can't you take a compliment? Come sit on my lap for a minute! Haha! Silly girl!Fine, you don't want to sit on my lap, go be a recluse up in your room as usual! You are turning into such a rebellious teenager!"
My mother was afraid of the traits that my father made me ashamed of, thus confirming that I should be ashamed of it. "Have you ever considered breast reduction surgery?"
"Where a bulkier sweater! Your chest is too big!"
"Wear skirts, you do not want to draw any more attention to your butt!"
"That dress is indecent, you immodest girl! Have you no sense!? Wear dresses that hide your shape. You are disproportionate anyway!"
"I should have beaten you more when you were a kid! Then you would not give me that silent face! That look you give me! You don't say anything! But I know what you are thinking, you evil, proud, rebellious girl! Go ahead and keep smearing that paint on your face! All the makeup in the world will not cover up your ugly soul!"
Now the burden of guilt was greater than ever, growing like cancers in my psyche like my hunger, my desire for love, my terror of abandonment and my weariness. By the time I was fifteen I began to pray regularly for death. At the age of sixteen I tried to run away from home to join a convent. (Needless to say, the sisters made me come back.) At the age of seventeen my growing strengths and mind were noticing more than ever the inconsistencies and untruths that infested my life and the lives my parents lived. I had always known that they were not always right, and told myself to depend upon God more than them. But at the age of seventeen, it reached a pitch. My parents did not know who I was, and I was determined to leave it that way. I left for college.
College is too much to sum up, but I will try.
College is where I learned the full meaning of the terms "divorce", "annullment", "assualt and battery", "child abuse", "truama" and "emotional binge eating". The college years were very eventful and my parents were very active in trying to exert control over my life. Only now it was Dad trying to buy my love and not me trying to earn his. My mother also taught me the full meaning of the words "delusional" "nuerotic" and "verbal cruelty".
Most Freshmen gain fifteen pounds. I gained at least twenty. And I did not lose it. Most victims of abuse, no matter how bright, suffer academically through loss of sleep, inability to concentrate and emotional baggage. Many do not survive college. I failed out of one college. Had to live some months with my mother. She brought my self esteem low enough to ensure that when by the time a transferred as a sophmore to another college, I gained a sophmore fifteen. In college, I learned that I was strange. I learned that I was afraid. The hunger and weariness were my constant companions whatever friends or admirers came and went. I learned new levels of loneliness. It is a miracle I graduated. Also, several undiagnosed food allergies help speed up my weight gain even after my binge eating desisted.
I did.
I was lucky.
And I was ill. I had still not been properly treated. I had recieved some brief counseling from a series of well-meaing, but clueless, damaging people.
I was hesitant to reveal my burdens to healers even though discovery was inevitable. In some places I was met with a kind of morbid fascination, like one has when one meets a very exotic, ugly new animal. In others I was met with horror and accused of hatred and unnatural, prideful attitudes. Which is very strange, because I have never hated anybody in my life. The pain would be less if I could. In still other places I was met with a kind of piteous contempt. In most places the response was well-meaning, useless, clueless "sympathy". And, miraculously, in one place or two, I did meet people who seemed to understand and empathize.
This is why I must write this. Because of the paucity and the value of those genuinely kindly people who cared about me when my own parents did not.
I must raise awareness so that you who read do not duplicate those cold looks I have recieved or say those cutting words to one who already prays for death.
I have graduated from college and have attempted with limited success to heal and go on working a fighting for life. I have cut off ties from both parents, who are still blindly intent upon hurting me and others. I have lived to see some of my abused siblings become abusive and have had to escape them too.
But I have made friends along the way. Though in my moments of darkness, I forget. They do not live near me now. I was always privately afraid of becoming a burden to them. I have, after all, been a burdensome thing if my parents are to be believed.
I am still tired.
I am still hungry.
I am still wounded.
I am still afraid.
In the years following college, my eating habits became healthier. I did not binge eat anymore, but damage to my body image had been done.
I was now a "larger woman".
In this society, that is code for "a person that you can be rude toward because they are too stupid and lazy to do anything about it. Because if they are fat, they MUST be stupid or lazy, obviously."
In this society "fat" is synonymous with "unloveable".
"Nobody will love you if you are fat".
Nobody
Nobody
Nobody will love you
From the ages of eight to seventeen I had dieted constantly. Between the ages of eighteen and 21 I was an emotional binge eater. Thus at age 22, size 16, my old enemy, hunger, took on a new form. I began to willfully starve myself.
You see, I had it in my head that I did not deserve to eat. I was too ugly and fat to eat too much. I ate normally and heartily around my friends of course. One meal a day. One good sized meal. They did not even suspect. I was too fat. Besides, maybe even some of my close friends had gotten a little too used to seeing me unwell. At times I fought this self-destruction, told myself I was not that fat, that I should not want to be thin just because a misogynist society said that I was supposed to look a certain way. That it was not going to make me happy, that I should not buy into a false notion of self-worth based upon "beauty", "productivity" and "sucess". That I should not desire to be seen as a good toy as opposed to a bad toy, when I was not a toy at all.
I told myself all those things, and tried to crawl out of the grave I had dug for myself.
Some days were high and others were low.
Some days I would know that I was good and valued and beautiful and loved.
Then other days, one of my friends would invite to give one more person a ride, and tell me to move to the front seat. "So that there would be more room. We can fit four in the back seat that way, if you are in the front".
I would not eat for days after one good comment like that.
My combination of depression, the inactivity that usually accompanies it, lask of enough employment, and my mistreatment of myself resulted in me going up to a size 20.
Now at the age of 26, events were happening to bring about a renewed desire to die, deeper depression, and heavier weariness.
Now the weariness reached a head. I found work and worked physically very hard again. And now I ate less than ever. But now I had found a counselor and was seeking help.
"Maria, have you ever heard of Borderline Personality Disorder? It is characterized by an unstable sense of self, usually an unstable sense of self worth, and self-image. The usual symptoms include...
Desparate attempts to avoid real or imagined abandonment...
Sometimes binge eating...sometimes eating disorders and starvation...
Depression and extreme anxiety are also two common symptoms...You say you always suffer guilt and you don't know what it is that you have done. That you see yourself as a bad person even though all your friends say that you are good. That you hate yourself when your friends love you. That you would rather die than be "fat" again. That you do not like to be looked at because you are afraid of scrutiny and judgement. "
"Are you saying that I have a mental illness?"
"I am saying that you have been hurt. You have been terribly, horribly hurt and you did not do anything to deserve it. You need to see yourself as loveable and worth while and good. I think you have been fighting for that truth all of your life, but you have been hurt, never healed, and now your wounds are starting to cripple you. Maria, you ate nothing but one banana, two slices of lunchmeat and a handful of spinach today. This is how you have been eating for a while now. This month alone, you lost ten pounds. The month before that, you went down two sizes. When you first moved to this town eight months ago, you were a size 20, now you are a size 10." my counselor says!
"People tell me that I look better now. They treat me like I am a better person. Like I am smarter, healthier, faster, stronger and more beautiful."
"But you were healthier before, when you were eating better!" My boyfriend exclaims, "You were always ALWAYS beautiful! You were always strong, always smart! If some people did not always see that, that was their loss! You are NOT more beautiful now! You can't make yourself more beautiful than you already are! You are the most beautiful woman in the world! You need to eat. You deserve to eat. Please eat!"
All of my short and long life has been a battle, and I am starting to see that the battle for my life is just begun. Some days I win it, and some days I lose it. Some days I know that God is fighting with me and loves me and created me for a purpose. Other days the darkness closes in upon me and I cry out to God begging him to let me die and asking Him why He ever created such a worthless person.
