Following is the continuation of last week’s post, From Hating to Appreciating: Attempting To Love Your Body.

I’ve written before about how much I love the start of a new year. I imagine it was the high energy and positivity a new year brings that contributed to my second attempt at appreciating my body. January 17 was a bitter cold, dreary Sunday more than two months after my first attempt at completing A Course in Weight Loss‘ Lesson 7. The promise of snow lingered in the air and calm permeated my home like the scent of simmering soup. The weekend had been healthy and productive, my favorite kind. I had no further obligations and the clean sanctuary of my home office beckoned. The timing was perfect for ending an abusive relationship with my body and beginning an honorable one.

Preparation

I started with a long, steamy shower and concentrated on becoming more aware of my body as I prepared for the ritual before me. I sloughed my body of the dry skin that seemed to cover every inch of me, then slowly shaved my legs. This wasn’t my usual five minute shower, but more like the kind I take when I anticipate intimacy; giving of my body to someone else to enjoy. This time I prepared my body for intimacy with myself.

I concentrated as I slowly dried my skin, paying attention to each limb and joint. The silky material of my favorite robe felt pleasant against my skin. My awareness of my body increased as I sought to repair my relationship with the container of my soul.

Inside my office, I lit candles and incense upon my altar and played meditative music. I laid a towel on the floor directly before my altar and bowed to the Buddha before slipping off my robe. Standing naked and exposed, I battled embarrassment, shame and the urge to reach for cover. I stood tall, my hands in a prayer position at my heart. Snow started its slow and sporadic fall just outside the windows directly in front of me. I strived to summon the grace, strength, power and beauty of ancient kings and queens who regularly performed similar rituals.

Acknowledgement of Abuse

I reached for the oil. As the book instructed, I started with my feet. My cracked and calloused heels felt rough in my hands and guzzled the oil like desert dirt gulps rainwater. I apologized to my heels for giving them so much weight to bear.

Next, I lovingly smoothed the oil into the skin of my ankles and legs. I examined the scars and beginnings of varicose veins bright against the paleness of my flesh. So many scars… from accidents, bug bites, a tomboyish youth, all coupled with a horrible habit of scab picking. And then the pencil thin scars on the insides of my thighs. Not the stretch marks that are plentiful I assure you, but the marks I made myself many years ago. My eyes filled as the sight of those scars brought me back to my teenage bedroom. The sadness, loneliness and anger I felt then coursed through me. I cried for that teenage girl who felt so scared, so hurt, so lonely that she dragged razor blades across her flesh in order to feel something, anything other than what she was feeling.

I rubbed my thumbs gently over those scars lovingly as a parent might rub a smudge of dirt off a toddlers pudgy cheek. “I’m so sorry,” I sobbed over and over as I allowed myself to grieve, not just for my body, but for myself and the young girl I used to be. “I’m trying. I swear to you I’m trying so hard.”

I wrapped my arms around myself and hung naked in a sort of forward fold as my body wracked with sobs. My skin absorbed oil mixed with tears. When I was ready, I once again summoned the power of those ancient queens and stood tall once more.

Coincidence is indeed God’s way of remaining anonymous. Just yesterday I read these words spoken by Chris Cleave’s character, Little Bee in the book Little Bee:

“I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”

I ask you all now to join with me in Little Bee’s pact. Let us all see scars as beauty. Okay?

Gratitude

I continued my upward journey as I thanked my skin for its ability to expand and apologized for making it have to. My belly. My belly is something I hardly ever look at in a mirror except to ensure it’s properly covered. It’s the palest part of my body, as white as the snow that fell just outside my window. I rubbed oil into it with both hands in a circular motion and apologized for hating it so much. I had rejected and detested my stomach, my core, the very center of me. In order to heal myself I now understand that I must make peace with my core and allow love to permeate the center of me.

Emotions continued their flash flood as I massaged my breasts with oil. Each was heavy in my hand. I have always disliked my breasts. They don’t make me feel sexy; they make me feel fat. More often than not, they are a nuisance. I have resented being told I should be grateful for them because men love large breasts. Excuse me if I don’t think that is a valid enough reason to graciously accept the many drawbacks of having large breasts.

But as I cupped my breasts in my hands I thought of my mother as she laid in her hospital bed post-mastectomy and placed her hand where her breast used to be and grieved the loss of her womanhood. And so I apologized to my breasts for disliking them. I apologized for not keeping them sacred and sharing them with far too many people who didn’t deserve access to my body so freely. I thanked them for not being cancerous.

The oil felt good against my skin and my body relaxed, responding to my touch, opening up to me, welcoming me. I began to feel more comfortable in my own skin and no longer felt the urge to cover up.

As I rubbed the oil into my back as best as I could, I apologized to my back for not being able to scratch and lotion it properly because I’m so wide. I apologized for the weakness of my core and shoulders that result in my poor posture, straining my back. I apologized that I’m so insecure at times I tend to huddle into myself, adding further stress to my back. Despite all this, my back truly has “my back,” so I thanked it for doing its job so amazingly well and praised it for its strength.

