Opositional Defiant Disorder and the Inner Child

Mindful March is making me mildly mad, maybe. I've been working hard on paying attention. Noticing things, being you know.....mindful. Interesting things come up when you pay attention.

When I don't eat, I get hungry. Now I know that normal people notice this every day all the time, but me and my sisters with disordered eating eat because we're stressed, or bored, or because you know, it's time to eat. Or because someone made coffee cake or put out chips and salsa. Or because we decided not to eat, so then it's all we can think about.

But you can just wait until your body says "hey, need some food here". How cool is that? It's all built right in. Love that.

And if no food is available at that second, you can be hungry for a while without death being imminent. I know. Shocking. Just shocking.

I've been reading enough of the Byron Katie information about "The Work" and watching enough of the videos on her website that the first two of the four questions that make up "the work" have started to appear in my mind kind of automatically, without even thinking about it. When I'm pouting about something, or nattering away at a worry or fuming about some sleight I'm sure someone has made and this question comes along "is this true?" my inner child answers. She's a pistol, that inner child. And surly. And I think maybe she has Oppositional Defiant Disorder.

"Yeah-hunh, totally true" she says. Hands on hips. Chin out. Eyes blazing. She is sure that whatever horrible thing the grown-up me thinks is going on is the whole truth.

It's a good thing. When I lived in that body, back all those years ago, that little girl was meek and mild and always, always, always the good little girl who made no trouble and was completely selfless, putting everyone else first every time. No wonder she wants to eat all the time, it's the only control she has over anything.

But then the second question pops into my head. "Is this really true?"

Then the little girl has to be honest. She defers a little to the older me and usually, almost always in fact, she has to admit that at least part of whatever horrible thing I'm thinking isn't actually true. The stories are complicated, and there are lots of reasons. Lots of truth.

Other things are good, too. Mindful working out has meant three big increases in the amount of weight I'm lifting, and I've been on a good solid schedule for a few months, really if I look back. The running makes my back hurt, so much so that it hurts all the time now, whether I'm running or using the cross trainer. I even had a dream last night about sleeping carefully so I didn't hurt myself more. So I'm on a home based anti-inflammatory and icing regimen and probably should buy new shoes, too. But I've found this setting on the cross trainer that (excuse my language) kicks my ass. Totally. But it's good, sweaty, hard work. The weather here has been stupid with more snow than I've seen in Seattle in our five years here. So the outside walks have been limited, but spring is bound to come for real, and more walks will come.

So it's all good. Maybe some love and attention will bring that O.D.D. little girl around. And all will be well. I just gotta keep paying attention.

Forgiveness February.....final week!

It's been a good month. I'm not two dress sizes skinnier, but who the hell cares? I've learned so very much about myself this month. And I feel so much better. I feel so much more like myself. I finished the Geneen Roth "When Food is Love" book, and it's just helped me see things about food and life and myself so much more clearly.

Then I went to a workshop, and watched one of the women that I really adore in the world tell the story of her life and her professional journey. I got to sit by her at dinner. I got to tell her that I love the way she just radiates a calm loving energy. And she told me her secret.

It's "the work". And the book was already on my shelf. Hot dog, I'm on it. Here's what I want to learn next. Already things are just settling in a bit. I'm not as scattered, frantic, worried or stressed. I'm just relaxing into it. Stepping into my real life, the one that's been here all along. It's a pretty good life.

The food is still going well. I have two new things I'm loving. One is Cookus Interruptus, a great video blog created by a local professor at Bastyr University where food is medicine--this is no dry cooking show, it's gut busting hilarious. I'm using recipes and learning things about food and cooking.

The second new thing is NEW PLATES! Not new new, Goodwill new. They're a little smaller than regular dinner plates, so small portions seem like a monster meal. Oh I am so easy to trick.


I love them. Aren't they cute?

We're on a new plan here at our house called "downright absolute panic about the economy and our finances". Jobs are not a sure thing, and as much as I don't think I'm going to lose my itty bitty salary job, I'm not at all sure about my husband's job. So we're trying to squeeze all the extras out of our life. Luckily we've been flat broke before, so we know how to do this. Healthy food is cheap food and the Y isn't on the hit list yet, so far so good.

