Living A Lie

"You're really not an idiot, Sandra, You just choose to live like one." that was from a doctor I saw in my late twenties when I decided against his plan of care. Shocking? Not really. I spent most of my early life trying to explain my symptoms to people who thought I was making them up. There's no way I could have all of those symptoms at once, right? Sores inside my mouth and nose, hair loss, headaches, chest pain, sore muscles, rashes, face swelling, joint stiffness, unexplained fevers. Well, it was too ridiculous to give it any attention.

Many years and doctors visits later I'm still here. Same symptoms, older body. The only thing I've learned to do is to be better at hiding it. I know I will not be able to do this forever. I know it is not fair to me and to the people around me but it is what I choose to do. So I accept the label of being fat and lazy. I accept that I have to pretend like nothing is wrong when I am a wreck on the inside. I can pretend to a certain extent that it doesn't hurt when I get a hug or I have to carry my kids for extended periods. 

Last year when I was pregnant with June, I mentioned to my OB/GYN how being pregnant was the happiest time of my life. How having a baby makes me feel the strongest and healthiest ever. Her response was eye opening. She said that it was probably because when a woman is pregnant her immune system is weakened so that the baby does not become confused with something she needs to fight or expel. This lowered state of the immune system made my system closer to a normal one so my body wasn't constantly fighting.

Just because I don't walk around with a diagnosis on my sleeve doesn't mean I am not suffering. Just because I choose to not be on a million different prescriptions doesn't mean I'm living like an idiot. Just because I choose not to tell everyone or anyone what I am going through doesn't mean I don't have some heavy shit in my mind and heart. I have a good life that I am very thankful for. I wouldn't trade it in for anything in the world. I am blessed with a beautiful family and a wonderful husband that is a rarity in this day and age. 

Be kind to one another, we are all fragile in different ways. 

A letter to The Fat Girl

I've watched you pretty closely since starting out nutrition class. At first, I was relieved when you entered because it meant I wouldn't be the biggest person there. Then week after week, I noticed different things. I love your cool nails, gel mani I presume. You had the coolest handbag, even if it was made of AstroTurf. You had short hair, which I don't have the guts for. Then today, you walk in wearing a crop top and piggy suspenders. Piggy suspenders for Pete's sake.

As we went around the room, each of us saying what we got out of the class and our plan for long term success, I have to say you shocked the hell out of me. You decided against the weight loss surgery you have been prepping for the last 12 weeks. You said, you didn't want to lose your identity or your support in the "fat awareness" community. I get that. I am a wife, mother, student and I really don't know what else. I'm not quick to remember my identity. What I do know is that I am not a fat girl. I am not this fat girl. I am not the fat girl that I have become.

I can't wait to go under the knife and be released from this LapBand that has been digging a hole in my stomach for years. I can not wait to cut back those layers of scar tissue that have been my undoing since that useless things was placed inside me. I do not want fat people support. I want to be healthy. I want to fit in EVERY ride at the carnival. I want to run after my kids. I want my parts to be high and stay dry.

I thank you for the courage to be different, I thank you for showing your confidence. I even thank you for staying fat. It takes all kinds to make the world go round and I am not the one to fight the big is beautiful fight. I am not beautifully big. You are. In a few weeks, we graduate from this program and go our separate ways. I hope your life is fulfilling. I hope you change the world. As for me, I am taking my second chance and running with it.

Daddy's Girl

Not a single day goes by that I don't think about my father. My father was an amazing man. I remember the last day I spent with him. I mean, I remember every single detail of that day. It was a good day. After he passed away, I tried to remember when was the last time we told each other how much we loved each other and I came up blank. I have no idea when was the last time he told me he loved me or if he ever did. I knew he loved me. I never felt empty without hearing him say the words because I know every action and every thought he had was for his family.

One thing I do know is that my dad was proud of me. He was proud of me and satisfied that I had gotten married before he passed. I guess not just that I had gotten married but that I had found a good husband. He even said it, "I can die now because I know that you are taken care of." That of course, was about 4 years before he died but he was very proud of me for finding a good man. Some people might find that weird or even sad. That is what my dad is proud of me for? Yup, and I didn't mind at all. My dad struggled his whole life, pretty much since the say he was born to survive and to help his family in any way possible. He never wanted any of his kids to struggle and I'm sure watching me raise my first born alone was heartbreaking for him. So, I am glad I made my daddy proud, in any way I possibly could.

