Ah, Halloween. It’s a rather strange holiday when you think about it, and for me, at least, a conflicted one as well.
When I was little, it was very exciting to dress up and go around the neighborhood collecting candy and other goodies – in those days, we even sometimes go homemade treats like popcorn balls or candied apples. Of course I also loved coming home and emptying my bag on the living room floor to see what I’d gotten for loot: Kit Kats, candy corn, Charleston Chews, Smartees (one of my favorites), M&M’s, etc. And back then, I didn’t really worry about eating it.
When I got older, we also had Halloween parties with all of my friends and my brother’s friends. We’d listen to silly music like “Monster Mash”, play games, and go through our somewhat bizarre piñata ritual. This involved sitting in a circle and taking turns shaking the piñata for candy (three shakes each turn), not hitting it. This was because the piñata, a donkey, was homemade, and the process was laborious enough that Mom wanted to get the maximal life span out of it – which we did, even if the piñata got rather sad-looking.
Those are my good, happy memories of Halloween. The not-so-good, of course, revolved around the candy. On the one hand, it was great to be able to legitimately ask for and get candy – it was actually expected and somewhat encouraged. But once I turned eleven, I began to be very self-conscious about it. Did those giving out the candy judge me for my weight? Did they give me less than others, or did they think they should?
And then when I had the candy, I didn’t know how to go about eating it. Since I had acquired it by legitimate means, could I eat it openly, or would that still draw disapproval? Should I horde it to make it last? Should I gorge on it to make room for the other holiday foods? It all proved much more emotionally draining to decipher than I would have liked. Also difficult was that by then I couldn’t easily find costumes that fit. Halloween stopped being fun.
Older still, since I could no longer go trick or treating, if I wanted to have some of my favorite Halloween candy (particularly candy corn, which was unavailable other times of year), I had to buy a whole bag – and eat all of it myself. In secret, feeling ashamed and guilty at every piece.
When I started losing weight, particularly the second year in, I was a bit shocked to discover that the candy had lost its hold over me. I ate some of what a co-worker brought in, more out of habit than real desire, but after a piece or two I discovered I didn’t want any more. Similarly, when I bought candy in preparation for trick-or-treaters who never materialized, I didn’t feel secretly glad, knowing that now I could keep all that candy to myself. Instead, I stared at the mass of sugar, wondering what I was going to do with it. (Bring it to work, it turns out.)
Then five years ago, I went to my first Halloween party in well over a decade, and I had no idea what to wear. I hadn’t been able to attend my friend’s mask-making party (a pity, since then I could have seen her first meeting with the man who is now her husband), and I didn’t have time or inclination to buy a costume I might never wear again. In the end I made a Zorro-like mask and wore my sleeveless red bridesmaid’s dress from a recent wedding. It was as much a costume as anything else, because at the time I still felt a bit of a stranger to myself when I considered that I could wear a size 6 (!) sleeveless fitted dress, and look good in it.
These days, Halloween and I have a truce and don’t disturb each other. I’ve largely forgotten about it this year and certainly haven’t felt tempted to buy candy. I prefer to focus on the older meaning of the holiday, and finding other ways to feed the ghosts of my beloved dead.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Who Are You Losing it For?
There’s a line in Alanis Morissette’s song “Mary Jane” that goes: “I hear you’re losing weight again Mary Jane / Do you ever wonder who you’re losing it for?”
I’ve always been struck by this question, because it’s so important. I know for myself, when I was an adolescent, I was trying to lose weight for so many other people – my mom, my dad, my grandparents, society as a whole, guys I liked, etc. I didn’t really have my own reasons, except to make them happy. But it wasn’t until I got past all of that and started losing weight for myself that it actually worked.