Wish I observed giving something up for lent, I would kind of like to practice that. Maybe Mucho Minimizing March? We'll see...

Morning Glories--Open

It was a tough night. I am almost done with the book I've been reading "When Food is Love" by Geneen Roth.

And the little skin between the pain that is so well cushioned by bread and my heart was getting raw and rough. I know I said I could handle the pain, it's like labor. Release and let go and it won't hurt so much anymore. Name it. Say "this is fear" "this is sadness" "this is loneliness" "this hurts and I'll be OK".

But ow!

I wanted the sticky buns at rehearsal this morning. Oh did I want them. And peanut butter toast, aka; crack. Want, need, oh you know deserve.

So I didn't. I held on to my heart. I asked my heart "so what's up, are you hungry? for food?"

My heart kicked the dirt, hung her head and said. "No"

So I ate an apple, and two clementines. When I came home I made lots of vegetables and tofu because that's what we do when we take care of someone. We feed them food that they love, we cook it with praise for them, we choose fresh spinach and crispy peppers, we squeeze limes, we sit down and eat with the good chopsticks. I packed up the left overs, no there was not enough for a meal, but I packed them up anyway.

I held the image of an opening morning glory in my mind, and pictured it opening above my heart.

Opening. And no, it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. And yes, it is good.

Keep Spinnin' Round

I remember when my middle son was learning to roll over. He'd wake up in the middle of the night and roll over, then roll back, roll over then roll back, roll over then roll back. Then he'd plop his head mindfully back down and go right back to sleep.

This is how he's always been when he's learning something new. He does it over and over and over. Sometimes he still looses sleep over it. Luckily our days of a family bed are long since passed since he's taller than I am now, so his lost sleep is no longer mine.

But the other night I was the one awake in the middle of the night rolling over and over. And over.

I had been sound asleep for a few hours, it was the dark night and I could tell it was not going to be a quick turn. I was nattering on something big. So after about an hour I finally just got up and ran a steamy bath. And I picked up my book. I've been reading Geneen Roth's old book "When Food is Love" in little tiny bits. Sometimes literally a paragraph at a time. This night I soaked in the tub until I was totally sckrunkled-up and wrinkly and read almost the entire book.

It's hard to explain what happened next. But I felt like that baby who had practiced enough and was finally going to go plop my head down and go back to sleep. Reading the book is amazing. She sees inside my head and even more than that, she understands what's going on in there way better than I do! It's a big web of childhood, and acceptance, and love and care and food and trying, trying, trying to do it all just right. At one point in the book she tells the story of deciding to stop dieting, to just take care of herself and give herself what she wants until it becomes what she needs because she's taking care of herself. So she goes to her Wednesday night Weight Watchers meeting to tell the leader her plan. And the leader tells her that the ONLY way to fight a weight problem is to watch everything you put in your mouth for the rest of your life. I laughed out loud.

That's just the thing. That leaves it a weight problem. And you have it forever. And you fight it forever. But I know that there has to be another way.

I think I can see it. Forgiveness February is good.

There has got to be another way.

February=Forgiveness

I've been reading Geneen Roth's book "When Food is Love" and for the last few days I can only read just barely a paragraph at a time. They all seem to be bringing everything awful just right to the surface.

The good Scandinavian in me says "push it down, don't look! Here, have some lefse and let's do something else!"

But I am looking. Granted, only a sneak peek at a time, but I'm looking for little bits of time so that I can see. You know, actually see what's coming up.

And what I'm seeing is that it's time to let some of this go. I've not had a particularly awful life, not at all. Things have been pretty OK. But I am a little orchid of a person in some ways; I am outstandingly, overwhelmingly, heroically sensitive about everything. Princess and the Pea? Oh that's me. And I'm really amazingly good at holding a grudge. If there were grudge Olympics, I'd win a gold medal. And the silver and bronze, too.