The Minimizer

It seems like lately I have been downplaying everything. I pretend that I don't need help with the kids, that I have a handle on stuff when I really don't, that I am not in any physical pain and that I am not in need of any personal connections.

Isn't that what I am suppose to do? I'm mommy, I'm the wife. I'm not suppose to be another problem to fix. Which I am not, nor do I want to be looked at that way. So, for the most part I say nothing. I give up. I pretend that I had a good day. I pretend that I didn't even mind giving up my frosted mini wheat cereal, that I don't care that I haven't tasted a Scotch in over 5 weeks (FIVE FUCKING WEEKS!!). I just sit and wait, like the plants I've forgotten to water. I'll wait for someone to put their phone down and look at me through their eyes like they use to.

Hi! Remember me? Your friend, your aunt, your sister, your coworker, your whatever. I'll never tell you I need help, nor do I want anyone in my house messing with my things and kids but just smile at me once in a while and hug me a little longer than usual and I'll do the same.

Inside Out

Someone once told me "Don't compare their outside, to your inside." I didn't fully understand that back then but now... I get it. I don't expect my life to be easy and believe me it hasn't been. Growing up I looked at everyone else around me and I thought all of my friends had it better than I did. When I think about my childhood and look at family photographs, one thing that is constant no matter what age I was is the anxiety that I always felt. I grew up with my adrenaline always pumping and my stomach always upset. I invited a sense of doom into every situation. I can remember a few specific situations, but for the most part I don't remember anything but that stress feeling. 

Being constantly gas lighted through my childhood led to a feeling that I was never normal. I learned how to mistrust any feeling I was experiencing, even misinterpreting them in almost every situation. 

I was told that life is easy for other people and I'm the only one who has a hard time with anything. That's quite a hard lump to swallow for a little kid. 

So now, as an adult, I look around sometimes and I see how other peoples lives seem so effortless and I have to once again not compare. I see someone on the outside. A quick moment in their lives, when they are having a good day at the zoo or a quick trip to the Farmers Market. I have no idea what is on the inside. I don't know what their daily life is like or if they even wanted to get out of bed. I don't know who has money or marital problems. I don't know if he or she has a drinking problem or high cholesterol. 

I've learned to compare me to me and also remember that there is always room for growth. I've lost that itch to get my grass as green as the neighbors (the drought, man, the drought). I've learned that my best now is not my best ever and my best ever has yet to come. I don't want to know every ones issues, knowing people have problems will not make me feel better about my own life. For now I thank God we are not Inside Out. 

No Hippy Chick

"No, I'm not a hippie. Yes, I eat meat. Yes, I wear deodorant." This was an actual answer to a question addressed to me by one of the mommies waiting with me for our kids after school. She had just asked me about Juniper's short pants and where I got them. When I told her that they were cloth diapers and explained to her that I decided not to buy disposables for my baby, the look on her face was classic. She was both grossed out and curious. The car wreck effect. Morbid curiosity, they call it, right?

"How to you wash them?"
"In the washing machine"
"Where do you keep them?"
"In a basket"
"Does she poop in it?"
"Yes"
"OMG! Do you breasfeed her?"
"Yes"
"How is that?"
"Fine"
"Wait, are you, like, a hippie? Do you guys wear deodorant and eat meat and stuff?"
WTF? Now mind you this was like a forty year old woman. At least she looked it. Was she serious or just being a jerk? I really don't know. Would she not sit with me at lunch because I cloth diaper my kid? Is it really that big of a deal? I don't think so but what do I know. I've never really cared what the next mom was doing. Except for Gwenny Paltrow, of course.

Goddamn Baby Fever

There are ladies in this world that end up with a baby in their arms. This is my sister. Where ever we go, birthday party, mall, friends house, you name it, somehow she ends up with a chubby little baby in her arms. I was never that girl. I never wanted to hold the new babies. I never wanted to babysit. I never even thought I would have kids. Then I fell in love and got the Goddamn baby fever. I had my first son when I was just 18 years old and although that relationship ended badly, my little guy was the best thing that ever happened in my life. Fast forward 15 years or so and I fell madly in love at first sight. We met and I got pregnant almost immediately. We had a baby boy, then another, then the gal, then the tubed got torn and burned and sent to sit on separate sides of the classroom.
I think about having another baby everyday, even though I know I cannot. I think about being a surrogate for another family, even though I am forty and almost died during my last delivery. If I could I probably would risk having another baby. When you really think about that, it's a sick kind of thought that I would risk leaving behind the kids I have and possibly another newborn just because I have baby fever.