This is not an easy story to share. But I had an idea that maybe it would be cathartic to a degree and that maybe it could help somebody to understand what this kind of struggle is like. Or if they already know it by experience (God forbid) to be encouraged to seek help for themselves. To not give up the battle for their lives. There is a loving God in heaven. Nobdoy had to tell me that demons existed. That I knew. The single most difficult thing for me to accept in Christianity is that God loves us. Or more to the point, that God loves me. Not only that, that God would become MAN for US. For ME.
First, he let himself become a vulnerable little child, just like us.
Then he grew up, and made friends who did not understand Him and enemies that He did not deserve.
Then He let Himself get beaten, crowned with thorns, nailed to a cross and peirced in the heart with a lance. He gave His life to save us. And He said, "Father, Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
"Maria, you MUST forgive!"
"But I did forgive me parents! I have forgiven them! It hurts me that I cannot be with them because they will try to hurt me again!"
"No, no. I meant yourself. You have to forgive yourself. You blame yourself for wrongs that you never did. And you need to let go of that guilt. God does not blame you. He does not look at you and say, "Evil girl!" He sees you and knows you, and loves you. Forgive yourself."
"I will try. I will. I must."
"You must believe!" cries another friend.
Today I choose to believe.
"I am the Bread of Life...He who eats of this bread shall not hunger."
"Let the little children come to me, the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."
"By His wounds we are healed."
It occurs to me that in the Scriptures, and in particular, the New Testament, God the Son frequently refers to us as desperately in need of Him. He calls us "weary", "burdened" and "hungry" and tells us that He can give us rest, refresh us, comfort us, strengthen us or feed us.
To somebody like me...to all people who are like me...and there are many, many, more than I wish that there were...this is a source of acute confusion and profound consolation.
To those who read this, who are like me, you know who we are.
We are children.
We are weary.
We are burdened.
We are wounded.
We are hungry.
In this society, in this country, in this century...these are not welcome things to be. In the land of independence, we seem to have forgotten what to do with children. We alternate between wanting to prolong their adolescence and wanting them to "grow up" prematurely. That is, when they are allowed to live at all. And they not always are. Health has become a bit of an obsession in our age, like most things we have found that are natural goods. It has reached the point where the sick man is nearly as intolerable as the disease.
In an age where there is such a fixation with violence, there is a contradictory fear of human passion and human suffering or of having to truly enter into that mystery with a person. And in the United States especially, "the land of plenty", who would have thought that one could be so hungry? There is food everywhere! Yet there is hunger. I know.
I do not remember at what point in my childhood it all began. I was so young when that blinding, breaking, unnatural hunger started knawing at me. My mother used to jokingly say, "The first time I held you after you were born, you looked me right in the eye with this look that said, 'I know who you are, and it's time to eat!"
I was born fat.
I was long overdue, after all. The umbilical cord nearly strangled me.
I had to be cut out of my mother's body, weighing at nearly ten pounds.
My aunts looked at me and warned my mother, "Christina! She is such a HUGE baby! I can barely lift her up, and she is an infant! So dense! She weighs even heavier than she looks! You will have to be careful of her! So she will be more normal looking when she grows!"
My mother would nod nervously or sniff defensively depending upon how confident she felt each particular family reunion of her ability to dutifully cure me of my "density".
Maybe it started when she started cutting down my portion sizes. She would dutifully give me a portion each meal, half the size of those being given my younger siblings and informed me that it needed to be done because "I had a slower metabolism". I was perhaps the only four year old on my block who could say "slow metabolism." When that did not seem to give her the results she desired she started givin me smaller portions of desserts, and less frequent sweets. Not my younger siblings. They could eat as much as they wanted. One by one, ten children came after me. And no matter what age I was, it never had to be explained why Maria had to eat less or why Maria could not have a cookie. Maybe that was one of the reasons why it happened, maybe seeing my siblings eat so much of all the foods that I craved that were denied me, and having them leave the table satisfied, while I still felt hungry, made me even hungrier. Or maybe it was how she kept telling me that I needed to lose weight and be thinner and kept telling me to eat less so I would be "slender and graceful". "Don't you want to grow up to be beautiful? You will be so unhappy if you grow up to be ugly and fat!"
But I don't think that that was it by itself. It made me hungrier, but I think it all started the day I first saw my father scream at and hit my Mom and call her a bitch.
That might have been how it started.
Then it all got worse. Everything got worse.
"Don't grow up to be a stupid bitch like your mother. Grow up to be a smart, obedient woman!"
"Don't ever marry a man like your father! I will disown you! You are not my daughter if you marry a bum like him!"
"Don't eat that cookie, Maria, it will make you fat! No man will love you if you are fat!"
"You will grow up to be beautiful, so long as you work hard to maintain your beauty."
"Your mother is a fat, stupid, ugly bitch! She is not loveable. You have to be loveable for people to love you. Do not be like her."
"Is that a double chin! Oh no! It is not beautiful!"
"I guess God gave you that nose to keep you humble."
"You inherited your mother's ugly chin. But the rest of you is beautiful, even if you are a little overweight."
"Turn around and let me look at you! Hold still and let me see!...Yes...you will need to work on that. If you were just a little thinner...you would be beautiful."
Looking back at old photos of my childhood I am always surprised to see how slender I actually was. I was not skinny, but I was certainly not a chubby child between the ages of 4-14. I thought that I was though. I was informed nearly daily that I was. Children believe about themselves what you say. It is part of the responsibility of parenting. In time, I learned to stop complaining about how hungry I felt all the time.
Emotional eating is one of the most common symptoms of child abuse. The other most common symptom is bed-wetting. My mother saw that most of my ten younger siblings wet the bed. But I never did. I guess she mistakenly thought that it was because I was not afraid, like the rest of the children. Because she never "had to spank me, such a good girl" and my father "did not hit me very often".
He did not as often as he did the others. It was true. He did not beat me mercilessly with that huge handmade plywood paddle or whip me until I got welts on my back with belts and rubber sticks. He did that to his sons mostly, after they turned six or seven. Instead he made me watch. I can still hear their pleas. I can still hear the howls or pain. I can hear my father's screams of rage as clearly as though it were yesterday and I don't think anyone in that neighborhood was ever able to forget that sound. But he did not beat me that way. Because I was "the good child". I used to wish that he would. So it would take away the guilt of not having shared the pain.
But I still had to be "the good child". Nobody loves what is not loveable. Both of my parents told me, at separate instances, between the time that I was seven and ten, that they had nearly left. That they had almost left that good for nothing forever. But that they had stayed because they 'remembered my sweet little face."
It was a very big responsibility for a child of seven or a child of ten. I took my burden very seriously, for you see, I loved my parents.
I loved them so much. I wanted to be with them. I wanted to obey them because I wanted to please them. I wanted to make them happy. They were so unhappy.Poor Dada! Poor Mama! So angry. Had I done something wrong? Was it my fault? Hadn't I done a good job?
Yes, it was my fault. That was made clear to me too.
If she had screamed at me and called me names, it was because I had deserved them.
If he screamed at me and slapped my little face it was because I had not been paying close enough attention for the sound of his voice.
The babies kept coming. We got poorer.
I got busier and busier.
Around the age of nine is when I remember the weariness coming upon me.
The fatigue, the constant ceasless work and the exhaustion. My quest for sanctity became inexorably tied to my struggle for absolute perfection in everything.
Washing, drying, folding laundry. So much, so much laundry.
Endless dishwashing. Cooking, scrubbing floors, changing diapers, wiping noses and bottoms. Dusting, moving furniture, teaching children, studying. There was so much food to cook, so many mouths to feed. Except mine. I was still so hungry! When I reached the age of fifteen I encountered a few more problems.
"Maria, you have really hit a growth spurt!" My mother said, "I need to put you on a stricter diet. We will take long walks every day...and here are some weights to lift. Try to do at least a hundred sit-ups every day! Don't you want to be beautiful?"
