THAT is the woman I see in the mirror...

I was the bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding two weeks ago. I told the photographer, also a friend of mine, that I would happily be in any photo as long as I never have to see them.

And then yesterday happened.

The photos were uploaded to Facebook. I have been off and on again close to tears since seeing them.

I see myself in the photos, and that is not the woman I see in the mirror each morning.  The photo with this post... THAT is the woman I see in the morning. She's fluffy, but she's adorable and has a bit of pizzazz in her step.

I’m pretty real with myself about my body image. I know I am overweight, I have struggled with this my entire life… and I know it takes the world’s opinion about my level of attractiveness and kicks it in the shins. However, the photos made me feel like the ugliest and most unwanted person on the face of the earth (and it wasn’t the photographer, she did a great job on the wedding photos).

The last time I saw the clock before going to sleep, it was about 2am. I woke up multiple times during the night and come 7am, I got up with no alarm because I had nightmares about the photos all night and didn’t want to return to them. I arrived to work at 8:40am.  To most, this is a fairly normal arrival time.  For me… well, it was significantly early for my I’m-not-a-morning-person 10am-6pm schedule.

My anxiety triggers are generally anything to do with motor vehicles, and large groups of people/social situations.  Apparently, so is my body image.  I try to be strong and tough about it, but it is getting more difficult to cope with. 

I work hard to eat healthy. Heck, I eat healthier than most of my thinner friends. Seriously. Not fair? Yeah, I know. Exercise is something I need to work harder to include in my life; I know this. I have heard often that with weight loss, it’s like 80% diet and 20% exercise – so you’d think I’d be able to tackle this better.

Case in point, I am going to start a new chapter of becoming well again.

I’m tired of everything, and changes need to be made.  I’m especially tired of the last few years of being treated like a guinea pig/lab rat by various medical providers. Between the aftermath and effects of being hit by that drunk driver almost 10 years ago, my weight, and multiple misdiagnoses regarding what’s going on in my brain (currently we're down to temporal lobe seizure activity, anxiety, and possible PTSD)… I’ve been medicated off and on with several variations of poison for the last 5 years.  I’ve been put on Dextroamphetamine (Dexedrine), Lamotrigine (Lamictal), Tegretol (Carbamazepine), and the most recent round was Celexa (citalopram) – and it destroyed me.  I gotta tell you, the Lamotrigine and Celexa were the worst. Oh. My. Heck.

My next neurology appointment is in June, with an MRI scheduled during May.  I’m going to call my neurologist next week and tell him I don’t want to be put on any other medication until I see him again. Until then, I will be doing a cleanse and exploring some natural/homeopathic options for the anxiety, which will include working to get my weight down. I can’t control what happens on the roads, or how I react to social situations, but my weight… that’s something I can (with great effort) control. Right? Right???

Wish me luck, send over some prayers, and everything will be OK.

The Healer's Art - A Burden Made Light

On September 25th, 2005 a man in Maryland got in his car after drinking and changed my life forever.

My last memory before waking up with my car crushed like a soda-pop can ready for recycling was of a sign I passed a mile before I was hit. I still remember nothing other than the sound of screetching tires; a sound that is the background music for my nightmares. Investigators deduced from tire marks on the road and my impecable driving record, that my little 1993 4-door Suzuki Swift was stopped at a red light and the man hit me going 65-75 miles per hour with no attempt to slow down; the screetching tires I heard were MY tires.

My right leg is deformed from an unusually large femoral artery hematoma that did not reabsorb as predicted, which turned into a mass of scar tissue nobody really wants to operate on.

I know what it feels like to hit something with such forward force that one's sternum breaks, and the agony of waiting an entire year for the ability to finally breathe, laugh, cough, and sneeze without literally wanting to die.

This is why airbags were invented. Sadly my car didn't have them.

The force of my body bouncing back off the steering wheel broke my seat. I woke up laying down.

The sternum break alone partially disabled me from the waist up for multiple months. I had to buy paper plates and other disposable dishes and utensils because I physically couldn't lift a dish, wash it, and put it in the dish drainer. I can't even describe the torture of basic hygiene tasks; I once sat in my old clawfoot tub for well over an hour bawling because I couldn't figure out how to get up without using my arms.

I bawled through plenty of other embarassing tasks as well.

My stubbornly independent self was compelled to be humble because I was dependent on the kindness of others for many things. Lee, a homeless man in the neighborhood, helped me with my laundry each week at the Laundromat in exchange for pocket change and the opportunity to be indoors with me while we waited for the clothes to get done.

I was fired for the first (and only) time from my job.

I walked about 20 blocks round-trip twice a week through downtown Baltimore's infamous North Avenue, the (or one of the) largest drug-trafficking areas in the nation in order to get to physical therapy because most of the bus drivers refused to serve me due to my white skin.