I was reminded of this the other day when I was talking to a weight-loss coach. She was amazed that I had managed to lose so much weight on my own, and I credit that both to my stubbornness but also the fact that I was losing it for the right reasons – i.e., my reasons, not someone else’s. Because as both she and I know, trying to lose it for someone else usually backfires. She told me how her mother had tried to pay her to lose weight (which meant that she just binged in secret), and someone she’s working with whose parents won’t pay for college until the young woman loses weight.
But this is exactly the wrong thing to do, and it still baffles me how parents think this will work. Even though my parents didn’t do anything like that (the most Mom did was offer to buy me a paperback book for every 5 pounds I lost, but that was framed much more as a reward/incentive than a bribe), the simple fact of all the pressure and focus on it made me want to eat even more. I was an adolescent, after all – rebelliousness is part of the package. If someone, especially a parent, tries to tie all your self-worth to your weight, it will very rarely work. And even if it does while the girl or boy is at home, as soon as they get to college, all bets are off, same as with any other rigid rules and restrictions.
To me, the working with childhood obesity is not just looking at the causes, but also helping the children find their own reasons for wanting to be healthy. Telling them they’ll get sick when they get older is pointless – to kids, being an adult is ages away, and they think they’ll live forever anyway. The reason, I expect, will be different for each child, but the key is that it’s their reason, and not their parents’.
I’ve always been struck by this question, because it’s so important. I know for myself, when I was an adolescent, I was trying to lose weight for so many other people – my mom, my dad, my grandparents, society as a whole, guys I liked, etc. I didn’t really have my own reasons, except to make them happy. But it wasn’t until I got past all of that and started losing weight for myself that it actually worked.
I was reminded of this the other day when I was talking to a weight-loss coach. She was amazed that I had managed to lose so much weight on my own, and I credit that both to my stubbornness but also the fact that I was losing it for the right reasons – i.e., my reasons, not someone else’s. Because as both she and I know, trying to lose it for someone else usually backfires. She told me how her mother had tried to pay her to lose weight (which meant that she just binged in secret), and someone she’s working with whose parents won’t pay for college until the young woman loses weight.
But this is exactly the wrong thing to do, and it still baffles me how parents think this will work. Even though my parents didn’t do anything like that (the most Mom did was offer to buy me a paperback book for every 5 pounds I lost, but that was framed much more as a reward/incentive than a bribe), the simple fact of all the pressure and focus on it made me want to eat even more. I was an adolescent, after all – rebelliousness is part of the package. If someone, especially a parent, tries to tie all your self-worth to your weight, it will very rarely work. And even if it does while the girl or boy is at home, as soon as they get to college, all bets are off, same as with any other rigid rules and restrictions.
To me, the working with childhood obesity is not just looking at the causes, but also helping the children find their own reasons for wanting to be healthy. Telling them they’ll get sick when they get older is pointless – to kids, being an adult is ages away, and they think they’ll live forever anyway. The reason, I expect, will be different for each child, but the key is that it’s their reason, and not their parents’.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Yoga Bodies
I’ve recently started doing a little yoga, both to get something different into my exercise routine, and also hoping that it will help with stress reduction. I’ve been using videos for this, since I can get them from Netflix (or even better, stream some!), and also because it gives me much more flexibility as to when I do it.
And speaking of flexibility, I always thought that being physically flexible was all I’d need to do yoga. My mom thought so, too, which is why she invited me to a free yoga class with her at the Cancer Community Center (wonderful resource, by the way) over ten years ago. She started going while she was undergoing chemo, to try to keep some of her strength up, and I agreed to join her.
I only attended one session, though. Partly that was due to time constraints (I was on Christmas break so headed back to Boston shortly after), but an embarrassment factor also crept in. Here I was, still very flexible, but I literally could not put my body in some of the positions asked because of the size of my body parts. Primarily my legs – they had so much bulk that I could only do so much with them. The embarrassment was enough of a deterrent that I didn’t try yoga again until the past year.