New Beginning

I covered the remainder of my body – my face, my ears, my neck. The sheen on my skin glistened in the flickering candlelight. I ran my hands slowly over my slippery surface, satisfied I hadn’t missed a spot. I sat on my towel in order to meditate on what I was feeling. Sitting cross-legged naked was so unfamiliar that I laughed out loud. “Here I am,” I thought. This was me in my purest state, nothing to hide behind. I looked down at my thighs, breast and belly and the way they all rested on one another unsupported by clothing. I sat up straight and lowered my eyes.

It’s true. I’ve fed my body excessive food, but too little love and care. It’s time to reunite my inner and outer self. I thanked my body for the way it moves despite everything I’ve done to it; for the miraculous way it heals; for the physical pain it endures and the resilience it demonstrates. I thanked it for the endless ways it supports me and for its power. Our skin is our biggest organ and I apologized for everything I exposed it to, environmentally, chemically, physically, all undeservedly. I thanked my skin for containing every single part of me.

Although I didn’t protect my body, it has protected me. I took advantage of my body and was in an abusive relationship with it. It took performing this ritual to understand all that. I am so grateful to have marked the beginning of an honorable relationship with my body. That was the goal of Lesson 7: to repair and restore the relationship between me and my physical self.

Like the oil, I think it’s safe to say it was absorbed.

P.S. Although I completed this ritual nearly seven months ago, I hadn’t wanted to write about it until now. It took me all these months to integrate the process and formulate my thoughts surrounding it. Now that I have, I feel the full benefits of the Lesson. If you’re working through A Course in Weight Loss, a similar book, a process of your own or simply wondering why I have been working through the same book for well over a year, please remember that change takes time, patience and space. 

My legs are currently covered in scars, bug bites, scabs, and peeling skin. Aside from their size, they look like the legs of a rambunctious 8-year old boy. This sort of thing never really bothered me before. But it does now, so I purchased a high quality vitamin E oil. Every morning I lovingly rub it into my skin in order to help it heal. What changed? Not my sense of vanity. But my sense of appreciation for my body and the skin I’m in. And that’s thanks to Lesson 7 from Marianne Williamson’s A Course in Weight Loss.

It’s been over ten months since I’ve written about one of the lessons in this book. That’s not because I stopped reading it, but because I got stuck. Lesson 7 is titled “Love Your Body.” It took many months and two attempts to complete this lesson… I don’t love my body, but I’m trying to.

Hating Our Bodies

Lesson 7 attempts to get to the root of not just why we hate our bodies, but what we’re hating our bodies for. But the truth is that our bodies have done absolutely nothing to us but endure and adjust, and we’ve done everything to them. We fail to support our bodies and yet our bodies continue to do their very best to support us.

“Your body has not done anything to you; it has merely reflected the raging battlefield in your mind.” – Williamson

Is it our bodies we hate? Or their size or imperfections or scars or other ways in which they don’t live up to our expectations? Do we hate our bodies because we are afraid of something? Sexual trauma victims often gain weight or self mutilate in an attempt to be less desirable. Do we hate our bodies truly or did we learn to hate them as a result of ridicule?

In our lives there is an incredible time when we are young and innocent and know we are wonderful and perfect… and it lasts until someone tells us we aren’t.

Do you remember the first time someone made fun of your moles or freckles, said you were fat or teased you about your height? Do you remember the moment you looked at your body and made a quick decision to cover it up? I remember all of it and more. I was one of the first girls in my class to hit puberty. The boys called me daddy long legs and made jokes about my breasts. I never thought twice about the hair on my legs until my mom called me into the bathroom one day to show me how to shave. Seemingly overnight there was so much shame and confusion about my body.

When I was fourteen or so I went to second base with a boy. After we “broke up,” I found out he called me P.N. behind my back. Finally a friend told me what it stood for. Pepperoni nipple. (I swear I can’t make this shit up.) I was devastated. At home I examined my nipples looking for any resemblance whatsoever to pepperoni. For years I was self conscious about my nipples. My nipples! Like we don’t have enough to be self conscious about. Anyway, after having seen many a topless woman in my life I have deduced that my nipples are no more irregular than any one else’s. Teenage boys can be mean and stupid.

Dumb shit like this combined with how women are portrayed in media combined with rejection, ridicule, and trauma is a recipe for body issues. We don’t start out hating our bodies. We are taught to hate our bodies. Sure my weight is my biggest issue, but I’m also too hairy, have too many scars, a big nose, etc. Everyone seems to hate something about their bodies. A beautiful woman I know recently lamented her sausage fingers. I swear to you her fingers are perfectly normal and pretty.

Appreciating Our Bodies

Lesson 7 called for buying an oil to rub into my skin while examining it, expressing gratitude for it, acknowledging what I’ve done to it, and most of all, forgiving it for what it did not do. The goal of the lesson is to repair and restore the relationship between us and our physical selves.

Naked, I was to begin by making an apology to myself for having mistreated such a magnificent gift as my physical body. From the bottoms of my feet to the tips of my fingers, I was to emotionally lean into my body, not recoil from it. I was to rub the oil into my body with acceptance, with love if I could, with grief if necessary. I was to take my time, paying attention to each limb, each curve, each scar, each joint. “Do not rush,” the book instructed. “Accept, affirm, apologize, and forgive.”

