Living In Balance

When I found this picture it is the perfect depiction of how I want to live in balance with food.

I'm well aware of the uphill battle that might be before me.  I'm keenly aware that I have not invited God into this battle on a daily basis.  I've been fighting all alone.

Why do I do that?



There's a lot of shame hidden beneath my excess weight.  The shame comes from negative messages I hear in my head.

"You're broken."
"You lost your value."
"Your mental illness defines who you are."
"Being alone keeps everyone else safe."

Where did those come from?  I haven't always had those thoughts.  I think they've surfaced over the last twenty years when I first had an emotional breakthrough.  After that, the weight began packing on.

It's difficult watching yourself get bigger while you work through hard issues.  When your therapist says, "Don't worry about your weight."  I was worried...and for good reason.

About that same time, someone at my church pulled me aside and confronted me about the weight gain.  I told her I was working on sexual abuse issues and my therapist told me not to worry about it.  I was embarrassed by her questions and felt shame.

I want to be able to make good choices.  Living in balance requires mental energy and awareness.  I'm not sure I have those right now.

It may sound like excuses but believe me, I'm ready to figure this out and I'm ready to include others in the process.

Feelings: Good vs. Bad?

When feelings begin to rise, depending on how I perceive them, I make a choice.
If they are feelings I perceive as good, I allow them to surface and enjoy them.
If they are feelings I perceive as bad, I stuff them down by whatever means necessary.

I've heard it said around the tables of 12 step groups that feelings are neither good nor bad. Feelings just are.  What does that mean?




Here's what I've learned it means:

1.  Feelings are a response to an experience.
2.  Feelings are neither right nor wrong.
3.  Feelings are not the same for everyone.
4.  Feelings range in intensity.
5.  Feelings can protect us from harm.
6.  Feelings allow us to connect to others.
7.  Feelings are designed by God for good.
8.  Feelings need to be expressed.
9.  Feelings do not control us unless we let them.
10. Feelings can give us great freedom.

Since I struggle so much with feelings, looking at that list is important for my growth.  I'm not proclaiming all of those to be true in my life.  I'm telling myself those truths because that's what I'm beginning to learn.

Learning about feelings, how they feel and putting a name to them, takes time.  I've found it's not something I can do on my own.  Believe me, I've tried.

I have one of the best therapists ever!  She is well grounded in "feelings talk."  What I mean by that is she constantly asks me how I'm feeling, how does that feel, what did you feel when that happened, etc..  Sometimes it's frustrating because I'm the type that lives up in my head.  Stopping to figure out a feeling is a pain in the butt.

However, I see the added value of what she's asking me to do.  I have to get my head connected to my heart.  I've heard it said that's the furthest eighteen inches known to man!

As I continue down this road of feelings, addiction, self-injury and temptation, I feel encouraged.  Is that a feeling?  It is today.  I'm trying really hard to be consciously aware of what I'm feeling throughout the day, especially when the need to escape pushes its way to the top.

I'm asking myself,

"What feeling did you just push down to the bottom?"

Uncomfortable Feelings

"Learn to sit in the uncomfortable feelings."

That's what Dr. Erin Terada would tell us.
Those of us who were hospitalized for self-injury and eating disorders.
What I didn't know then was the depth of these uncomfortable feelings.

For someone who has lived her life unconnected to those uncomfortable feelings, trying to connect to them is like trying to find the invisible man in the room.  You know he's there but you can't put a finger on him.  The process is slow - painstakingly slow.



It's not as easy as, "Give me a list and I'll be able to pick it out."
Or, "Show me a bunch of facial expressions and I'll point to the one I'm feeling."

Feelings have always been a mystery to me.
I used to be punished for having feelings.
Now I'm punishing myself for having feelings.

I know God has feelings.  Jesus has feelings.
Even the Holy Spirit has feelings.

Why doesn't that comfort me?

I still think of myself as "less than."
I am less than others, lowly and undeserving.
I am broken, unmendable and scattered.

These uncomfortable feelings are the next layer of the onion being peeled away, struggling to reach the surface but I keep eating in order to push them down.  They are alive and I'm afraid of them.

Uncomfortable feelings.
There is hope to identify them and
there is hope to understand them.

One day soon, there will be hope to feel them.

Stressed OUT and Grieving

Today the words "Stressed OUT" don't cut it.  I feel like a dangling participle.  Hanging on by a thread.

Tired and drained from all the conflicts slamming into me.  I wish I was quick on my feet so I could dodge them.  Instead, I'm a slow moving target getting hit by paint balls.  SPLAT!

I've coined this month as death February.  I do so because six years ago I had two significant losses.  Today is the anniversary of my sister's best friend, who grew to be my friend, who was killed in an automobile accident.

Cathy was on her way to pick up her son and take him to school.  Afterwards, she planned on going to my sister's house.  But things quickly changed.

It was a cold winter morning with drifting snow and patches of black ice.  She hit a sheet of black ice.  Her car rolled over a couple of times, skid on the roof, then crashed into a telephone pole on the driver's side.

The woman in the car that saw what happened stopped to see if she could help.  The man who heard the crash came running out of his house.  Turns out he was a pastor.  The woman knelt down near the broken windshield.  She heard Cathy faintly moaning.  She reached in, her own hand being cut and held Cathy's hand.  She reassured Cathy that she was not alone.