I was reminded of this recently in using a “Long and Lean” yoga video by a man named Baron Baptiste. It seems like a good video, but I was a little annoyed by his introduction. He said that the two women modeling the poses for him – both very lean, long, and sculpted – had “yoga bodies”, meaning that they had gotten to that place only by doing yoga.
That may be the case, but I do think there’s some inherent pre-disposition to having those sorts of bodies. For instance, I will never be lean, unless I go on a starvation diet. My legs are still the primary source of this, being far too thick. Additionally, I will never be long; if anything, I will become less long as I grow older. Finally, I’m not quite proportionate. I have a short torso, and so when I’m asked to do things like go from downward dog to a lunge by jumping lightly (hah!) or stepping between my arms, I simply can’t. There’s not enough room between my chest and the floor to easily move into that position.
My point is simply this. When doing any exercise, we all need to be aware of our particular body type and capabilities, and not get so embarrassed by what we think we should be able to do but can’t that we don’t do the exercise at all anymore. For myself, even though I can’t perform some of the actions the way they’re modeled, and I know I’ll never have a body like the pretty people on my screen, no matter how much yoga I do, I won’t let that stop me. I’m going to keep up with the parts I can do and not worry about the rest. After all, I’d say that anyone who does yoga has a “yoga body” – it just so happens that they’re not all the same.
And speaking of flexibility, I always thought that being physically flexible was all I’d need to do yoga. My mom thought so, too, which is why she invited me to a free yoga class with her at the Cancer Community Center (wonderful resource, by the way) over ten years ago. She started going while she was undergoing chemo, to try to keep some of her strength up, and I agreed to join her.
I only attended one session, though. Partly that was due to time constraints (I was on Christmas break so headed back to Boston shortly after), but an embarrassment factor also crept in. Here I was, still very flexible, but I literally could not put my body in some of the positions asked because of the size of my body parts. Primarily my legs – they had so much bulk that I could only do so much with them. The embarrassment was enough of a deterrent that I didn’t try yoga again until the past year.
I was reminded of this recently in using a “Long and Lean” yoga video by a man named Baron Baptiste. It seems like a good video, but I was a little annoyed by his introduction. He said that the two women modeling the poses for him – both very lean, long, and sculpted – had “yoga bodies”, meaning that they had gotten to that place only by doing yoga.
That may be the case, but I do think there’s some inherent pre-disposition to having those sorts of bodies. For instance, I will never be lean, unless I go on a starvation diet. My legs are still the primary source of this, being far too thick. Additionally, I will never be long; if anything, I will become less long as I grow older. Finally, I’m not quite proportionate. I have a short torso, and so when I’m asked to do things like go from downward dog to a lunge by jumping lightly (hah!) or stepping between my arms, I simply can’t. There’s not enough room between my chest and the floor to easily move into that position.
My point is simply this. When doing any exercise, we all need to be aware of our particular body type and capabilities, and not get so embarrassed by what we think we should be able to do but can’t that we don’t do the exercise at all anymore. For myself, even though I can’t perform some of the actions the way they’re modeled, and I know I’ll never have a body like the pretty people on my screen, no matter how much yoga I do, I won’t let that stop me. I’m going to keep up with the parts I can do and not worry about the rest. After all, I’d say that anyone who does yoga has a “yoga body” – it just so happens that they’re not all the same.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Too Much of a Good Thing
I have a confession to make: I’m a compulsive produce shopper. Most items that people like to buy – clothes, jewelry, cars, computers, video games, etc. – leave me cold. But get me to a good Farmer’s Market, and I have a hard time stopping.
When picking out apples, for instance, I want to get some of each variety, and this time of year, those are in abundance: Red Delicious, Golden Delicious, Granny Smith, Macoun, Macintosh, Cortland, Empire, Honey Crisp, Jona Gold. This also applies to other items when I find new heirloom varieties, be it with tomatoes, carrots, beets, zucchini, or others.