My father started appraising me and saying, "You are growing into quite a voluptuous young woman. You have such soft arms and such big,beautiful breasts...What is wrong with you? Can't you take a compliment? Come sit on my lap for a minute! Haha! Silly girl!Fine, you don't want to sit on my lap, go be a recluse up in your room as usual! You are turning into such a rebellious teenager!"
My mother was afraid of the traits that my father made me ashamed of, thus confirming that I should be ashamed of it. "Have you ever considered breast reduction surgery?"
"Where a bulkier sweater! Your chest is too big!"
"Wear skirts, you do not want to draw any more attention to your butt!"
"That dress is indecent, you immodest girl! Have you no sense!? Wear dresses that hide your shape. You are disproportionate anyway!"
"I should have beaten you more when you were a kid! Then you would not give me that silent face! That look you give me! You don't say anything! But I know what you are thinking, you evil, proud, rebellious girl! Go ahead and keep smearing that paint on your face! All the makeup in the world will not cover up your ugly soul!"
Now the burden of guilt was greater than ever, growing like cancers in my psyche like my hunger, my desire for love, my terror of abandonment and my weariness. By the time I was fifteen I began to pray regularly for death. At the age of sixteen I tried to run away from home to join a convent. (Needless to say, the sisters made me come back.) At the age of seventeen my growing strengths and mind were noticing more than ever the inconsistencies and untruths that infested my life and the lives my parents lived. I had always known that they were not always right, and told myself to depend upon God more than them. But at the age of seventeen, it reached a pitch. My parents did not know who I was, and I was determined to leave it that way. I left for college.
College is too much to sum up, but I will try.
College is where I learned the full meaning of the terms "divorce", "annullment", "assualt and battery", "child abuse", "truama" and "emotional binge eating". The college years were very eventful and my parents were very active in trying to exert control over my life. Only now it was Dad trying to buy my love and not me trying to earn his. My mother also taught me the full meaning of the words "delusional" "nuerotic" and "verbal cruelty".
Most Freshmen gain fifteen pounds. I gained at least twenty. And I did not lose it. Most victims of abuse, no matter how bright, suffer academically through loss of sleep, inability to concentrate and emotional baggage. Many do not survive college. I failed out of one college. Had to live some months with my mother. She brought my self esteem low enough to ensure that when by the time a transferred as a sophmore to another college, I gained a sophmore fifteen. In college, I learned that I was strange. I learned that I was afraid. The hunger and weariness were my constant companions whatever friends or admirers came and went. I learned new levels of loneliness. It is a miracle I graduated. Also, several undiagnosed food allergies help speed up my weight gain even after my binge eating desisted.
I did.
I was lucky.
And I was ill. I had still not been properly treated. I had recieved some brief counseling from a series of well-meaing, but clueless, damaging people.
I was hesitant to reveal my burdens to healers even though discovery was inevitable. In some places I was met with a kind of morbid fascination, like one has when one meets a very exotic, ugly new animal. In others I was met with horror and accused of hatred and unnatural, prideful attitudes. Which is very strange, because I have never hated anybody in my life. The pain would be less if I could. In still other places I was met with a kind of piteous contempt. In most places the response was well-meaning, useless, clueless "sympathy". And, miraculously, in one place or two, I did meet people who seemed to understand and empathize.
This is why I must write this. Because of the paucity and the value of those genuinely kindly people who cared about me when my own parents did not.
I must raise awareness so that you who read do not duplicate those cold looks I have recieved or say those cutting words to one who already prays for death.
I have graduated from college and have attempted with limited success to heal and go on working a fighting for life. I have cut off ties from both parents, who are still blindly intent upon hurting me and others. I have lived to see some of my abused siblings become abusive and have had to escape them too.
But I have made friends along the way. Though in my moments of darkness, I forget. They do not live near me now. I was always privately afraid of becoming a burden to them. I have, after all, been a burdensome thing if my parents are to be believed.
I am still tired.
I am still hungry.
I am still wounded.
I am still afraid.
In the years following college, my eating habits became healthier. I did not binge eat anymore, but damage to my body image had been done.
I was now a "larger woman".
In this society, that is code for "a person that you can be rude toward because they are too stupid and lazy to do anything about it. Because if they are fat, they MUST be stupid or lazy, obviously."
In this society "fat" is synonymous with "unloveable".
"Nobody will love you if you are fat".
Nobody
Nobody
Nobody will love you
From the ages of eight to seventeen I had dieted constantly. Between the ages of eighteen and 21 I was an emotional binge eater. Thus at age 22, size 16, my old enemy, hunger, took on a new form. I began to willfully starve myself.
You see, I had it in my head that I did not deserve to eat. I was too ugly and fat to eat too much. I ate normally and heartily around my friends of course. One meal a day. One good sized meal. They did not even suspect. I was too fat. Besides, maybe even some of my close friends had gotten a little too used to seeing me unwell. At times I fought this self-destruction, told myself I was not that fat, that I should not want to be thin just because a misogynist society said that I was supposed to look a certain way. That it was not going to make me happy, that I should not buy into a false notion of self-worth based upon "beauty", "productivity" and "sucess". That I should not desire to be seen as a good toy as opposed to a bad toy, when I was not a toy at all.
I told myself all those things, and tried to crawl out of the grave I had dug for myself.
Some days were high and others were low.
Some days I would know that I was good and valued and beautiful and loved.
Then other days, one of my friends would invite to give one more person a ride, and tell me to move to the front seat. "So that there would be more room. We can fit four in the back seat that way, if you are in the front".
I would not eat for days after one good comment like that.
My combination of depression, the inactivity that usually accompanies it, lask of enough employment, and my mistreatment of myself resulted in me going up to a size 20.
Now at the age of 26, events were happening to bring about a renewed desire to die, deeper depression, and heavier weariness.
Now the weariness reached a head. I found work and worked physically very hard again. And now I ate less than ever. But now I had found a counselor and was seeking help.
"Maria, have you ever heard of Borderline Personality Disorder? It is characterized by an unstable sense of self, usually an unstable sense of self worth, and self-image. The usual symptoms include...
Desparate attempts to avoid real or imagined abandonment...
Sometimes binge eating...sometimes eating disorders and starvation...
Depression and extreme anxiety are also two common symptoms...You say you always suffer guilt and you don't know what it is that you have done. That you see yourself as a bad person even though all your friends say that you are good. That you hate yourself when your friends love you. That you would rather die than be "fat" again. That you do not like to be looked at because you are afraid of scrutiny and judgement. "
"Are you saying that I have a mental illness?"
"I am saying that you have been hurt. You have been terribly, horribly hurt and you did not do anything to deserve it. You need to see yourself as loveable and worth while and good. I think you have been fighting for that truth all of your life, but you have been hurt, never healed, and now your wounds are starting to cripple you. Maria, you ate nothing but one banana, two slices of lunchmeat and a handful of spinach today. This is how you have been eating for a while now. This month alone, you lost ten pounds. The month before that, you went down two sizes. When you first moved to this town eight months ago, you were a size 20, now you are a size 10." my counselor says!
"People tell me that I look better now. They treat me like I am a better person. Like I am smarter, healthier, faster, stronger and more beautiful."
"But you were healthier before, when you were eating better!" My boyfriend exclaims, "You were always ALWAYS beautiful! You were always strong, always smart! If some people did not always see that, that was their loss! You are NOT more beautiful now! You can't make yourself more beautiful than you already are! You are the most beautiful woman in the world! You need to eat. You deserve to eat. Please eat!"
All of my short and long life has been a battle, and I am starting to see that the battle for my life is just begun. Some days I win it, and some days I lose it. Some days I know that God is fighting with me and loves me and created me for a purpose. Other days the darkness closes in upon me and I cry out to God begging him to let me die and asking Him why He ever created such a worthless person.