I bought the oil, an organic apricot kernel oil, soon after reading the lesson. But then it sat unopened as I waited for the appropriate time.

Last autumn I slipped off the plush robe provided to me in the spa-like bathroom of the gorgeous four star hotel where I was staying. I had packed the oil, thinking my surroundings would be ideal for such a ritual. Hands wet with oil, I began to massage it into my skin.

I felt nothing – no appreciation, no forgiveness, no love, no patience. My legs were pasty and purply and my skin was puckered and scarred. I poured more and more oil into my hands impatiently as my dry skin quickly absorbed it. “For fucks sake, you’re so fat you should have gotten two bottles,” I thought.  The lighting was wrong and it was too quiet. I didn’t want to do this. I wanted to hide inside my luxurious and bulky robe, eat cheese, drink wine and watch movies.

“Fuck this,” I said aloud as I wiped my hands on a dry washcloth. I slipped my robe back on, cinched it tight and turned my back on appreciating my body.

I wouldn’t try to do so again until a snowy day a few months later.

Please click here to read Part 2, Ending An Abusive Relationship With My Body

All my life I’ve not started things because I didn’t feel prepared or qualified. If I did start, I often grew bored or frustrated and eventually gave up. Now, after 100 blog posts, I feel proud, accomplished and even more energized to continue my journey. I’m so grateful I started when I did and didn’t let sabotaging thoughts postpone my plans. Nothing is ever perfect at the start, and I love being able to look back on 100 blog posts and not only see my personal growth, but the growth of this blog and my writing as well.

Procrastination & Preparation:

You may recall I almost didn’t start this blog back in November, 2014. I wanted professional photos taken, but thought I was too fat. 100 blog posts later I’m no thinner than I was then. Imagine if I had waited? I’d still be waiting! But I didn’t wait because although I didn’t feel my body was ready, I was. My journey had begun and I literally could not wait to write about and share it. It was that excitement that compelled me to begin despite not having my ideal photo and some other minor concerns.

I don’t think we’re ever fully prepared for anything. Planning can be just another form of procrastination. Sometimes we have to bite the bullet and go for it with what we have and what we know at the time. So I had the photos taken anyway, and I’ve come to really appreciate them. And I started on Blogger because I was familiar with the platform and it was easy to use. I knew I could always move later (even if I had no idea at the time how to go about the transition).

With any new project, nothing will be ever be perfect at the start, no matter how much planning and prep we do. Imagine if it were!? How BORING. We’d all quit six months in if there weren’t changes and improvements to make and goals to strive for. With nearly anything, we learn by doing. We can read every book and watch every video, but I guarantee you there’s nothing quite like figuring it out for yourself and doing it.

Start Somewhere:

Everyone starts somewhere. No, actually, not everyone starts somewhere. Because a lot of people don’t start at all. Those who have the courage and drive to start do start somewhere. But we rarely get to see their starting line because by the time we know who they are they’re often much closer to the finish. We can’t start at the finish.

But we can all start somewhere. What are you waiting for?

As I’ve worked on myself, I’ve worked on this blog, eventually learned WordPress and designed this website. I can’t even begin to quantify how much I have learned and grown as a result of having a place to document my journey. This blog keeps me motivated on what is oftentimes an arduous process of healing and growth. I am so incredibly grateful I didn’t allow something as trivial as photos keep me from writing. My journey would have stalled and I wouldn’t have everything I’ve written to share with you, especially my weight loss struggles. So even if it takes another 100 blog posts (my God, I hope not) I will have another photo shoot. And when I post all those photos, you’ll know how hard I worked to make it happen and how important they are to me.

Whether you’ve read one post or all one hundred, thank you for being a part of my journey.

Ask yourself:

Is there something holding me back from starting a project or working toward a goal?

Is it a good reason or a trivial one?

Am I planning? Or procrastinating?

Do I have the bare minimum to get started?

I bet you do…

I haven’t mentioned my weight loss efforts in a while. Not because I haven’t been trying to lose weight — I don’t think there was a time in the past twenty years when I wasn’t trying to lose weight, at least in spirit — but because I haven’t had much to say. I’d be thin by now you’d think, but nope. I’m only ten or so pounds shy of the heaviest I’ve ever been. It’s so frustrating, too because I’m the most active I’ve been since I was tween, and I definitely eat the healthiest I ever have. But the weight is still reluctant to go away because I continue to struggle with emotional overeating and destructive behaviors.

Overeating

I overdid it this holiday weekend. I ate too much, drank too much and smoked cigarettes AGAIN. I congratulated myself just last week for going out for happy hour and not overdoing it; not smoking, not overeating when I got home. I worked my resistance muscle HARD and woke up the next morning feeling proud and accomplished. But I guess I pushed the muscle too hard and it was sore, so my giving in muscle picked up the slack.

Instead of feeling proud this morning, I felt disappointed, shameful, guilty, and frustrated.

One area where I now excel thanks to my cognitive therapy work is putting a stop to destructive behavior at the first possible opportunity, rather than riding things out until their logical and convenient end like I used to. Today is the last day of the three-day weekend. There’s still plenty of left-overs. I could easily rationalize overeating one more day and resetting tomorrow. But that’s the same destructive thinking that got me to where I am now.