I have never ever known any greater joy than being pregnant. All of the stretchmarks, the pain, the hemorrhoids, the peed pants, it was all the best time of my life. Nothing can match the excitement of waiting for your due date (or passing it, in my case) and going through the greatest labor of all. The most powerful feeling of your body pushing forth the greatest creation and the greatest gift, it just makes everything else melt away. I would give anything to experience this again. I can only hope that one of my children will let me in enough to experience the gift of their children with them. Perhaps it will be my only daughter. I guess we will see... I wouldn't have let my mother in, but that is a whole other 50 pages.

The Darnedest Things

I will never forget the first time someone ever called me fat. It was the first day of school and I was starting 3rd grade. I was walking to school and my friend "D" was inside the school gate. He yelled "SANDY!!! DON'T COME BACK IN THIS GATE IF YOU GOT FAT!! WHY DID YOU GET FAT!!" I...was.... mortified! I pretended like I had no idea what he was talking about but it broke my heart. I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had probably doubled in weight that summer. Here's the skinny, so to speak. At the end of second grade, I was bone thin, I was pretty and smart. I had long silky dark brown hair and sometimes my mom put vaseline on my lips in the morning so it looked like I wore lip gloss. I was a happy gal. My mom was of the thicker variety as was my older brother and people would always comment on how thin I was. Mommy hated these comments because to her it meant that I was unhealthy, therefor she was a bad mom. Sounds legit, right? Well that summer she heard about these soy shakes given to kids for good nutrition. It was all the rage in the ghetto. So I was fed three shakes a day, give or take, along with my regular food. It was a sad spectacle and no one intervened. I remember my nose being pinched until I swallowed the shakes down on the days I refused. By the time I was ready to go back to school I was fat. So began my fat girl life and fat girl tendencies. Self loathing and shame ruled my world. Then by the end of 3rd grade I got titties, and that is a whole other ball game.

Independence Day

Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, Independence Day! When I was a small girl, I would dream about my own independence day. A day when I would be grown up enough to move out on my own. I knew what I would do when I grew up, but I did know I wanted to smoke cigarettes (I don't...anymore). I longed for the day when I would be ready to walk out the door of the house I grew up in. I would only look back to tell a few people off. I mean, I had speeches ready. Now, today, more than twenty years after all that planning my adrenaline still pumps thinking about it. When I go visit those same people on the weekend what I feel towards them has changed. What once was anger is now pity. When you are let down and betrayed by the people who were entrusted to protect you, something inside you dies and is never brought back. 

Your friends become your family. Strangers who you meet and are interested in you become the wonderful gift and you do anything possible to keep the conversations going. Now, I am forty, with kids of my own and when I visit those people who were suppose to show me the way I see a waste. All the time they wasted trying to appear to be something they couldn't even understand. I see delusional human beings, who would never admit to some of their deeds. I see people I no longer feel obligations to. People who can no longer guilt me into giving up my own life, they can no longer hold me back. It's not a sad thing, believe me, I forgave everyone a long time ago. So this Fourth of July, I will be thinking of my own Independence. While they will be there with me, I am free. 

Fighting Water

If there's one thing I have learned over the years it is CHOOSE YOUR BATTLES WISELY!! In almost every relationship I have had, I have picked a stupid fight. I'm talking stuuuupid! I have actually regretted starting a fight immediately after speaking. That was long, long ago. My husband would never tolerate that behavior. I don't even know if I have ever won or lost an argument with my husband because I usually back off. I know... I know... what a weak ass woman right? Wrong!! It is more important to me that we live in harmony and talk things out when we are feeling the need to than for me or him to raise our voices just for the sake of winning. Does it feel good to back down. NO! As a matter of fact most of the time it burns my ass to do so, but, I have a secret weapon. Fighting water. Yes, I fight the water. I have an imaginary argument and get my point across with water. Shower or washing dishes usually, but an occasional pre-drought watering of the lawn and garden has also relieved some tension. Lately, there has been many a pot and pan that has felt my wrath! I just have the conversation in my head while scrubbing the shit out of some plates and what not, and voila!! Everything is all peachy. Try it! Have that imaginary conversation in the shower, the one where you cuss your boss out. I guarantee you'll feel better after and it will improve your relationships.