As new items come into season, I wander among the stands, recipes darting through my head as I fantasize about what delectable treats I could make, savory and sweet: soups, stews, casseroles, stir-frys, salads, fritters, breads, muffins, jams, and pies. Or, in the case of items like cucumbers, the delight may simply be in eating them raw, or as with broccoli, I may simply steam it or lightly sauté it. Then as the season ends, I worry that this will be the last week a certain item is available, but I don’t want to let it go just yet. Which is why, by the time I’m done, I’m practically waddling back to my car, laden with cloth bags brimming with produce.
The problem is this. I’m only one person, and while I can eat a somewhat ridiculous amount of vegetables, even I can consume only so much. After all, as I learned the hard way, overeating healthy foods may be more difficult to do than with less healthy options, but it’s still overeating. That’s why I occasionally find items in my fridge that were once fresh but are now sad remnants of their former glory: withered potatoes, blackish sludge that was once lettuce, peppers that turn to mush when I pick them up, brown and wilted tops of fennel.
Until today, I hadn’t actually given much thought to this. But this morning, after another trip to the Farmer’s Market, I was in my favorite local shop for a few additional items, and I saw that they had put up a sign with some suggested rules on how to treat food. Things like buy local and organic when you can, eat less meat and wheat, prepare food with care, serve only as much as you need, and use the rest.
It was the last rule that struck me. I try to use as much of the parts of what I buy as I can, such as making chicken broth from bones, or using beet tops for salads. I realized, though, that as I’m on my buying frenzy at the market, it’s disrespectful to the farmers and the food to buy so much that some of it goes to waste. And so in the future, I will try to remember to buy only what I need, knowing that (most of the time) I can get more later, and that there truly can be too much of a good thing.
When picking out apples, for instance, I want to get some of each variety, and this time of year, those are in abundance: Red Delicious, Golden Delicious, Granny Smith, Macoun, Macintosh, Cortland, Empire, Honey Crisp, Jona Gold. This also applies to other items when I find new heirloom varieties, be it with tomatoes, carrots, beets, zucchini, or others.
As new items come into season, I wander among the stands, recipes darting through my head as I fantasize about what delectable treats I could make, savory and sweet: soups, stews, casseroles, stir-frys, salads, fritters, breads, muffins, jams, and pies. Or, in the case of items like cucumbers, the delight may simply be in eating them raw, or as with broccoli, I may simply steam it or lightly sauté it. Then as the season ends, I worry that this will be the last week a certain item is available, but I don’t want to let it go just yet. Which is why, by the time I’m done, I’m practically waddling back to my car, laden with cloth bags brimming with produce.
The problem is this. I’m only one person, and while I can eat a somewhat ridiculous amount of vegetables, even I can consume only so much. After all, as I learned the hard way, overeating healthy foods may be more difficult to do than with less healthy options, but it’s still overeating. That’s why I occasionally find items in my fridge that were once fresh but are now sad remnants of their former glory: withered potatoes, blackish sludge that was once lettuce, peppers that turn to mush when I pick them up, brown and wilted tops of fennel.
Until today, I hadn’t actually given much thought to this. But this morning, after another trip to the Farmer’s Market, I was in my favorite local shop for a few additional items, and I saw that they had put up a sign with some suggested rules on how to treat food. Things like buy local and organic when you can, eat less meat and wheat, prepare food with care, serve only as much as you need, and use the rest.
It was the last rule that struck me. I try to use as much of the parts of what I buy as I can, such as making chicken broth from bones, or using beet tops for salads. I realized, though, that as I’m on my buying frenzy at the market, it’s disrespectful to the farmers and the food to buy so much that some of it goes to waste. And so in the future, I will try to remember to buy only what I need, knowing that (most of the time) I can get more later, and that there truly can be too much of a good thing.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Investing My Energy
One of the wonderful things about the “Am I Hungry?” program is that you are asked to consider where you will put all the new energy you have. This energy might come from no longer fretting about diets, counting calories, or beating yourself up for being “bad”, but it might also come from simply being healthier.