This is not an easy story to share. But I had an idea that maybe it would be cathartic to a degree and that maybe it could help somebody to understand what this kind of struggle is like. Or if they already know it by experience (God forbid) to be encouraged to seek help for themselves. To not give up the battle for their lives. There is a loving God in heaven. Nobdoy had to tell me that demons existed. That I knew. The single most difficult thing for me to accept in Christianity is that God loves us. Or more to the point, that God loves me. Not only that, that God would become MAN for US. For ME.
First, he let himself become a vulnerable little child, just like us.
Then he grew up, and made friends who did not understand Him and enemies that He did not deserve.
Then He let Himself get beaten, crowned with thorns, nailed to a cross and peirced in the heart with a lance. He gave His life to save us. And He said, "Father, Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
"Maria, you MUST forgive!"
"But I did forgive me parents! I have forgiven them! It hurts me that I cannot be with them because they will try to hurt me again!"
"No, no. I meant yourself. You have to forgive yourself. You blame yourself for wrongs that you never did. And you need to let go of that guilt. God does not blame you. He does not look at you and say, "Evil girl!" He sees you and knows you, and loves you. Forgive yourself."
"I will try. I will. I must."
"You must believe!" cries another friend.
Today I choose to believe.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
How To Lose Four Dress Sizes In Three Months
Directions
1-Hate yourself.
2-Convince yourself that you are fat and ugly.
3-Be surrounded by a society obsessed with semi-emaciation. Live in a culture where it is assumed, for instance, that all women want to drop four sizes in three months.
4-Work very hard on a job that keeps you on your feet for eight hour shifts, and walk two miles there and back home every day to get to said job. Then when you get home, do some more walking to get to the church, the bank, the library. Then go home and do some crunches.
5-Be unhappy and stressed out, that clouds your better judgement.
6-Have very little money with which to buy food.
7-Become so ashamed of your financial state, that you are half convinced that you don't deserve to eat.
8-Live far away from friends who will talk any sense into you or even notice that you are not eating properly.
9-(And this is the key one) Do not eat.
If you do eat something, make sure it is only one small meal a day. Like one veggie wrap, or one salad, or one yogurt. No meat, no cheese, no salt, no butter, no soda, no alchohol, very limited starches. No fat, basically, very little carbs...very little protein...I guess very little anything and everything...No chips, no crackers, no sweets of any kind. Nothing with preservatives in it. Nothing with natural and artificial flavors in it. Nothing high in calories...pretty much nothing processed. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so skip it and drink coffee instead. The caffiene will stimulate the brain and give you a buzz so that your body will be temporarily distracted that you have not fed it. Coffee dulls hunger too, and if you drink lots of it, it will fool your body into thinking that it does not want food for HOURS. Only put a little skim milk in the coffee (FOR HEAVEN's SAKE, NO CREAM OR SUGAR!)
10-Drink tons of water. At least a dozen glasses a day. This is a distortion of something that is actually a good diet tip. If you drink a healthy amount of water, your body will not think that it is hungry when it is really just dehydrated. If you drink tons of water, it will flush everything out of your system, fool you for thirty more minutes into thinking that you dont need to eat, and keep you from passing out from light-headedness.
11-If you wake up at two in the morning, ravenous, because you have not eaten in twelve hours, instead of eating, get up and exercise. You will exhaust yourself to such an extent that you will force your body to collapse even though it is screaming at you for you to feed it.
12-Guilt yourself over everything you eat. That way, if you ever cave and eat (gasp) two meals in one day, or something with eggs or cheese in it...you will renew your efforts to never eat eggs or cheese or anything with fat in it ever again.
This will continue the cycle of guilt, shame and hunger, always, always hunger.
But hey, you might lose that accursed, hateful, hideous, loathesome body mass. You might look smaller. One day you will wake up and find that none of your clothes fit you. You will go test yourself and find that you have shrunk at a rate of more than one size per month. Then if people compliment you that you look better this way, that you are now closer to being beautiful and respectable than you were before...well then...why stop?
If people think you're so inspirational, why dissappoint them? Who knows, by Easter, you might even make it down to size ten. If people think that it is a subject of rejoicing that you shrank this much, whoa, you must have been a cow before the shrinkage!
So now you know the "inspirational" story about how I changed in only three months from being a "larger" woman to just a large woman. Is this the example you wanted? Not what you expected? Well what DID you expect? How else do you think this happens? The only other methods for this drastic change in this short a time are weight-loss drugs, lyposuction, and chronic smoking problems. But hey? At least you are thin? Right? Or thinner?
Alright, maybe this is not the healthiest way to live. But it never really was about health, was it?
Do not kid yourselves. It was about a dress size. It was about appearances.
The title of the note that you are reading is similar to an ad that you will find in any newspaper. "Lose weight faster!" "Drop twenty pounds in 30 days!" "It will make you look better!" "It will make you more desirable!" "It will turn you into a beauty queen" "Burn calories and melt fat faster! Faster! Faster!" "It will make you feel better about yourself!" "It will improve your date prospects" "It will improve your sex life".
The title of this note did not say, "10 heart-healthy tips for Sunday Brunch" or "Get off the couch and Enjoy the Fresh Air!" It said "Get smaller at an insane pace".
I will NEVER be small.
I will NEVER be skinny.
No matter how much I punish myself for it. No matter how much the world hates me for it.
On my good days this is a matter of indifference to me.
But on my bad days, which have been far more frequent of late...it leaves me with nothing but despair. Despair for what I have become and what I will degenerate into further, and despair for this taut, thin, malnourished world.
1-Hate yourself.
2-Convince yourself that you are fat and ugly.
3-Be surrounded by a society obsessed with semi-emaciation. Live in a culture where it is assumed, for instance, that all women want to drop four sizes in three months.
4-Work very hard on a job that keeps you on your feet for eight hour shifts, and walk two miles there and back home every day to get to said job. Then when you get home, do some more walking to get to the church, the bank, the library. Then go home and do some crunches.
5-Be unhappy and stressed out, that clouds your better judgement.
6-Have very little money with which to buy food.
7-Become so ashamed of your financial state, that you are half convinced that you don't deserve to eat.
8-Live far away from friends who will talk any sense into you or even notice that you are not eating properly.
9-(And this is the key one) Do not eat.
If you do eat something, make sure it is only one small meal a day. Like one veggie wrap, or one salad, or one yogurt. No meat, no cheese, no salt, no butter, no soda, no alchohol, very limited starches. No fat, basically, very little carbs...very little protein...I guess very little anything and everything...No chips, no crackers, no sweets of any kind. Nothing with preservatives in it. Nothing with natural and artificial flavors in it. Nothing high in calories...pretty much nothing processed. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so skip it and drink coffee instead. The caffiene will stimulate the brain and give you a buzz so that your body will be temporarily distracted that you have not fed it. Coffee dulls hunger too, and if you drink lots of it, it will fool your body into thinking that it does not want food for HOURS. Only put a little skim milk in the coffee (FOR HEAVEN's SAKE, NO CREAM OR SUGAR!)
10-Drink tons of water. At least a dozen glasses a day. This is a distortion of something that is actually a good diet tip. If you drink a healthy amount of water, your body will not think that it is hungry when it is really just dehydrated. If you drink tons of water, it will flush everything out of your system, fool you for thirty more minutes into thinking that you dont need to eat, and keep you from passing out from light-headedness.
11-If you wake up at two in the morning, ravenous, because you have not eaten in twelve hours, instead of eating, get up and exercise. You will exhaust yourself to such an extent that you will force your body to collapse even though it is screaming at you for you to feed it.
12-Guilt yourself over everything you eat. That way, if you ever cave and eat (gasp) two meals in one day, or something with eggs or cheese in it...you will renew your efforts to never eat eggs or cheese or anything with fat in it ever again.
This will continue the cycle of guilt, shame and hunger, always, always hunger.
But hey, you might lose that accursed, hateful, hideous, loathesome body mass. You might look smaller. One day you will wake up and find that none of your clothes fit you. You will go test yourself and find that you have shrunk at a rate of more than one size per month. Then if people compliment you that you look better this way, that you are now closer to being beautiful and respectable than you were before...well then...why stop?