Although my body was eager for a break and craved light foods, my emotions craved comfort and reprieve from the guilt and shame of what I had done to my body the past two days. I noticed my mood shift. I felt the urge to be healthy and productive today slip away as thoughts of TV-watching, napping, and eating danced across my mind enticingly.

Forgiving

I couldn’t let my intentions slip away. I recognized the destructive triangle I was caught in (thought leading to feeling, feeling leading to action, and action leading to thought and around and around I go) and knew I had to fight my way out. In a burst of energy and determination, I jumped up, silenced the internal pleas to stay on the couch, and took a shower. I created a new triangle because that positive action lead to the thought that perhaps I could forgive myself. So after my shower I meditated on forgiveness and moving on.

I quieted my mind enough that I heard the voice of my higher self. “It’s okay,” she said. The incense smelled sweeter and more inviting than the left-over homemade peach cobbler and I surrendered myself to the calm. I felt gratitude for my body, something I experienced for the first time when completing Lesson 7 from A Course in Weight Loss, which I will write about in another post. I also felt sorrow for what I had done to my body, but again the voice said, “It’s okay.”

I breathed in and out, letting go of this weekend’s weakness and allowing my mind to still. “You are determined,” came the voice of my higher self. “And you are forgiven.”

I haven’t been back on the couch since before my shower. I’m listening to my body instead of my mind, and only giving it what it wants, which is water and fruit. I’m grateful to be forgiven, especially because I’m only still learning that I have the right to ask for forgiveness. I no longer need to carry my guilt around like a bloated belly.

I feel lighter already.

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This summer got off to a late start. In retrospect I think that also contributed to my depression the past several weeks. I love the beach and usually get down there starting in May. But this year my first beach day wasn’t until June 25. Very late, indeed. But better late than never. The day proved to be precisely what I needed and rejuvenated my spirit, like chocolate for my soul after a good cry. I am once again feeling like myself after a day of sun, water, laughter… and a bit of an adventure, too.

My husband, Mike and I left early Saturday morning to meet up with our good friend, Rudy. After an early lunch and a stop by the Cape May Hops Festival for a beer and look around, we headed over to “The Spot,” our favorite secret location to fish, drink, paddleboard and spend the day. We’ve been going there for years and it feels like home. The guys fished and I paddled and read in my beach chair submerged in a few inches of water. We told stories and caught up after not hanging out for a couple months.

We were having a good laugh when I noticed something floating out in the water quite a ways.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing in the direction of the object.

“Some sort of raft, maybe?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You should go get it,” Rudy suggested.

“I should! A rescue mission!” I jumped out of my beach chair without hesitation and reached for my paddle. “I’m off!”

“Oh no, this can’t be good,” Mike said as I dragged my paddleboard toward the water. The object was pretty far out and moving quickly in the wind and current so I paddled hard to catch up with it.

As I approached the object I realized it was indeed a raft. I had wanted a raft to float on and was entertained at the notion of garbage picking the ocean. Some kid must have let it blow away. I slowed once I was within a few feet and drifted the rest of the way. As I came upon it, I got my first glimpse of the design and instantly recognized the brand blazon across the brown and orange square raft. I laughed so hard I nearly fell off my board. “But, of course,” I said, smiling as I plucked the raft from the water and placed it on my board in front of me. The raft was much wider than the board and kept lifting slightly in the wind. I realized very quickly this was going to be a tad difficult to negotiate.

As soon as I turned, the wind caught the side of the raft and I quickly pinned it down with my paddle, struggling to keep my balance on the board. Every time I stopped paddling to secure the raft, the current turned me back toward the horizon. After several more failed attempts to turn toward shore, I carefully sat down on my board and draped a leg over the raft to prevent it from blowing away. This made me incredibly unsteady, and paddling very difficult, but abandoning my booty was out of the question.

I finally managed to get myself turned around and was quite stunned at how far I had drifted from shore. I studied the divided sections of sand between the jetties looking for our camp, but couldn’t pick it out among the other umbrellas and beach goers. I lifted my gaze toward the roofs dotting the road behind the dunes and sought out the red one of the house near where we parked our cars. My eyes lowered from the roof back to the beach and I recognized a pin prick of orange, the color of the shirts Mike and Rudy were fortunately wearing.

They were three jetties to my left and hundreds of yards of water to the shore. The current had carried me very far and very quickly…

Relieved to at least have identified my target, I paddled hard against the current. A boat approached in the distance, full speed, its wake trailing. When the boat passed full speed between me and the shore, it dawned on me just how far out in open water I was. I braced myself for the wake, which had diminished by the time it even reached me.

I was getting nowhere and losing steam. I could barely make out a figure in orange waving at me, so I waved back, unsure if it was Mike or Rudy. “I see you,” I said. Then they waved me toward shore. “I’m trying!” I shouted. “Geez, I’m not sitting out here for my health,” I said to the raft. I was Tom Hanks in my personal Castaway story, my raft my Wilson, and I was not letting it go. I kept paddling, my arms burning.