The funny thing is that when I started losing weight, I definitely had more energy, but I didn’t realize it at first because it happened so gradually. Then one day my dad said, “Your social calendar seems to have increased in inverse correlation with your weight loss.” When I sat down to consider it, I realized he was right.
After changing my relationship to food and exercise, so many things changed, and not just socially, although that was a part of it. I became more involved in my church, in many ways: I discovered a passion for leading worship as a lay member of the congregation, which has led me to being co-chair of the Worship Committee; I organized and participated in young adult activities; I was on the search committee for our new minister, and once we found her, I joined other committees; I have greeted and ushered, made food for various functions, and joined a small group ministry.
I volunteered in other ways as well, with the Cancer Community Center and for a community supported kitchen. I joined a book discussion group. I started dating. I discovered a love of travel, visiting places even as far away as the Galapagos Islands. I started to cook and experiment with new foods and recipes. I did more outdoor activities. I began keeping a small patio garden.
It wasn’t just my newfound energy that allowed me to do this, but also a new self-confidence and change in attitude. I can see this clearly in the evolution of my writing. While my reflections aren’t always happy, they now have at their heart a wish to learn from whatever experiences I have, to grow from them, and to let go of old thoughts and feelings that were so harmful to me.
All of this has brought me to taking the “Am I Hungry?” facilitator training. Had I still been heavy, I honestly don’t know that I would have the courage for it. Even after losing weight, it took me years to feel able to move outside of my comfort zone and have enough self-confidence to think that I could succeed at something new. It was only by revisiting my journey through my writing that I realized how much my life has changed, and that I would love to help others experience that.
It was also interesting because a woman from church recently commented that I’ve talked a lot about my weight. It wasn’t intentional, but it makes perfect sense when I realize that every area of my life has been impacted by my weight loss. It’s been a long, unexpected, and winding road, but also exciting, and I wonder with joyful anticipation where this energy will carry me in the future.
The funny thing is that when I started losing weight, I definitely had more energy, but I didn’t realize it at first because it happened so gradually. Then one day my dad said, “Your social calendar seems to have increased in inverse correlation with your weight loss.” When I sat down to consider it, I realized he was right.
After changing my relationship to food and exercise, so many things changed, and not just socially, although that was a part of it. I became more involved in my church, in many ways: I discovered a passion for leading worship as a lay member of the congregation, which has led me to being co-chair of the Worship Committee; I organized and participated in young adult activities; I was on the search committee for our new minister, and once we found her, I joined other committees; I have greeted and ushered, made food for various functions, and joined a small group ministry.
I volunteered in other ways as well, with the Cancer Community Center and for a community supported kitchen. I joined a book discussion group. I started dating. I discovered a love of travel, visiting places even as far away as the Galapagos Islands. I started to cook and experiment with new foods and recipes. I did more outdoor activities. I began keeping a small patio garden.
It wasn’t just my newfound energy that allowed me to do this, but also a new self-confidence and change in attitude. I can see this clearly in the evolution of my writing. While my reflections aren’t always happy, they now have at their heart a wish to learn from whatever experiences I have, to grow from them, and to let go of old thoughts and feelings that were so harmful to me.
All of this has brought me to taking the “Am I Hungry?” facilitator training. Had I still been heavy, I honestly don’t know that I would have the courage for it. Even after losing weight, it took me years to feel able to move outside of my comfort zone and have enough self-confidence to think that I could succeed at something new. It was only by revisiting my journey through my writing that I realized how much my life has changed, and that I would love to help others experience that.
It was also interesting because a woman from church recently commented that I’ve talked a lot about my weight. It wasn’t intentional, but it makes perfect sense when I realize that every area of my life has been impacted by my weight loss. It’s been a long, unexpected, and winding road, but also exciting, and I wonder with joyful anticipation where this energy will carry me in the future.
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