If people think you're so inspirational, why dissappoint them? Who knows, by Easter, you might even make it down to size ten. If people think that it is a subject of rejoicing that you shrank this much, whoa, you must have been a cow before the shrinkage!
So now you know the "inspirational" story about how I changed in only three months from being a "larger" woman to just a large woman. Is this the example you wanted? Not what you expected? Well what DID you expect? How else do you think this happens? The only other methods for this drastic change in this short a time are weight-loss drugs, lyposuction, and chronic smoking problems. But hey? At least you are thin? Right? Or thinner?
Alright, maybe this is not the healthiest way to live. But it never really was about health, was it?
Do not kid yourselves. It was about a dress size. It was about appearances.
The title of the note that you are reading is similar to an ad that you will find in any newspaper. "Lose weight faster!" "Drop twenty pounds in 30 days!" "It will make you look better!" "It will make you more desirable!" "It will turn you into a beauty queen" "Burn calories and melt fat faster! Faster! Faster!" "It will make you feel better about yourself!" "It will improve your date prospects" "It will improve your sex life".
The title of this note did not say, "10 heart-healthy tips for Sunday Brunch" or "Get off the couch and Enjoy the Fresh Air!" It said "Get smaller at an insane pace".
I will NEVER be small.
I will NEVER be skinny.
No matter how much I punish myself for it. No matter how much the world hates me for it.
On my good days this is a matter of indifference to me.
But on my bad days, which have been far more frequent of late...it leaves me with nothing but despair. Despair for what I have become and what I will degenerate into further, and despair for this taut, thin, malnourished world.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Good Girl or Bad Girl?
(Proceed with caution, contains "strong" language. What a misleading expression!)
I hear the terms "good girl" and "bad girl" thrown about all the time, by men as well as women. When I ask women what they mean by that, they usually say something vague about a "good girl" being boring, or "too cutesy" or "too passive" or "too tame" or something to be diesired in a teen or twenty-something, but not in a thirty-something, tough, real, working girl of the twenty-first century. When they try to define "bad girl" they associate her with somebody simultaneously "cool" and "hot". "Volcanic", independent, wild, unpredictable, dangerous. They might add as a caveat that though the "bad" girl is better than the "good" girl, maybe the "bad girl" is too unsafe or unstable to be ALL the time.
Most of them feel a pressure to be a weird blend of both. Hence the schizophrenia in the way women are portrayed in photos in the media. Case in point, I saw a little book at Barnes and Noble's once that was entitled: The Good Girl's Guide To Bad Girl Sex. So, if I am understanding the modern woman's dilemma correctly, we are encouraged to post photos of ourselves presently ourselves as "solid, dependable, reliable, proffessional, emancipated" women in the workplace, in our professional lives, in our familys, we can bot cute, good "girls" when we do not want to scare men away. In other words, when we are trying to convince men that we are not "gold-diggers" or spendthirifts, that we won't cheat on them, then we adopt a "good girl" expression. But we feel pressure to compete with the playboy bunnies that they stare at while they masturbate (that we can't insist that our men get rid of or stop doing, because that's being demanding, which is not "good") so we buy outfits and strike a "bad" girl pose, so that our men will continue to see us as exciting and alluring. This combination is the worst alternative of all, not only because again, women are sacrificing what is good for them (as they are too wont to do) for the unrealistic demands imposed on them by society and the men in their lives. It is also because we are allowed less to be ourselves than ever before. People talk about the "Virgin vs. Whore" mentality of a previous era, how women were tidily compartmentalized and constrained and that how this narrow way of thinking no longer is here today and aren't we fortunate and smarter than our grandparents, yahah yadah yadah.
But it is not gone. If I had been born in the '40s or 50's, I would have hated it (I hope) that if I would be considered "marriage material", graced with the condescension of my husband's dirty socks, martini mixing priveleges, and the queen of his kitchen if only I wore the appropriate clothing, did not spend too much of his hard-earned money at the beauty parlor, had dinner ready when he got home, always had a warm, gentle smile, and pretended that I knew nothing about his infidelities. If I dared to wear something too provocative, dared to reward his infidelity with argument, accusation, sulkiness, or (gasp!) an indiscretion or two of my own, or (oh horror!) left him, then I would not be "marriage material". If I flirted too much, or wore too much black, or showed too much cleavage, or gave off a certain air of sultry, wild, abandon or danced with too much hip movement, the "good" little church-going boys would know that I was not "marriage material" but that it would be perfectly exceptable to go "parking" with me for the senior dance. It would be acceptable for the Boss to call me into his office and lock the door behind us, since I was not "marriage material" anyway. I would be an acceptable candidate for Dear Old George's cheating on his wife, but he would never, never marry me. Because years ago I had made an incorrect choice, and gotten into unfavored habits, and now there is no getting out of them, because now the men can all sense that I am "bad" and that is that. "You mus'nt give your heart to a wild thing!" Holly Golightly warns about herself.
But this age has not progressed us and it still has not eradicated that way of thinking. Men, especially nauseatingly "good" churchgoing boys still talk about "good" women as "marriage" material for them and "bad" girls being very "fuck-worthy" (their words, out of their own mouths, not mine!) but not "marriage material". they are good enough to look up on porntube and good enough to drool over in movies, or fool around with before you settle down, or after you have settled down if the little woman at home does not know (but she really should not complain, as he, after all, has graced her with the honorary title of "mother of his children". The "bad" girls, you wear a condom for, or give her money for an abortion, because God forbid you should sire a child with a "bad" girl.) We still think in that way, though many of us pretend that we do not. Before at least a woman was either one or the other, now she has to be both! We reward the Vanessa Hudgens of this world for dressing provacatively and making "bad girl" faces and "bad girl" poses in front of the camera, but we gasp and frown if she sends a nude picture of herself in an email. Most women want to be a combination of sweet, approachable, funny, cute Jenniffer Aniston "America's Sweetheart", AND Angelina the fierce, tough, wild-eyed, full-lipped, femme fatale-Jolie (because Brad Pitt chose Jen at first, then left her for Jolie). Or, for an older generation, Eddie Fisher might have married Debbie Reynolds (a perfect example of the "good" girl, with her starry, wide blue eyes, cute face, warm smile, blushing cheeks and cooing voice) but he left her for Elizabeth Taylor, (who later dumped him, good for her!). It is terrible hard work to be both Debbie Reynolds (think Tammy and the Bachelor, Singing in the Rain, Bundle of Joy) AND Elizabeth Taylor (think Butterfield 8, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Cleopatra). To me, growing up, I never thought of them in terms of whether or not some guy thought that they were "good" or "bad". Sure, my dad alway "respected" Debbie Reynolds, but he still gaped at Elizabeth Taylor. To me, though, they were simply...women. Complex, imperfect, wonderous, pathetic, mysterious and beautiful, always, always, beautiful. They were more than the false images carved out for them, as every woman is, whether famous or not. I have been both idealized and demonized enough to know that idolization and sexualization are two sides on the same coin of objectification.