I finally got close enough to make out that Mike had waded into the water a few jetties closer than where I was headed. Rudy was carefully stepping his way out along the jetty. Rudy pointed toward Mike and Mike waved me in. I realized they were signaling me to stop fighting against the current and just make straight for shore. That hadn’t occurred to me, I confess. And if you’re asking yourself why I didn’t deflate my raft, well… I didn’t think of that, either. I can tell you, though that this story wouldn’t be as good if I had.

So I worked my way straight toward shore. By now I had carefully gotten back on my knees, slamming a hand down on to the raft every few strokes to keep it from flying away. Once I was out of the current, and heading perpendicular to the shore things were much easier and I finally made some headway. I saw Rudy begin to make his way back to the sand from the jetty, satisfied I had gotten the message. Mike continued to wave me in. “I’m trying!” I shouted. “I’m tired!”

Once I was within 50 yards or so, I clutched the raft to my chest, displaying it for him to see. “Totally worth it!” I shouted. And everyone could see that I had risked life and limb for an inflatable Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

Mike lowered and shook his head, but I could see his smile. Of course his wife would find a giant peanut butter cup at sea and worry him sick in order to bring it back. I finally floated aground, exhausted but laughing hysterically.

“I figured you were okay once I heard you laughing,” Rudy commented as he approached.

“I was pretty far out there!”

“Yeah you were! You were caught in the current.”

The guys grabbed my board and paddle. I clutched my prize to my side as we walked back toward our things. “Nice job!” someone shouted. Apparently the whole ordeal had gotten the attention of some of the beach goers who witnessed me retrieve the raft and then struggle back to shore. A few women cheered softly.

“Totally worth it!” I replied. They agreed, understanding the special relationship between a woman and her chocolate.

Once we got back to our spot, I collapsed into my beach chair, exhausted and laughing, and heard things from Mike’s and Rudy’s point of view and just how worried they had become, especially when I stopped making any progress and the boat sped by closer to the shore than I was.

“You were a speck out in the water. I’m pretty sure you were closer to Delaware than New Jersey,” Rudy joked.

“Thanks for your help, guys!”

“I was worried you might be giving up,” Rudy said. “Why the hell didn’t you deflate the raft?”

“I didn’t think of that.”

Mike was quiet – I had worried him – but smiling at the absurdity of it all.

“I nearly busted my ass on that jetty. It was slippery as hell,” Rudy said.

“Something bit my toe and there was blood everywhere,” Mike added.

“I almost got lost at sea!”

“So we all could have gotten seriously injured all because of a peanut butter cup,” Rudy said.

“Technically, Rudy, it was your idea,” I said.

We would laugh about this for the rest of the day. Mike poured beer into our cups and we toasted to an awesome beach day, not being lost at sea, to a good story, to chocolate, to everything…

My heart filled with gratitude for such a rejuvenating day.

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At last the cool, wet weather that consumed what should have been spring here on the east coast passed. Kathy and I resumed our daily walks. It was the day after my birthday and I was trying to find words to express what I could only describe as my heart having grown a size.

“I feel… special. It’s weird. I wonder if maybe I’m easier to love now, or if I’m more open to receiving love?”

“I think it’s both,” Kathy said.

My heart felt enormous. The previous week was intense: preparations and cleaning, house guests, estranged family, worrisome visits, carefully navigated conversation, managing expectations… I approached all the experiences with authentic vulnerability and openness. Over the course of the long weekend there were opportunities to lose patience, have hurt feelings, place blame, judge and inevitably fall asleep crying. Yet despite wearing no armor, my heart remain unscathed! How could this be? Because in staying open and leading with my heart, I didn’t identify those opportunities for pain. Instead I found the opportunities to show love, compassion, forgiveness, and understanding.

I often wore armor in the past. I closed myself off in order to protect myself and maintained a defensive and judgemental stance. In doing so, I realize now I only attracted blows to my defenses, invited others to test me, and created opportunities for judgements and stories about me, bringing upon myself precisely what I was trying to avoid. My armor didn’t protect me; it damaged me.

When I decided to leave myself exposed, I tried not to attach expectations. I knew by anticipating the worst I could create a self-fulfilling prophecy. I tried to leave everything unknown and focus on keeping my heart open. Although I didn’t anticipate it being broken, I never thought it could be strengthened! Yet despite wearing no armor, my heart was reinforced. Did my love protect me, or did it attract love in return? Like Kathy said, I think it’s both.

My defenses only attracted negativity. My love attracted positivity. Maybe our energy really does have influence… that’s what Elizabeth Gilbert says.

“Your energy has an effect on every single person you encounter throughout life. You have influence over people sometimes even if you don’t speak to them directly; they can still feel your energy, and your energy is a powerful and deeply contagious force.” – E.G.

It makes perfect sense. Don’t we avoid those we identify as “standoffish” and gravitate to whom we find welcoming? Have you ever felt great then been exposed to an emotional vampire and felt drained of positivity, or allowed your mood to be enhanced by someone in good spirits? I’ve experienced both too many times to count, and have also been the vampire. I just never made the connection with an open/closed heart before. Perhaps my open heart drew people in? Guarded people allowed themselves to be vulnerable, at least briefly. People softened in my presence, becoming more at ease. I witnessed all this and it was beautiful.