Yes, that really happened.

I was diagnosed and on medication for 6 months (felt like an eternity) for Bipolar II.  In December 2012 my psychiatrist ordered an EEG on a hunch and discovered I was misdiagnosed.

Turns out I have temporal lobe seizures (primarily caused by traumatic brain injuries) which manifest themselves with emotional/behavioral symptoms often identical to those who suffer from Bipolar, depression, anxiety, etc.

Fortunately the blackouts/unexplained lapses of time I kept experiencing tipped the psychiatrist off that something else was actually going on.

Unfortunately I may never be able to eat grapefruit again (it messes with the seizure meds I'm on).

Even 8+ years later, that one man's poor choice to drink and drive haunts my every waking moment. I have no doubt that it always will.

Do I forgive the man who did this?

Of course. We all make mistakes and poor choices, and we are expected by God to forgive all our trespasses; seventy times seven, and again. I can't argue with that. I also cannot honestly report that forgiveness happened overnight. It was a very slow and emotionally draining process. To my dismay, the proverbial weight of this burden was not made lighter despite the sincerity of my forgiveness years ago.

And then today happened.

One conversation with the right person can be life changing.

You know that light, almost-fluttery, somewhere between excitement and nervousness, breathless feeling you get in the borders of your heart right before tears of joy appear?

Yes, thaaaat feeling.

That is what it feels like; to be relieved of the last chunk of a burden you've been hefting around for exactly 8 years and 6 months to the day.

Joy; this is what true joy must feel like.

I leave you to ponder the message from "Lord, I Would Follow Thee", hymn 220 from the Hymns of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints; my lullaby of March 25, 2014:

Savior, may I learn to love thee,
Walk the path that thou hast shown,
Pause to help and lift another,
Finding strength beyond my own.
Savior, may I learn to love thee— 

Lord, I would follow thee. 

Who am I to judge another
When I walk imperfectly?
In the quiet heart is hidden
Sorrow that the eye can’t see.
Who am I to judge another? 

Lord, I would follow thee.

I would be my brother’s keeper;
I would learn the healer’s art.
To the wounded and the weary
I would show a gentle heart.
I would be my brother’s keeper— 

Lord, I would follow thee.

Savior, may I love my brother
As I know thou lovest me,
Find in thee my strength, my beacon,
For thy servant I would be.
Savior, may I love my brother—

Lord, I would follow thee.

"I'm not the average girl... built like a supermodel... and I know our creator didn't make no mistakes on me".

I had fun driving 4 teenagers home after Hmong Night (language class and volleyball after) at the church last night, treating them to anything they wanted at McDonalds (their choice of venues) as long as it was under $3.  You ever ordered ANYWHERE with 4 teenagers?  They take forever to make up their minds; a $3 limit helps narrow down the options.  They all got various forms of milkshakes or smoothies and I got a diet Coke, at least that doesn't make me sick... oh wait, it did.  Never mind.

It was great.  We went in, they ordered, I paid, and we sat down at a booth in the kid's area where it was quiet.  The only young man in the group, whom I like to call "Socks", spilt chocolate upon himself immediately as he got trapped between two of the girls on the bench (lucky guy!).  I admit, I laughed with the rest of them... then rescued the day with napkins.   The conversation held was fun, light, and really enjoyable.

Some reading this who are familiar with my general schedule may think, "Wait, I thought she had Hmong Night on Tuesdays..."  You're right, I did.  Two Sundays ago the Muldoon Branch (small Hmong-speaking LDS congregation) missionaries checked with me to see if I would still be able to come if they switched Hmong Night to Fridays.  I confirmed that it was fine but instead of accepting my answer, they were too nice for their own good and asked, "It's not going to conflict with Date Night?" Rather than cracking up laughing in the church like I wanted to, I dramatically looked left and right down the empty hallway, behind me, scouted out the ceiling, then looked straight at the elders and said quite frankly, "Who dates around here? You two aren't allowed to for the next 2 years while you're serving your missions and I've been in a pretty serious date famine for the last couple years with no end in sight.  Nope, no conflict with Date Night."

I may not have been out on a date this Friday evening, but I was studying, playing, and spending time with people that I really care about.  If ever someone comes around in my life who wants to restore the definition of Friday evenings to "Date Night"... well, they will have to first come to a Hmong Night and get approved by some pretty awesome teenagers, a few cool kids, a really cute toddler, 2 Mormon missionaries, and any "real" adults that may be there.  Just the crazy thought of this is making me smile right now, I was joking when typing but it's actually not such a far-fetched idea.  What a great screening tool!