Whether a man looks me in the eyes and tells me that he wants to marry me, because I am "so good, so pure, the most perfect and unusually immaculate woman he has ever met, the most pristine in the world, blah blah blah" or stares at my breasts and says that he wants to "fuck" me because I am the "curviest, sexiest, wildest, little thang" in the club, neither of those poor fools will ever see the real me, because they have been trained like dogs to look for cues of whether each woman is a good bit of territory to bury a bone, or to piss and shit on, because some other dog has been there and had the same idea. They both think they are reading the cues correctly and picking up the right vibe, and they are both wrong. Which really breaks my heart, because men are NOT dogs. They are awe-inspiring, complex and beautiful too, and they are being cheated by the media and society that trains them to act like dogs, just as much, if not more so, than we are. And no woman EVER deserves to have her heart broken, or to be treated as though she were worthless, no matter how many men she has slept with, no matter how many inches from her collar-bone her neckline is, or how tight her jeans are, or how short her hemline. My message is not just for Christians, but it has more meaning for Christians who know that Christ said "Love your neighbor as yourself" and "if your neighbor strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other" and "Do unto others as you would have them do to you" and "You wicked servant, I FORGAVE YOU the ENTIRE DEBT! Should you not have shown mercy to your fellow?" I have read the whole bible many times and I do not recall a single passage where Christ says, "If a woman acts like a lady, treat her like a lady, but if she's a bitch, or a whore or an idiot call her a bitch, whore or idiot to her face and treat her like one" or "Women who do and say exactly what you want them to do or say all of the time are worth your time and trouble. Women who don't act the way you want them to are worthless." or "If people are sinners, the best thing to do is to never let them near anybody and to tell everybody to stay away from them. That way, they all know who is bad and who is good and the good ones can stay good, and the bad ones...can stay...bad?"
Don't misunderstand me, I am not saying that you have to be like Hosea and marry a prostitute. All I am saying is that God told Hosea to do that and chose that symbol of that poor woman to represent Us...all of us...not just the ones who have lost their virginity, no just the ones who dress improperly, not just the ones on the cover of your porn magazine, not just the one you saw at the Gentleman's club last night...He meant YOU. There is ESSENTIALLY no difference between that girl you stare at on porntube and your sister that you won't let any of your buddies date.
Regina Doman, paraphrasing Von Hildebrand wrote a brilliant little bit that expresses everything I mean, better than I can. It is from her novel, The Midnight Dancers.
"Once upon a time there were men and women in the world."
"Just as there are now." ...
"And there was a devil, as there also is now, and he desired to destroy the happiness of man and woman. So he created a twisted looking glass. The looking-glass was not a mirror, but a piece of glass so invisible that a man could look through it and not realize that he was seeing a twisted reality. And it reflected a bit, like a mirror, so a man could see himself, or what he thought was himself. ... Now, this glass was made particularly for men, and the devil made sure that the men looked through it whenever they chanced to look at women. And this glass changed the women. ... It reduced them. ...
So that, to a man looking through the glass, the woman appeared to be an object, a pretty plaything for his pleasure. Now, the man might know that the woman had brains or talents, or any number of other gifts, but when he looked through the mirror, he saw her only as a toy. And the devil made every effort to push that glass before a man's eyes when he was young as possible. So that most men were so used to looking through the glass that, even when it wasn't there, the images in the glass dictated their reality. ... There was a further trick to the devil's glass. The glass taught men to sort all women into two types--worthwhile, and not worthwhile. Or 'good' and 'bad' as some took to calling them. Good toys and bad toys. And so this was the way they had of speaking about women among themselves. And, as you can imagine, the women could'nt help overhearing these conversations. And even though most of the women had not glanced through the mirror, they could'nt help thinking of themselves in this manner. As toys. Good toys or bad toys."
"What was the difference between the good toys and the bad toys?" Rachael said, scraping at the rock with her fingernail.
"Nothing," Paul said.
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"Nothing essential. Once you have decided to see a person as a toy, the degrees between the toys are close to non-existent. But for practical purposes as far as the deluded man was concerned, there was a difference."
"Which was?" ...
"Time," Paul said slowly, "Only time. You spend more time with a good toy. Lots of time. You date her, you take her out, you pay her compliments, you might even marry her. But in the end, she's just a toy."
"And the bad toys?"
His face had a rigid, hard look to it. "You don't waste your time. You play with them, but not for long. Maybe not even twenty-four hours. And then you don't care if you ever see her again. Remember," he said, "From this twisted point of view, a smart man does not waste his time on bad toys."
"But what about Christian men?" she objected.
"Christian men were taught to look through this mirror too. Sometimes, the attached more importance to the "good" versus "bad" distinction. You have to make sure you marry a "good" toy. Because a Christian man does not waste his time on "bad' toys. You want a good toy. Just one. Or at any rate, one at a time."
... "But it's not fair!"
"Of course it's not!"
"I don't believe all men are like this!"
"They're not. But don't underestimate the power of the looking glass. ...You see, in a deluded man's world, there is no place for an old toy, or an ugly toy, or a toy that doesn't have the right figure, or whose body does not work the way it should--a handicapped toy, a toy that has fallen ill. If a toy was once a good toy, you might hang around--after all she was once a good toy. And you can feast on the memories, and keep an eye on other good toys from the sidelines or glance at the bad toys in the magazines--but a 'smart' man does not let himself get stuck with a broken toy, particularly one that has been used and is in need of repair."
Ladies, you are nobody's toy, whether "good" or "bad". Don't even let them call you that. Don't even admit to the demeaning title. It is not a bad thing to be wild and human beings are naturally "dangerous" but you are also meant to be strong and loyal. Innocence is not uncool. You do not have to be either a disney princess or a femme fatale (thanks to Colin Mason for that phrase). You do not have to be a weird blend of both either. Joan of Arc was NOT a safe, quiet, undemanding girl. She kept her honor and she is one of the wildest, craziest people in history. Her persecuters called her "witch" and "indecent". You do not have to be Debbie Reynolds crying under a piano, hiding from Gene Kelly in order to get married. You can be as bold as Elizabeth Taylor, grinding the heel of her stiletto into an assaulting rogues's expensive shoe. That is not wicked and never will be.
I hear the terms "good girl" and "bad girl" thrown about all the time, by men as well as women. When I ask women what they mean by that, they usually say something vague about a "good girl" being boring, or "too cutesy" or "too passive" or "too tame" or something to be diesired in a teen or twenty-something, but not in a thirty-something, tough, real, working girl of the twenty-first century. When they try to define "bad girl" they associate her with somebody simultaneously "cool" and "hot". "Volcanic", independent, wild, unpredictable, dangerous. They might add as a caveat that though the "bad" girl is better than the "good" girl, maybe the "bad girl" is too unsafe or unstable to be ALL the time.
Most of them feel a pressure to be a weird blend of both. Hence the schizophrenia in the way women are portrayed in photos in the media. Case in point, I saw a little book at Barnes and Noble's once that was entitled: The Good Girl's Guide To Bad Girl Sex. So, if I am understanding the modern woman's dilemma correctly, we are encouraged to post photos of ourselves presently ourselves as "solid, dependable, reliable, proffessional, emancipated" women in the workplace, in our professional lives, in our familys, we can bot cute, good "girls" when we do not want to scare men away. In other words, when we are trying to convince men that we are not "gold-diggers" or spendthirifts, that we won't cheat on them, then we adopt a "good girl" expression. But we feel pressure to compete with the playboy bunnies that they stare at while they masturbate (that we can't insist that our men get rid of or stop doing, because that's being demanding, which is not "good") so we buy outfits and strike a "bad" girl pose, so that our men will continue to see us as exciting and alluring. This combination is the worst alternative of all, not only because again, women are sacrificing what is good for them (as they are too wont to do) for the unrealistic demands imposed on them by society and the men in their lives. It is also because we are allowed less to be ourselves than ever before. People talk about the "Virgin vs. Whore" mentality of a previous era, how women were tidily compartmentalized and constrained and that how this narrow way of thinking no longer is here today and aren't we fortunate and smarter than our grandparents, yahah yadah yadah.