Seconds later, Cathy died.

Cathy was in twelve step groups just like our family.  She struggled with sobriety.  She suffered from chronic pain and mental illness.  Our childhoods and diagnoses' were alike more than different.  Whenever we saw each other, we'd have a nice exchange on a deep level.

When Cathy died, I lost the one person who really understood me.

My other sister called me at work to tell me Cathy had died.  I immediately asked if our other sister knew of the accident yet.  No one could find her to tell her.  I left work.

I drove to the accident scene.  What I saw I will remember for a long time.  Scattered in the snow and ice were car parts:  foam, windshield pieces, black plastic parts, coins, insurance cards, coffee cards, jewelry and other personal property.  I could see the imprints in the snow of where the car finally rested.  There was blood.  I stood there trying to get a hold of it but that would take several more weeks and years.

My other sister and I finally caught up with her.  She was in shock and disbelief.  All of us were concerned for Cathy's children.  They knew my sister as their extended family.

It was a horrible day.
It was a horrible week.
It's been a hard six years.

Nothing prepares you for seeing someone you love in a casket.  Seeing her face so swollen, the cuts covered up with makeup and other deformities - there are no words.

Cathy's legacy lives on in her four children.  They were everything to her.  She was a fully devoted follower of Christ.  I have no doubt about her eternal resting place.

Her sister had a permanent cross made and it's attached to a permanent fence where she died.  Each year I bring flowers to that place as a way expressing my love for Cathy and how often I miss talking to her.

Stress?
Yeah.
Still.

When Is Enough, Enough?

I grew up, learning the hard way, not to question authority.  I learned not to think for myself.  I learned my feelings never mattered - to my abuser.  At an early age in grade school, my identity was stunted.

I didn't know I'd taken on some roles psychologists identified in alcoholic homes.  They are the caretaker, hero, scapegoat, lost child and clown*.  I was a mixture of the first three.

The trauma I lived through at such an early age has been masked for several decades.  I haven't had a year without some sort of chronic pain since I was four years old.  Beatings and sexual abuse, chronic migraines, a bad car accident where for two years I endured two lumbar disks pressing on a spinal nerve, bursting ovarian cysts, back surgery, back pain, another back surgery sixteen years later to put in titanium rods, screws and a cage and breast cysts.

I'm used to managing physical pain.  Even my mom and sisters tell me I have a very high pain tolerance and are amazed at how much I'm able to withstand.  I don't think about it.  I just do it.

So, why do I want to crawl into a hole and never come out?

Emotional pain.
Shame.

I don't know where to put them except on my body.  I don't want to put it there.  If I could somehow transfer the pain to a ball I would throw the ball into the river so it would get carried away.

Where does one put emotional pain and shame?

I wouldn't know where to begin.

I think I'm closer to "enough is enough."

I just don't know what to do next.

Alcoholic Family Roles - CLICK HERE

Abbott and Costello- Who's On First

This classic comedy sketch is one of my favorites.  Bud Abbott and Lou Costello pull off a synchronized banter that can be used in many fields, not just baseball.

Probably the most obvious point is their communication.  Even though each of them thinks they are asking the right questions and giving the right answers they are still looking at the conversation through their own unique rose colored glasses.

Imagine what the sketch would sound like if Bud Abbott were to say, "These guys names are who, what, why, etc..  Maybe it would be better if I drew it out for you."

Imagine if Lou Costello were to ask, "Bud, I know you know your players names but I'm missing something here.  Do you have a lineup sheet I can look at?"

Fortunately, they didn't ask those questions and we get to enjoy one of the greatest comedy teams of all time do what they do best.

The other thing I noticed was Lou getting more and more upset because he thought Bud wasn't giving him the right answers or he was just playing with him.  Lou could have taken a time out to settle himself down, remove himself from the heated discussion and give his blood pressure a chance to go down.

The last thing is these two guys did not get violent with each other.  They did not call each other names, use the bat in a way it's not intended for or use their bodies for intimidation.

Like I said, I love these guys.

I hope you enjoyed them.

I learned about better communication this time around.

The Potter's Hands

Isaiah 64:8  "Yet you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand."

Have you ever had the privilege of watching a potter at work with a blob of clay, water, sponges, a potter's wheel and their hands?  

I have and it's quite amazing to see.

I was attending a small groups conference hosted by our church. I wasn't sure what to expect during this session.  

It was life changing.

So much of what happens between the potter and the clay is exactly like what happens between God and us.  God puts us on His wheel, places His strong gentle hands around us then begins to clean us.

Clay has what's called mire in it.  It's basically junk that needs to be removed from the clay before the clay can be formed into something.  Once that is done the shaping can begin.

The potter is in complete control from beginning to end.  That's what God asks us to do with Him - let Him have complete control of our lives.  I'm not there yet but I hope to be soon.

When the shaping is finished, the clay gets fired and painted. The potter is very proud of what they've created.  Remember God saying in Genesis about creating us that what He created was, "Very good."

One of the eye openers I'm having right now is I don't trust God as much as I thought I did.  I would much rather live in misery that I can control than live in uncertainty that He controls.  I know that sounds dysfunctional but it's the truth.

How do I grow in my trust with God?  I don't know but I bet my Christian therapist will have some ideas and hopefully some homework.