In honor of my superior company of young friends on Friday evening who are still growing into themselves and figuring out simply what the heck is going on, I'd like to share one of my favorite "be who you are and love it" songs.  The lyrics are below, and at the bottom of the blog is a music player.  Go down there and click on the song called "Video" which should be number 18.  Enjoy.

Video

by India Arie

Sometimes I shave my legs and sometimes I don't

Sometimes I comb my hair and sometimes I won't

Depend on how the wind blows I might even paint my toes

It really just depends on whatever feels good in my soul

I'm not the average girl from your video

and I ain't built like a supermodel 

But, I learned to love myself unconditionally

Because I am a queen

I'm not the average girl from your video

My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes

No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the india arie

When I look in the mirror and the only one there is me

Every freckle on my face is where it's supposed to be

And I know our creator didn't make no mistakes on me

My feet, my thighs, my lips, my eyes; I'm lovin' what I see

I'm not the average girl from your video

and I ain't built like a supermodel 

But, I learned to love myself unconditionally

Because I am a queen

I'm not the average girl from your video

My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes

No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the 

india arie

Am I less of a lady if I don't wear pantyhose?

My mama said a lady ain't what she wears but, what she knows

But, I've drawn a conclusion, it's all an illusion, confusion's the name of the 

game

A misconception, a vast deception

Something's gotta change

but, Don't be offended this is all my opinion 

ain't nothing that I'm sayin law

This is a true confession of a life learned lesson I was sent here to share with 

y'all

So get in where you fit in go on and shine

Clear your mind, now's the time

Put your salt on the shelf

Go on and love yourself

'Cuz everything's gonna be all right

I'm not the average girl from your video

and I ain't built like a supermodel 

But, I Learned to love myself unconditionally

Because I am a queen

I'm not the average girl from your video

My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes

No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the india arie

Keep your fancy drinks and your expensive minks

I don't need that to have a good time

Keep your expensive car and your caviar

All I need is my guitar

Keep your Kristal and your pistol

I'd rather have a pretty piece of crystal

Don't need your silicone I prefer my own

What God gave me is just fine

I'm not the average girl from your video

and I ain't built like a supermodel 

But, I learned to love myself unconditionally

Because I am a queen

I'm not the average girl from your video

My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes

No matter what I'm wearing I will always be india arie

Tell me I'm ugly, tell me I'm fat... but please, leave my religion alone.

Well everyone, life's been busy lately and full of adventures; some welcome and some not.

I'd like to share some recent happenings while out and about.  Brace yourselves.

My friend Katie called me up one evening and wanted some company for dinner.  I had stuff to do around the house, specifically laundry so I wore a denim skirt and a much-applicable "Grumpy" (from Snow White) t-shirt that day, but being a good friend took precedence and I went and joined Katie at a local late-night restaurant.  Dinner was good, conversation was better, and as we stood in line to pay we were jovially intercepted by a well-dressed man, his wife, and their son.  

He asked, "What church do you go to?" and Katie answered him, "We go to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. What church do you go to?"  

Now, at this moment I was expecting him to say he was Mormon too and he knew he had recognized us from Stake Conference or something.  Right?  RIGHT?  No.  HECK NO.  He told us he went to some other church, and to be kind I won't mention the denomination.  Then he handed us a pamphlet, invited us to visit his church, and took his family into the restaurant.  What did Katie and I do next?  We looked at the pamphlet of course!  And you know what it was?  It was blatant anti-Mormon literature.  If I remember correctly the front mentioned something about us worshiping a different Jesus and somewhere inside it also clearly stated that we're going to Hell.  Nice.  Fantastic way to go about making friends.  

It was painful.  We weren't the only ones standing there in line and he specifically picked us out of the crowd as Latter-Day Saints and then proverbially stepped on our souls.  Really, that's how it felt.  Tell me I'm ugly, tell me I'm fat... but please, leave my religion alone.

This last weekend I was chillin' with Katie again.  We were both craving Italian and found ourselves at a cute little Italian place, split a canole for dinner and gelato (Italian ice cream) for dessert.  It was a yummy watching-the-budget-but-not-the-waistline dinner.  Kudos to Katie, fantastic idea.  

After dinner, long story shorter, we ended up at our $3 theater to join some friends for a movie at the last minute.  We were a little late, but no biggie.  Neither of us knew much about the movie, which will remain anonymous, but it was rated PG-13 and actually came recommended by a fairly good friend.  There was an actor in the movie that I find myself despising due to his crudeness but our said friend assured us he was decent in this movie.  Ok, we took a chance.  BAD IDEA.  It was terrible.  Not long after we sat down, amidst everyone's laughter and guffawing in the theater, we had to leave.  