Anyway, my birthday sat at the finish line of those intense 5 days and I was too exhausted to celebrate, opting instead for a low-key day and postponing any celebration until the weekend. The love continued to pour, though, and my heart filled with gratitude for all the incredible thoughtfulness directed my way.  I felt light on my feet and special, special in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time. Maybe, and I’m only realizing this now as I type, it’s because for the first time I feel worthy.

I seem to have silenced the sabotaging voice that says I don’t deserve friends, or to be loved, or to feel special. I displayed in my living room all the birthday cards I received over the past week. I walk past them several times a day and I smile. Not only do the cards themselves express beautiful sentiments of love and friendship, but the words handwritten inside do as well. I’ve worked hard to repair, strengthen and create relationships. Can my interactions over the weekend and those cards and all the beautiful sentiments be proof I’m succeeding?

In letting people in and showing my authenticity I allow myself to be open and vulnerable. Maybe the law of attraction is at work here, after all. How can we receive anything if we’re not open? For so long I was closed off, angry, and defensive. Is it any wonder I didn’t receive anything but more negativity?

So I think Kathy’s right; it’s both. I’m easier to love now because I’m open to receiving love.

With love and gratitude,

Jessica

Are YOU open to receiving love? Are you living authentically? Give it a shot. Take off your armor when you’re ready, even one piece, and put yourself out there. You may be surprised how people respond when they can actually see you.

Today is my 34th birthday! So many people say their birthday is “just another day,” but I wholeheartedly disagree. Today is my day, a day to bask in a little special treatment and celebrate the blank page between the end of one chapter and the start of another. I don’t want to write the same chapter year after year and call it a novel. Today is my day to reflect back on what I’ve written all year in the book of my life and get excited for what’s to come! Here’s some highlights:

1. I was nominated, then elected Vice President of the South Jersey Writers’ Group
2. My story, “One For the Road” was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Very Good, Very Bad Dog
3. I moved The Cracking Nut to its new home here and re-branded it (learning WordPress in the process).
4. I got a new car! My very first new car!
5. I identified a novel concept and “won” NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) by writing 50,000 words of said novel.
6. I started stand up paddle boarding and fell in love with the activity.

Aside from the car (which is not an indicator of recent success, by the way, but a sign that my 2002 was getting to a point of beyond repair) and the paddle boarding, seeing those highlights spelled out like this helps me realize that I have been doing a decent job working toward my goal of becoming a professional writer.  I definitely haven’t spent the year sitting on my ass. In fact, despite my lack of meaningful weight loss, I am happy to say I haven’t been sitting on my ass much at all.

Weaved throughout those highlights has been the continuation of this blog, continued efforts to minimize, and greatest of all, persistent work towards healing and living a gentler, happier, more compassionate life. Thirty-three was probably my very best year in terms of mental wellness, and I am so grateful for the amazing progress I have made in order to live more mindfully. Life was not good for a very, very long time. I was living the same angry, disappointed existence year after year and calling it my life. But there was no life… not by definition.

Now there is so much life… the capacity for growth and functional activity. Now there is light where there was only darkness.

Thirty-four… I think it’s going to be a good year. I’m old enough to know better, young enough to still have the world in front of me, as much as any of us can hope, at least. My goals remain the same: lose weight, write, learn, have fun, and be a good person.

I’ve done a bit of all those things in my 33rd year. In fact, I feel as if the past several days was a wonderful final exam for my 33rd year, testing much of what I have learned. It’s been an intense few days full of visits and family, many of whom I have not seen in a long time. I feel that I passed with flying colors, showing patience and compassion, self-care, understanding, forgiveness and love. I feel proud of myself.

But I’m tired. So my gift to myself today is self-love, in the form of nutritious food and a peaceful and happy low-key birthday.

I’m not only excited for the rest of my day, but the rest of my year, and the rest of my life. I am grateful for the opportunity to turn a year older – so many people don’t get the chance. This is another reason why today can’t possibly be “just another day.” Today is a beautiful birthday gift.

Ask me what I’d like to change about myself and so many things would rush to the foreground of my mind I’d have trouble honing in on what to say first. Ask me what I don’t want to change about myself and I’d blink, blank and speechless as I searched my mind for an answer. This question shouldn’t be so foreign and difficult to answer. So I felt determined to identify ten things I like about me.

The Social Being 721 recently posted an article titled “Why Everyone Needs a Non-Resolution List in Their Life.” According to them, a non-resolution is something we like and don’t want to change. We have a tendency to focus so much on the negative that we fail to see those things about ourselves we actually like. It’s a cultural norm to bash ourselves and apologize for what we think makes us less than perfect. We tend to find people who praise themselves as annoying and conceited. Even if we think someone is beautiful, we’re often relieved to learn they don’t think so. It’s such a terrible shame, which is why I think we should all write down at least ten things we love about ourselves.

Here’s my list:

1. I love my voice.

I have a very soft voice that I never thought really fit me. It’s the voice of a child or petite women. I was mimicked and teased for it often as a child. But as I got older, people complimented my voice. Men have fallen in love with it, women have told me I sound like an angel. Not a day goes by that a stranger on the phone or a cashier at a store doesn’t tell me what a beautiful voice I have. A few days ago a cab driver told me he could listen to me talk all day. My voice is unique, it’s pretty, it’s mine… and I love it.