But it is not gone. If I had been born in the '40s or 50's, I would have hated it (I hope) that if I would be considered "marriage material", graced with the condescension of my husband's dirty socks, martini mixing priveleges, and the queen of his kitchen if only I wore the appropriate clothing, did not spend too much of his hard-earned money at the beauty parlor, had dinner ready when he got home, always had a warm, gentle smile, and pretended that I knew nothing about his infidelities. If I dared to wear something too provocative, dared to reward his infidelity with argument, accusation, sulkiness, or (gasp!) an indiscretion or two of my own, or (oh horror!) left him, then I would not be "marriage material". If I flirted too much, or wore too much black, or showed too much cleavage, or gave off a certain air of sultry, wild, abandon or danced with too much hip movement, the "good" little church-going boys would know that I was not "marriage material" but that it would be perfectly exceptable to go "parking" with me for the senior dance. It would be acceptable for the Boss to call me into his office and lock the door behind us, since I was not "marriage material" anyway. I would be an acceptable candidate for Dear Old George's cheating on his wife, but he would never, never marry me. Because years ago I had made an incorrect choice, and gotten into unfavored habits, and now there is no getting out of them, because now the men can all sense that I am "bad" and that is that. "You mus'nt give your heart to a wild thing!" Holly Golightly warns about herself.
But this age has not progressed us and it still has not eradicated that way of thinking. Men, especially nauseatingly "good" churchgoing boys still talk about "good" women as "marriage" material for them and "bad" girls being very "fuck-worthy" (their words, out of their own mouths, not mine!) but not "marriage material". they are good enough to look up on porntube and good enough to drool over in movies, or fool around with before you settle down, or after you have settled down if the little woman at home does not know (but she really should not complain, as he, after all, has graced her with the honorary title of "mother of his children". The "bad" girls, you wear a condom for, or give her money for an abortion, because God forbid you should sire a child with a "bad" girl.) We still think in that way, though many of us pretend that we do not. Before at least a woman was either one or the other, now she has to be both! We reward the Vanessa Hudgens of this world for dressing provacatively and making "bad girl" faces and "bad girl" poses in front of the camera, but we gasp and frown if she sends a nude picture of herself in an email. Most women want to be a combination of sweet, approachable, funny, cute Jenniffer Aniston "America's Sweetheart", AND Angelina the fierce, tough, wild-eyed, full-lipped, femme fatale-Jolie (because Brad Pitt chose Jen at first, then left her for Jolie). Or, for an older generation, Eddie Fisher might have married Debbie Reynolds (a perfect example of the "good" girl, with her starry, wide blue eyes, cute face, warm smile, blushing cheeks and cooing voice) but he left her for Elizabeth Taylor, (who later dumped him, good for her!). It is terrible hard work to be both Debbie Reynolds (think Tammy and the Bachelor, Singing in the Rain, Bundle of Joy) AND Elizabeth Taylor (think Butterfield 8, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Cleopatra). To me, growing up, I never thought of them in terms of whether or not some guy thought that they were "good" or "bad". Sure, my dad alway "respected" Debbie Reynolds, but he still gaped at Elizabeth Taylor. To me, though, they were simply...women. Complex, imperfect, wonderous, pathetic, mysterious and beautiful, always, always, beautiful. They were more than the false images carved out for them, as every woman is, whether famous or not. I have been both idealized and demonized enough to know that idolization and sexualization are two sides on the same coin of objectification.
Whether a man looks me in the eyes and tells me that he wants to marry me, because I am "so good, so pure, the most perfect and unusually immaculate woman he has ever met, the most pristine in the world, blah blah blah" or stares at my breasts and says that he wants to "fuck" me because I am the "curviest, sexiest, wildest, little thang" in the club, neither of those poor fools will ever see the real me, because they have been trained like dogs to look for cues of whether each woman is a good bit of territory to bury a bone, or to piss and shit on, because some other dog has been there and had the same idea. They both think they are reading the cues correctly and picking up the right vibe, and they are both wrong. Which really breaks my heart, because men are NOT dogs. They are awe-inspiring, complex and beautiful too, and they are being cheated by the media and society that trains them to act like dogs, just as much, if not more so, than we are. And no woman EVER deserves to have her heart broken, or to be treated as though she were worthless, no matter how many men she has slept with, no matter how many inches from her collar-bone her neckline is, or how tight her jeans are, or how short her hemline. My message is not just for Christians, but it has more meaning for Christians who know that Christ said "Love your neighbor as yourself" and "if your neighbor strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other" and "Do unto others as you would have them do to you" and "You wicked servant, I FORGAVE YOU the ENTIRE DEBT! Should you not have shown mercy to your fellow?" I have read the whole bible many times and I do not recall a single passage where Christ says, "If a woman acts like a lady, treat her like a lady, but if she's a bitch, or a whore or an idiot call her a bitch, whore or idiot to her face and treat her like one" or "Women who do and say exactly what you want them to do or say all of the time are worth your time and trouble. Women who don't act the way you want them to are worthless." or "If people are sinners, the best thing to do is to never let them near anybody and to tell everybody to stay away from them. That way, they all know who is bad and who is good and the good ones can stay good, and the bad ones...can stay...bad?"
Don't misunderstand me, I am not saying that you have to be like Hosea and marry a prostitute. All I am saying is that God told Hosea to do that and chose that symbol of that poor woman to represent Us...all of us...not just the ones who have lost their virginity, no just the ones who dress improperly, not just the ones on the cover of your porn magazine, not just the one you saw at the Gentleman's club last night...He meant YOU. There is ESSENTIALLY no difference between that girl you stare at on porntube and your sister that you won't let any of your buddies date.
Regina Doman, paraphrasing Von Hildebrand wrote a brilliant little bit that expresses everything I mean, better than I can. It is from her novel, The Midnight Dancers.
"Once upon a time there were men and women in the world."
"Just as there are now." ...
"And there was a devil, as there also is now, and he desired to destroy the happiness of man and woman. So he created a twisted looking glass. The looking-glass was not a mirror, but a piece of glass so invisible that a man could look through it and not realize that he was seeing a twisted reality. And it reflected a bit, like a mirror, so a man could see himself, or what he thought was himself. ... Now, this glass was made particularly for men, and the devil made sure that the men looked through it whenever they chanced to look at women. And this glass changed the women. ... It reduced them. ...
So that, to a man looking through the glass, the woman appeared to be an object, a pretty plaything for his pleasure. Now, the man might know that the woman had brains or talents, or any number of other gifts, but when he looked through the mirror, he saw her only as a toy. And the devil made every effort to push that glass before a man's eyes when he was young as possible. So that most men were so used to looking through the glass that, even when it wasn't there, the images in the glass dictated their reality. ... There was a further trick to the devil's glass. The glass taught men to sort all women into two types--worthwhile, and not worthwhile. Or 'good' and 'bad' as some took to calling them. Good toys and bad toys. And so this was the way they had of speaking about women among themselves. And, as you can imagine, the women could'nt help overhearing these conversations. And even though most of the women had not glanced through the mirror, they could'nt help thinking of themselves in this manner. As toys. Good toys or bad toys."
"What was the difference between the good toys and the bad toys?" Rachael said, scraping at the rock with her fingernail.
"Nothing," Paul said.
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"Nothing essential. Once you have decided to see a person as a toy, the degrees between the toys are close to non-existent. But for practical purposes as far as the deluded man was concerned, there was a difference."
"Which was?" ...
"Time," Paul said slowly, "Only time. You spend more time with a good toy. Lots of time. You date her, you take her out, you pay her compliments, you might even marry her. But in the end, she's just a toy."
"And the bad toys?"
His face had a rigid, hard look to it. "You don't waste your time. You play with them, but not for long. Maybe not even twenty-four hours. And then you don't care if you ever see her again. Remember," he said, "From this twisted point of view, a smart man does not waste his time on bad toys."
"But what about Christian men?" she objected.
"Christian men were taught to look through this mirror too. Sometimes, the attached more importance to the "good" versus "bad" distinction. You have to make sure you marry a "good" toy. Because a Christian man does not waste his time on "bad' toys. You want a good toy. Just one. Or at any rate, one at a time."
... "But it's not fair!"
"Of course it's not!"
"I don't believe all men are like this!"