The movie was the least of the evening, on our way to my car we were intercepted by an upset young lady needing gas.  She stopped us and told us that she worked as a security specialist (or something) for Wal-Mart and needed gas to go back to Wasilla (about 50 miles outside of Anchorage) so she could get breast-milk to her baby.  Katie's night to run the show was at the restaurant with the guy and the Anti-Mormon pamphlet, this night was apparently mine 'cause I did all the talking.  I clarified what this woman needed and made the decision to help with what I could.  We are our brother's (or sister's) keeper, right?  She looked cold so I told her to wait inside the theater lobby and we'd go to the gas station and get a can filled with gas for her.  

Katie and I didn't walk 15 steps further and -Bam!- another woman intercepted our short walk to the car.  She was older, wearing a pink jump suit, and needed a ride somewhere.  She claimed to be from Eagle River and wanting to get to a friend's house nearby.  I had a hard time following her story, which included (I think) something about a drunk guy and driving somewhere.  All I could do was tell her we were on our way to get gas for someone and instructed her to go wait in the lobby with the other lady and talk to her.   

Katie and I were in shock.  Really, if you want random adventures, hang out with me.  I'm like a magnet.  No joke.  This kind of stuff happens a lot.

At the gas station there was only 1 gas can left.  The darned thing only held 2 gallons and actually cost more than the gas to go inside it!  And I thought the cost of gas was atrocious; It's plastic we need to worry about.  While filling the gas can and dealing with the super quirks of technology and the crazy random evening, our defense mechanism of choice was laughter.  I'm sure the gas station guy and whomever else was in the parking lot thought we were drunk.  Yeah, we were laughing that much.  Really, if you think about it, there was humor in the situation.  Coming up with possible solutions provided some entertainment.  One solution that we deemed as rather funny and somewhat ironic... is the one I actually went with when faced with dealing with the women.

Back at the theater, gas can in hand, Katie and I found both of the women coming out of the theater lobby.  I gave the gas can to the woman going to Wasilla and explained it wouldn't get her far, but would get her far enough to hopefully happen upon someone else that could contribute to her trip home.  Then, I asked her to please bring the pink sweatsuit lady with her and drop her off wherever she needed to go since it was on the way.  I am absolutely not comfortable transporting strangers and that was the only solution Katie and I discussed that came out of my mouth at that moment.  I wished them luck and we high-tailed it out of there.    

Fun stuff eh?

There's one more adventure I'd like to share, and it's a good one.

I have a list on the bottom of this blog that is a list of things I want to do before I die.  I started this list years before the movie "The Bucket List" came about, so no accusing me of copying, imitating, whatever-ing Hollywood.  Everything I have accomplished thus far (not much) is listed in blue with a date of completion following it.  Well, there's a new light blue one in town... "Learn To Belly Dance".  I began classes on June 3rd of this year and am LOVING them.  

I look forward to Wednesdays and having that hour and a half of what I think I'll call "no-cares time".  I don't care about how I look, I don't care about what happened that day at work, I don't care about if I can get something perfect, I just simply don't care.  It's fantastic, and the nonchalant outlook is encouraged.  My instructor is this vivacious woman who has personality and spunk in class as well as while performing.

  

The belly dance style she teaches is Gypsy-influenced, fun and full of movement and personality.   Costuming for performing is colorful and fairly flexible per each dancer.  I can maintain my modest clothing standards while fitting in and having a great time.  I was so happy today I used my computer to take a few pictures post-class to share with everyone.   

See? I'm smiling!  

I wish everyone a great no-cares rest-of-the-week ahead.

God bless.

"...trying to let her shine a little, that's all."

As far as my newest challenge is going, reports are good. I have been thinking good things about my body and find myself caring less about what others think. Not that I really cared much before. If someone is willing to stoop low enough to have a problem with my appearance, that's their own issue. They obviously aren't worth my time.

I did a very mini wardrobe overhaul a few weeks ago (small steps... small steps). I got brave and tried some clothing styles that are different for me. I needed a cleaned up, I-really-do-care-about-myself, semi-causal yet professional look... and I think I've found one that I like.

Before the overhaul, I even treated myself to a haircut. I gave the stylist freedom to do whatever she wanted as long as she kept some reasonable length to my hair. She gave me some distiguishable layers, side-swoop bangs... and I like 'em! It's amazing how much a hair change can affect a person. I think it helps me look more 23 (my age) and less 16 (which is where I have been guessed at on more than one occasion within the last year).

You see, change is not bad. It can be quite good. However, it's best when done for one's self and nobody else. And even then, maybe "change" isn't the best desciption...

I'm not changing into a different person... I am refining the person I am. There's this great confident put-together young lady inside that has been hiding for years and years. I'm trying to let her shine a little, that's all.