2. I’m a good cook and hostess, and love entertaining.

I feel like this part of me represents the best of my mom and dad. I am grateful to my dad for his love of food and my mom for her love of decorating.

My dad has a passion for food that I have not witnessed in anyone except on television. As a child I watched him pluck oysters out of the salty water and bring them to his lips with an anticipation that made his eyes glisten. He took me to fancy restaurants where he’d order half the menu, dishes spread out before us as if he were King. I grew up loving football, not for the sport, but because football at his house meant course after course of satisfying snacks. Just when you thought there couldn’t possibly be more is when he’d order mussels marinara and pizza for dessert. He is a passionate, adventurous and enthusiastic eater and he passed that down to me. I love those things about me and sharing food and exposing people to new dishes and ingredients.

My mom had a knack for decorating that would rival Martha Stewart. Decorations were unpacked and greeted like old friends and meticulously placed in their rightful spot. When my Mom finished decorating the living room each major holiday, I’d run up and down the steps from my bedroom, the equivalent of shutting and opening a door over and over to reveal her latest masterpiece. Lights twinkled, candles flickered, the aroma of seasonal scents flooded my senses. It was heavenly. I greet my collection of treasured items with the same warmth and decorate with the same attention to detail. Just like my mom, I finish by turning on all the twinkling lights, lighting the seasonal candles, and then walking in and out of the room, taking pride and pleasure in my creativity. I love to share this with others and enjoy opening my home.

3. I love that I’m low maintenance.

I don’t dye my hair (yet), hell, I rarely even blow dry it. I don’t get my nails done except for special occasions. I’m not a slob, it’s just not that important to me. I can go from shower to ready to go in under thirty minutes and I love this about me. I believe in maximizing my time doing what’s important to me or what brings me pleasure (and bonus when those things are the same). Spending time preening just doesn’t do it for me and I’m grateful I don’t care too much about these things.

4. I love my passion, enthusiasm and excitability.

I feel emotions intensely — I always have. I used to think this was a curse of some sort, but I have grown to love my passion. It keeps me feeling young and alive to feel so much so intensely. I always feel privileged when I get to witness the contagion of my passion on others. It is a gift I am more than happy to give and then sit back and revel in the excitement of others.

5. I love that I’m optimistic.

I have a generally positive outlook and do not dwell on negativity or the past. I know that I am in control of my life and have the power to be happy and live the life I want as long as I put the work in. I do believe I have the power to make my dreams come true. It certainly makes getting up in the morning easier…

6. I love being independent.

I am so incredibly grateful for my independence. I grew up pretty fast and it made me an independent young woman who grew into an even more independent woman. I had several surrogate moms who instilled the importance of being able to rely on myself and I listened carefully. In fact, I was always listening, curious by nature. I picked up a lot from the people around me, my older brothers, as well as my group of older friends. There were also lengthy periods of time when I was alone… A LOT. If I didn’t do things on my own, I didn’t do things. I recall many courageous moments when I said, “fuck it” and did what I wanted. This increased my courage which increased my independence.

7. I love being a writer.

Writing is my creative outlet. It makes me happy, brings me peace, gives me a sense of purpose, and generally keeps me out of trouble.

8. I am open-minded and eager and willing to learn.

As I mentioned earlier, I am curious by nature. Therefore, I am eager to learn anything and everything. I find most things fascinating and soak up knowledge like a sponge.

9. I’m punctual and dependable. 

I pride myself by being on time and doing what I say I will when I say I will. I love that people feel they can depend on me.

10. I’m perseverant.

I don’t quit if I want something badly enough, no matter how long it takes or how many times I fail. I finally graduated with my bachelor’s degree when I was 31. I’m still not 100% smoke-free, but the cigarettes keep getting fewer and farther between. (Update: I did finally quit!) There are other things I work toward nearly every single day and I will not give up… I love having goals to work toward with perseverance.

There you have it. In the time I came up with ten things I like about me I could have come up with thirty I don’t, but that’s why this is such a good exercise. What a nice change for once to focus on those things I like about myself, rather than those I don’t. Maybe I’m not so bad after all…

Now it’s your turn – what are the things you love about yourself? What are the wonderful things that make you YOU? Share them loud, and share them proud!

I recently bought a new car! Actually, I’m leasing it. That’s what works best for me at the moment, but I fully intend to buy it out at the end of my lease. I reminded the salesman of that when I picked up the car. He said, “Okay, great. But think back to your life three years ago.” I did, briefly. “A lot can change in three years.”

Point taken.

I wish there was someone to say that to the junior at University of Pennsylvania who walked in front of a train last week. The school year wraps up in a matter of weeks and she’d be going home for the summer presumably, the stress of the school year behind her. In one year, she’d be preparing for graduation. In two years she may have started a career and moved to a new city. In three years, she could have possibly been planning her wedding or a big vacation or… who knows. None of us know… she’ll never get to find out…

In times of stress it’s difficult to see our lives as anything more than what they are right then. Our focus is so narrowed that we’re unable to see outside of the situation nor light at the end of the tunnel. But the dark times pass. And stressful circumstances or not, life changes, and sometimes in ways that you least expect.