So here I am sensitive, grudge holding person who uses food as a weapon. Of course I wail on myself the most. There are concentric circles of blame and grudge. A bulls eye with me in the center. Should have had more education when I was younger? Oh stupid me. Could really have done a better job managing finances for the last 15 years--yup, I am awful at managing money. Should have, could have, why don't, come ON. It just goes from there, my husband, family out further and further until there is even Jimmy Carter, come on he really should have been a better president.

This brings us to Forgiveness February. All month I am going to forgive everyone. Starting with me. Loving forgiveness. My dear husband who we all know is the most amazing man on the planet, and if you don't, well trust me, I do know it. And my dear mother who was a fantastic mother and still inspires me. Everything bad that I think has happened to me is nothing, it's over. It's done. I did the best I could and so did everyone else. And even Jimmy Carter. Him, too.

Forgiveness February. Bring it on. I'm gonna clear all the log jams so the love can just flow down like water.

Spirit First, the rest will follow

Oh I am so sore, who thought that was a good idea to lift all that weight yesterday anyway? Geez.

No, it's good. All good.

I've been wondering why I have been able to stay focused on health and healthful eating through this loss and grief. Today I mentioned my loss of Emmathedog to a handful of my friends at church. Someone asked me when it had happened, and I was so choked up, I could hardly tell them. Maybe I really do need the pity party where you split a bottle of red wine, watch "My Dog Skip" and just give in to the sobbing.

But I keep eating well, really well even. And the workouts continue. I hope it is that good Emma spirit cheering me on. Or maybe I have some weird complex that allows me to do big things when the chips are down? Like going back to school in the middle of huge marriage trauma. Or like the first time I lost a chunk of weight (not the first time it stayed off, though!) my three kids and one of the neighbor kids I was watching all had the chicken pox. And I-- OK get this, I gave away the leftover Halloween candy. In the middle of four kids with mad itchiness.

I should have a psychological evaluation.

Maybe it's that stoic Norwegian blood. Maybe it's just weird. But I am currently pretty centered about the self care and nurturing. The Geeneen Roth book "When Food is Love" is still blowing my mind. I think I had to get this old and this ready before I could have heard the messages about self care for real. And we'll see what happens, but for now it's good.

Next step, I think, is to add back in the morning meditation and yoga. I have been OK about the yoga with the real reason being that my back hurts if I don't get in at least a little yoga pretty consistently. But for a long time I did a small meditation before the yoga and I did it almost every morning. I am a kinder, calmer human if I do this. Sometimes I work my way through a book of poetry or meditations, using the poem or the reading as a place to begin the meditation. I light a candle, open a window to hear the birds and smell the fresh air. And I sit down with myself. It is good. So good.

The other thing I have to add in to this mix is the additional cardio. I was walking the path by my house on the non Y days in early December, but then we had snow and ice and rain rain rain, so much so that Pooh would have had to come and rescue me in his ship "The S.S. Pooh Bear" and the walk would have ended badly. Spring is on it's way here to the Pacific Northwest. I should get back outside. The path winds past a few huge stumps from the days when this area must have been logged, or cleared for farms and they have big rain forest looking trees growing out of them. There is moss, and ferns and lots of bunnies which probably means coyotes. I hear them calling at night. Being out under the big sky is so good for my spirit. But even on the days when I can't walk that path, I can put in 20 little minutes on the stairstepper that I have. I mean, come on! It is not that hard.

So, this week meditation added first, because my goal is mind and spirit first and body will follow. And then we'll see if more cardio can come along after that. Maybe I could even do the little Old Lady Shuffle that passes for my "running" outside. Shocking. Run. Outside?

Time for another bribe, don't you think? Maybe some cute workout pants. Mine are from 1999 when I first worked at the Y.

These are organic cotton from Gaiam.

It IS fun at the YMCA

I've been a YMCA-person for most of my life. When I was a little girl, my dad and I were in a group called "Indian Princesses", what a horrible name, idea and misappropriation, but it was a YMCA group with dads and daughters spending time together which was good. Then I went to a Y day camp called Kici Yapi--again an awful name and misappropriation, but again, a good camp where I learned to swim and canoe had my first contact with good education about nature. Then in high school I went on four Adventure Canoe trips with YMCA Camp Menogyn--the last one thirty some days canoeing across Manitoba, ending in Hudson Bay.

When my kids were little, about 10 years-ago, I got a job at the Y so we could have a discount on the membership, and we've been Y members ever since.

So, I've been working out in one way or another for those 10 years. Even during times when I've gained weight, I've had a pretty consistent routine of working out. I've had a bunch of different trainer sessions, every time we moved to a new Y, I would take advantage of the "free" trainer session and orientation. It's been good, I've learned a lot. Sometimes opposing things, but mostly really good.

But it's funny, when I'm really motivated I can do pretty much the same workout with a hot intensity, I sweat, I hurt afterward, I'm focused. I look like some mad woman. And when I'm on the unfit end, I'll beg off when the family goes, I'll lollygag, I'll go slow, lift less, choose the recumbent bike--OK, not really! But it's the same kind of way I eat; less mindfully, filled with resentment. No fun.

Today I ran a straight mile and a half, I know it's nothing compared to what a lot of folks do, but I haven't run that far straight thru since I was 35, six years ago. I think I lifted more weight than I have in a long time, if not ever. I was focused, intense, driven. I was on!

And it was fun. I love my YMCA. I don't live near one, so split my visits between two different ones, but the one I love best is the older, smaller, funky one in West Seattle right near the church I serve. Today at that funky little Y I saw a board member from my church, and the girl who used to give my kids a hard time about working out when they had had their teen orientation at the OTHER Y. I saw the local UCC minister, the administrator of our school, and faces that I just see there regularly. The swim team has their swim-a-lap fundraiser tonight and I remember working that, and covering the 2am shift on the overnight swim party, too. I remember going to this Y when we first moved to Seattle and my kids had to pass a swim test to go in the pool, now the oldest just finished his lifeguard training in that same pool and was, that day on the spot, offered a job. The kids went to child care when we were first here, and a few years later our middle son took babysitter training in the same room. It's been so much more than a gym.

It's like hanging out with family. It's like working out with family.

A funny world.

And I'm glad I know the Y, glad I have it, so thankful that it's there, that it's been there.

Simple Days

It's been almost a week since the dog has been gone. And yesterday I completed a very competent and orderly grocery shopping with no moments of getting lost in the store. I'm starting to miss her in a less physical way; I'm not looking for her every time I move from one room to the next, or waiting for her on the stairs or expecting to feed her the bits of leftovers any longer. But I am starting to miss her with that inner keening that realizes that she is really now and forever gone.

She was such a good dog. I miss her so much.

And I cannot imagine what I would do if I lost a person from my family. It makes me think that someday I should work as a chaplain. Empathy is me, right now. Sorrow softens me. A wise UU blogger said it better, and I couldn't agree more.

Somehow in the midst of all of this I am feeling pretty healthy. I think it's the pledge to care for myself as Emma would want me to. It's good. I haven't run for a long time, tending to like the high calorie count numbers that come from the same time on a cross trainer, and the meditative walk on the trail. But I know in my heart of hearts that the run does more for me to crank up the muscle mass build and the fat burn. I mean, come on. I sweat more! Isn't that the real test?

So I hit the treadmill and decided I'd just run a mile. It's humbling to be on a treadmill surrounded by my children and husband who can just start right out with a run, no warm up, but it's OK. I muddled through.

And it wasn't even too hard. Just a mental game. "Yes, you can do this. No you are not going to die. Yes this is how working hard feels. No your butt doesn't look any fatter running than walking. Really, you are not going to die." So, guess I'll go for a mile plus something today. It's bit by bit, little by little. Split pea soup by grilled salmon. Taking care of yourself and being kind, even when you're sad. Mile by mile and all.

One pair of jeans from the "no" pile fits again. I can tell that this is the point when in the past I've had a love affair with losing pounds as noted on the scale. I've rushed to see the latest number, breathless to know. Elated with the new number. Excited to feel good and successful. It feels like no one has ever been so successful or powerful. It's easy, in this flush to keep going, the pounds seem to fall off. It's quite a rush.

But this time, I'm trying to stay away from the scale. No "numbers rush" for me. I want to just be a little slimmer, a little calmer, a little more centered. I'm fine here, just me, just as I am. And I want to fit into my clothes a little better and not stuff feelings down with a nice warm piece of buttered bread. I want to eat buttered bread because it tastes good, and one piece is enough. OK, maybe two.

Oh please, may it be so.

Next Life

I just got back from the grocery store, I was out to buy the fixin's for making granola for a yogurt parfait sale tomorrow at church. So, while I was there I figured I would pick up a few things for the family, too. But yesterday was my dog Emma's last day alive. It was a good day, it was time and it was awful and beautiful. And today at the store I couldn't find the peanut butter. Really, at the Fred Meyer I go to four times a week.

I'm a little lost without my sweet dog as a touchstone in my life.



She was the best dog, ever. You know what it's like if you've had a dog that you loved, and if that dog lived for you. She was my dog, oh she was all of ours of course, but she followed me everywhere, and she would sit looking out the window for hours waiting for me to come home. She snuggled like only a 40 pound fur ball can. This was love. True, full, selfless love. I miss her.

I am taking it as a sign. Since Emma isn't here to love me in person any longer, I guess I had just better learn to follow myself around and adore myself. If I was worth the devotion of the best dog on earth, then I must be worth my own time and attention. So, I'm on a mission.

I am going to learn to treat myself like my dog would have liked to treat me.

This plan includes fantastic and wonderful food, in people sized portions. It includes long naps and longer walks. There must be cozy fires in the fire place and delicious books that just simply must be read. It has a class or two to improve my mind and fun evenings with friends. There should be good camping trips to beautiful places and hours and hours of writing time. Fine tea, freshly ground coffee, small bits of excellent creamy chocolate and the right wine to go with all if it, too.

And gentle, loving, adoring care every single day.

I have gotten two books in the mail from my ordering spree from Amazon, now: "Love Yourself Thin" by Victoria Moran (she's recently updated it and it will be published I think this spring--but even this old one is excellent) and "When Food is Love" by Geneen Roth, which I have not yet read, but her blogs are wonderful. I signed up for the Oprah "Best Life" series of webinars. I've been a downright regular at the Y, me and my spiffy new shower shoes by the way, yeay me. And even with the loss of my dog, I'm doing OK with food. I really want to just stay a nice normal size, just a little bump down from where I am right now.

At the maze-like grocery store trip, I picked up the new People magazine with it's requisite "HALF THEIR SIZE" article. It has a little blurb about Oprah and her recent weight gain, and it also had a photo gallery of her during her ups and downs. It could be me. I'm so ready to just slow the curve and actually just settle in at a nice, normal weight. Normal BMI. Room for a little chocolate, a lot of walking, some margaritas with friends. And no food psychosis. Happiness. Fulfillment. Spirit. Focus on real life, and not food or points or calories. Just life.

It's what my dear old dog would have wanted.

Yet again

So, I hope none of you are trying to win the laptop in the giveaway over at "Confessions of a Pioneer Woman" because I am clearly going to win it. And someday I'll have a blog that can give away a laptop on NYE, too.

OK, maybe not.

But so far so good in the pre-New Years make-over in my head.

I had planned to whip up a fancy organization system in my closet, which turned out to be much more messed-up that I had thought. Hmmmm, wonder what else is more messed up than I thought it was. Maybe, you know, my HEAD!? Probably.

Love that metaphor. The deep storage in my closet and in my head. Messed-up. But a work in progress.

It turned out that I only have one pair of serviceable socks in an entire woman-sized basket full of socks. And I also have fifty times more skirts than I thought I did. Who knew? Now all the hole filled socks are awaiting execution and the skirts are hanging, breathlessly waiting to be worn in the new year, I am ready for the launch to a tidy and organized closet. It seems that often I stood in the stuffed closet with the lament "I have nothing to weaaaarrrrr!" Now, I have some things to wear. And I know what fits. And I know that eating those french fries is really a lose-lose situation. So, I'm making progress.

Tonight we're eating dinner and then heading to our friends' house. I really am looking forward to the new year. And I'm astonished at how fast time goes. Can it really be nine years since we all celebrated the turn to 2000? Can I really be the mother of three young men? Can it really be possible to let go of the attachment I have to food? Maybe. The teenagers are all there, it really will be 2009 very soon and I keep getting older no matter HOW many of those fancy lotions I buy. Nope nope nope. So, might as well accept all true things as, well, you know. True.

I have no resolutions. I want to be real and love the people I love and stand up for the things I love and be who I mean to be. Nothing new. Just trying to come home, though I've broken my vows a thousand times, yet again, to come home.

little things sure add up

So, I did Weight Watchers last year after winning NaNoWriMo. This year on November 30th, after not-winning NaNo, I didn't do WW.

Big surprise.

But what I did do was to start trying to be clean with food and activity. And up until about the time round three of our snowstorm hit, I was doing OK. There were two solid weeks of walk on the path alternating with a cardio/weight work out at the Y for six days and then one day off. Food was OK, mostly stuff eaten to feed body hunger and not head hunger or heart hunger.

I'm still recovering from the points and core and good and bad and right and wrong that I internalized, AGAIN, last year doing ww.

In line at the grocery store on Christmas Eve, during trip number three of the day, the new O magazine caught my eye. Hey, yeah. I thought Oprah was looking a little heavier, but then I never trust my eye to be right about weight loss or gain. A friend can lose 50 pounds and I just wonder if they found a really great pair of jeans. But there was Oprah, weight loss maven, talking about how she'd fallen off the wagon, again. Oooo. Me too, me too.

Not that I believe now that there really is a wagon full of thin and beautiful and happy people who have good skin and good jobs and happy and fulfilled primary relationships and always floss their teeth. Or that I fell off that wagon. If there is one, I've never gotten the pick-up schedule down right.

When I lost the most weight, about six years ago, on the day that I hit a size 8, my husband told me he wanted a divorce. Maybe I found the reverse wagon or something. But it ripped off the belief that I had that the only reason I wasn't happy was because I was fat. I wasn't happy because I wasn't happy. Maybe I was even fat because I wasn't happy. OK, there went the wagon tipping over and rolling down the hill.

So since this past fall when I realized that points and all that program stuff had just really served to feed the beast that is my food addiction, I've been reading Geneen Roth, and Victoria Moran, and trying to feed myself with things that don't go in my mouth. In my head I call it "eating clean". I've been trying to be OK with life and OK with the love I have and to be happy without food.

After all food is the craziest addiction of all! I mean, what kind of lame high do we get off food? Not much. At least some of the psychotropics give you a break from reality. Food smacks you down again so fast, you aren't even all the way up before you're down.

Shakin' my head. What kind of crazy thing is this, anyway.

The new O magazine had this great piece about rats. No really, it talks about how rats in a nasty cage would choose to drink the morphine laced water everytime. But the rats in the rat-heaven enlcosure shunned the happy water, instead, making happy lives.

Ahhhhh! Come on, I have to be smarter than a rat! I'm old enough, wise enough, now to make a happy life, and maybe this time just hang out at a nice-happy-size "just right" for oh, I don't know. Maybe life?

Today the Solstice Storm piles of snow are starting to melt. My whole family is headed to the Y and it is their job to finish the cheesy potatoes (damn you Pioneer Woman and your amazing use of butter and cream!) and to eat or disperse the cookies. My dear husband is creating a closet haven for me out of the closet chaos I have right now, and maybe we'll even paint the bathtub alcove a lovely eggplant color this weekend.

Little things, but they can sure add up.

And if I keep feeling sane about it, why not throw a little insanity in the mix and think about training for a 5k or even a 10k. I did a 5k for my 35th birthday, 'bout time to get on to the next distance, right?

OK, now I said it outloud. Better make it true.