"They're not. But don't underestimate the power of the looking glass. ...You see, in a deluded man's world, there is no place for an old toy, or an ugly toy, or a toy that doesn't have the right figure, or whose body does not work the way it should--a handicapped toy, a toy that has fallen ill. If a toy was once a good toy, you might hang around--after all she was once a good toy. And you can feast on the memories, and keep an eye on other good toys from the sidelines or glance at the bad toys in the magazines--but a 'smart' man does not let himself get stuck with a broken toy, particularly one that has been used and is in need of repair."
Ladies, you are nobody's toy, whether "good" or "bad". Don't even let them call you that. Don't even admit to the demeaning title. It is not a bad thing to be wild and human beings are naturally "dangerous" but you are also meant to be strong and loyal. Innocence is not uncool. You do not have to be either a disney princess or a femme fatale (thanks to Colin Mason for that phrase). You do not have to be a weird blend of both either. Joan of Arc was NOT a safe, quiet, undemanding girl. She kept her honor and she is one of the wildest, craziest people in history. Her persecuters called her "witch" and "indecent". You do not have to be Debbie Reynolds crying under a piano, hiding from Gene Kelly in order to get married. You can be as bold as Elizabeth Taylor, grinding the heel of her stiletto into an assaulting rogues's expensive shoe. That is not wicked and never will be.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
My New Year's Reflection and Resolution
Reflecting upon my short life thus far, I imagined what I would have to say about it, were it to end today (I know, I know. Typical "Melancholic Maria" moment). This is my attempt to express what I have concluded.
Almost nothing good has come easily, except the most wonderful and mysterious gifts. Every inch of the way has been a struggle, and the extent of progression is not prodigious. But examining myself and my life with my most critical eye, I can honestly say that I never slacked off, and I always tried my hardest to do the right thing in every circumstance. I have never chosen something I believed was a neccessary evil. I have never admitted that there was any such thing as a neccessary evil. I have never compromised my principles. I have always been truthful to others and especially tried to be so toward myself. I have never hated anybody in my life and have never intended harm upon anyone. As for the gifts given me, I can unequivocally say that I did nothing to deserve them, especially my friends and my sisters and brothers. As for the enemies I have made, I can honestly look into my conscience and their wrath and maltreatment and say that I have done nothing to merit that in them either.
I have discerned that although the list of things that I want to change about myself or improve in myself seems to lengthen each year, although I don't believe I will ever feel quite at home in this life and this world, or will ever understand why I was placed here by God, or even concieved of, in His Mind, for that matter, I can go on living with the mystery. I can forgive myself for having lived this life, because it is not really a small life, although it looks that way, to skeptics. I have decided to stop being a skeptic.
I also admit that in my life, I have been unforgiving, hardhearted and acted solely out of anger to one person only, and that person was myself. While in previous years, I was tempted to consider this of little importance, (because it was only myself, after all, who was hurting) I have decided now that that was at the root of every mistake I have ever made and that if left unchecked it could subvert everything good that I wanted toward everything that I love and every goal for which I have worked. Ironically, I seem to be the only person in the world that I would not hug if he needed it. Osama Bin Laden, Larry Flynt, Hugh Hefner, Nancy Pelosi, Josef Stalin, Margaret Sanger, Vlad the Terrible, Genghis Khan, anyone else, just not me. It seems that in my own past esteem I am only person whose suffering merited indifference. I have now decided that this is not true, that no human being should be hated, not even myself.
So while my list of things I could resolve upon this year are seemingly endless (Get a better job, make more money, be able to afford a doctor and dentist visit, smile more, get more books, make more friends, slim down, get more organized, be more tenacious about what you want, grow in wisdom, sing in church again, pray with more order and consistency and fervor, get married, have kids, get a new hair-do, learn to sew, learn how to cook chicken cordon-bleu...) I have decided that the most important resolution of all, is the one that is the most difficult for me: to hope.
Because my hope has always been hampered by my inability to accept what I do not understand, my inability to forgive myself for my failings, and my lack of emotional conviction that God loves me or truly has a part for me in His plan that is important. Yet, this is precisely the most important thing to believe. It is the grace granted us in absolution in the sacrament of penance, in the mystical union with Christ in the Eucharist, in the miraculous gift of life itself. Hope is not a virtue that come naturally for me (or for anyone for that matter). That is why it is called a theological, an infused, supernatural virtue.
So, this new resolution comes with the truth that this gift, this very resolution, must be prayed for, and accepted as yet another gift from God. The gift of hope in His goodness and His mery and His love, is my central and principle desire for myself this year. As with all other self-imposed commandments that mark each new year with every person, though one tends to think of it as something that one must hold oneself to by sheer will-power, we secretly know that what we call "resolutions" are actually prayers, for ourselves, to the God that gave us that will and that mind with which to say, "This year, I resolve..."
Almost nothing good has come easily, except the most wonderful and mysterious gifts. Every inch of the way has been a struggle, and the extent of progression is not prodigious. But examining myself and my life with my most critical eye, I can honestly say that I never slacked off, and I always tried my hardest to do the right thing in every circumstance. I have never chosen something I believed was a neccessary evil. I have never admitted that there was any such thing as a neccessary evil. I have never compromised my principles. I have always been truthful to others and especially tried to be so toward myself. I have never hated anybody in my life and have never intended harm upon anyone. As for the gifts given me, I can unequivocally say that I did nothing to deserve them, especially my friends and my sisters and brothers. As for the enemies I have made, I can honestly look into my conscience and their wrath and maltreatment and say that I have done nothing to merit that in them either.
I have discerned that although the list of things that I want to change about myself or improve in myself seems to lengthen each year, although I don't believe I will ever feel quite at home in this life and this world, or will ever understand why I was placed here by God, or even concieved of, in His Mind, for that matter, I can go on living with the mystery. I can forgive myself for having lived this life, because it is not really a small life, although it looks that way, to skeptics. I have decided to stop being a skeptic.
I also admit that in my life, I have been unforgiving, hardhearted and acted solely out of anger to one person only, and that person was myself. While in previous years, I was tempted to consider this of little importance, (because it was only myself, after all, who was hurting) I have decided now that that was at the root of every mistake I have ever made and that if left unchecked it could subvert everything good that I wanted toward everything that I love and every goal for which I have worked. Ironically, I seem to be the only person in the world that I would not hug if he needed it. Osama Bin Laden, Larry Flynt, Hugh Hefner, Nancy Pelosi, Josef Stalin, Margaret Sanger, Vlad the Terrible, Genghis Khan, anyone else, just not me. It seems that in my own past esteem I am only person whose suffering merited indifference. I have now decided that this is not true, that no human being should be hated, not even myself.
So while my list of things I could resolve upon this year are seemingly endless (Get a better job, make more money, be able to afford a doctor and dentist visit, smile more, get more books, make more friends, slim down, get more organized, be more tenacious about what you want, grow in wisdom, sing in church again, pray with more order and consistency and fervor, get married, have kids, get a new hair-do, learn to sew, learn how to cook chicken cordon-bleu...) I have decided that the most important resolution of all, is the one that is the most difficult for me: to hope.
Because my hope has always been hampered by my inability to accept what I do not understand, my inability to forgive myself for my failings, and my lack of emotional conviction that God loves me or truly has a part for me in His plan that is important. Yet, this is precisely the most important thing to believe. It is the grace granted us in absolution in the sacrament of penance, in the mystical union with Christ in the Eucharist, in the miraculous gift of life itself. Hope is not a virtue that come naturally for me (or for anyone for that matter). That is why it is called a theological, an infused, supernatural virtue.
So, this new resolution comes with the truth that this gift, this very resolution, must be prayed for, and accepted as yet another gift from God. The gift of hope in His goodness and His mery and His love, is my central and principle desire for myself this year. As with all other self-imposed commandments that mark each new year with every person, though one tends to think of it as something that one must hold oneself to by sheer will-power, we secretly know that what we call "resolutions" are actually prayers, for ourselves, to the God that gave us that will and that mind with which to say, "This year, I resolve..."
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