If you had told me in early July of 2004 that in less than two months I’d be living in Philadelphia, I would have laughed and said you were full of crap. At the time, I was waiting tables in central New Jersey at a popular restaurant. My heart had just been broken and my days were a constant cycle of double shifts followed by drinking and poker into the early morning, eat, sleep, repeat. I could see no way out of it.

But a phone call from a friend in Philadelphia changed that. “You have nothing going for you,” he said. “A few of us are renting a brownstone and need a fourth roommate. You can wait tables here until you find something better. The change will do you good.”

In August I moved to Philadelphia and started a job at a non-profit organization. Just like that, in the matter of six weeks, my entire life changed.

It was the best split-second decision I ever made. I needed something big to shake up my life and the move to Philadelphia was that exact thing.

Surely you can think of a few examples of shake ups in your life that resulted in great change and new opportunities. Some of them are nice surprises, like a phone call from a concerned friend, or falling in love with someone overseas. Some come disguised as tragedies, like broken hearts, broken bones, illness and death. Regardless, life’s surprises are inevitable and we are wise to view them, even the struggles, as opportunities. And to remember that life changes, and it does so quickly. Nothing stays the same, nor should we want it to!

Who knows where I’d be right now if I hadn’t moved to Philadelphia. I refuse to believe I’d still be waiting tables, but I doubt I’d be where I am now, with a career and a home and a husband… and a new car.

I wonder where I’ll be in three years…

Stay tuned.

P.S. It seems that the past several posts were not emailed to my subscribers – I’m so sorry! I’m told by tech support that the glitch has been fixed. Here are the posts you may have missed:

11 Quotes to Remember When Faced with Toxic People

Time We Break Our Own Rules

Having the Strength to Say When

I know someone who has trouble being happy for me when I talk about the simpler pleasures in my life. I don’t think this person means to be envious, and I know it’s more about them than it is about me and my life, but it’s a real drag. This person has a tendency to lament the experiences of mine they deem to be lacking in their own life, and vocally wishes their life could be more like mine. If it were an acquaintance, I’d likely avoid talking to this person altogether because these conversations often result in me feeling badly. But it’s not, so I tend not to share much of these smaller positive tidbits to avoid the ensuing sad soliloquy.

I don’t need anyone to be happy for the way I live my life. It’s my life and I built it, and there’s plenty of not so great things in it as well. But I do not see the reason for anyone being made to feel badly after sharing something positive about themselves. Envy is so ugly. How sad it must feel to resent the good fortune of others.

I tend to be in awe of people. Talented writers, world travelers, highly skilled yogis and athletes, artists, humanitarians… all average people with extraordinary lives, because they built them for themselves. Who am I to resent someone for working harder on their craft, body or dreams than I?

My oldest brother and his wife spent two years traveling the world by bicycle. I hung on every blog post and word shared with me during the time they were away; fascinated by their photos, the foods they ate, the people they met. Not one second did I feel envious of their adventure. They spent five years planning and preparing. Do I experience a longing to one day see even a fraction of what they have? Of course! But is it a resentful longing? Not in the slightest.

But to say “I am happy for them” doesn’t do it justice. To say I am happy for the members of my writing group when they get published doesn’t seem adequate either. Back in October my husband and his entire family went to Florida to celebrate a cousin’s wedding. I couldn’t go due to a work function. At no point did I feel envious or lament my not being there. It would have been wonderful, of course! But I never once complained. And by then there was a new word in my vocabulary to help me to understand why.

Mudita. Sympathetic joy unadulterated by self-interest; the opposite of envy. This is what I felt reading or listening about my brother’s travels. This is what I feel when someone I know is met with success as a result of their skills and efforts. This is what I felt for my family laughing on the beach together and drinking and dancing at the wedding.

I feel joy at the expense of others. I am able to completely separate myself and my feelings and bask in the happiness of others with an open heart. Many people can, and what an incredible feeling it is to be embraced by someone who is feeling Mudita for you! These are your cheerleaders. These are your friends.

But beside every wonderful cheerleader is someone who begrudges your successes. The important thing to remember is that it’s not about you. I believe that what people envy is simply something they regret not working harder for, whether they can admit that or not. I’m sure there was a time when I felt jealous of women who have the body and clothes I desire for myself. But I realize now I wasn’t envious of their bodies, I was envious of what I perceived their lifestyles to be.

The person I mentioned earlier whom I don’t feel comfortable sharing much with? I don’t think they are resentful that I have walking buddies or can go sit and read by a fire in a coffee house on a weeknight if I so choose. They are unfortunately just disappointed by their own circumstances. It’s sad. And it’s sad that people have such a tendency to immediately compare. I have written before that one of the keys to happiness is to not assess life by what you feel you don’t have, but to look at all you DO have. And that is once again where gratitude comes in.

Imagine how much joy could be added to your own life if you were to feel genuine happiness as a result of other people’s successes and happiness? Misery begets misery. Happiness begets happiness.

So ask yourself: