Keep It Real Challenge

   I wasn't sure about writing this post until two things happened. First, I listened to a speech by Neil Gaiman in which he says, roughly, that right when you start to feel unsure- like you're about to walk naked down the street- that's when you might actually be getting it right. Second, the friend I trust most for advice in artful ventures swore on my Facebook page. I guess that was enough for me. It's a few days late, but better late than never.

   Everything I’m about to tell you sounds absolutely crazy, and it is.

   When I was small -5 or 6 years old- I hated my nose. My role models were animated princesses, women on TV, and my big sisters - and every one of them had a narrow nose. By Kindergarten it was clear that the heroines of the world had dainty snouts and I had an Opus beak.

 Pulling the reins of Western society are two juggernaut industries. On the one hand, the food industry, which taps into our basest instincts to feed us crap from pretty boxes and wrappers, often plastered with bogus “health” claims while slowly killing us. The obesity rate in the United States has officially passed 33%. On the other hand, the fashion industry manipulates us by taking an unhealthy, immorally narrow subset of models then digitally alters them to an impossible level of perfection. It’s a social fabric woven of self-loathing.

   When I was 10, a hand full of people started commenting about my weight, and it stuck. I wasn’t overweight. Sure I was on the bigger side of average, but even a little more out-side-play and puberty would’ve taken the “bigger” part out. But come on- I wasn’t thinking about average. There was no average. There was thinner. Thinner was better. It was important, like brushing teeth or getting haircuts. I don’t know why- it was just important. So I started exercising. A lot. Do you know an 11-year-old whose proudest achievement was doing 100 crunches every day for a year? You do now.

   By junior high it was an absolute social game to diet. We would all go to B’s house every night, weigh ourselves, and compare. We would flip through women’s magazines and try out the latest “Europe’s Secret Miracle Diet” or “What Every Brazilian Woman Knows.” Tai Bo was all the rage and I couldn’t go to sleep without doing a tape (yes, they were still tapes). We’d pass around Dexatrim at lunch time. It was an unspoken medallion of honor to be the one who went with the fewest full meals.  I started counting calories and restricting my fat intake to 15 grams a day or less. I would exercise and exercise and it was never about being healthy or strong. It was about being thinner. At 104lbs I felt too fat because I wasn’t 100. At 98lbs I was frustrated because I wasn’t 95. I told myself that what I was doing was fine as long as I didn’t drop below 90lb. If I ever got to 90lbs I’d stop. I never did. I was only socially rewarded. I was gifted with praise and compliments and I’d go up to my bedroom at night and cry because I was ugly. I liked my hair, and my eye color was kind of cool, but my knuckles were knobby, my nose was huge, my boobs were too small and I always needed to be thinner.

   I joined the track team when I was 13 and suddenly, I couldn’t control my appetite. Calorie counting went out the window. I’d do my best to consume the “right” kinds of foods, but enough was never enough. So I started throwing up.

   I never did get back down to 98lbs- I’d fluctuate between 102-115lb depending on my activity level and over all diet, but that’s how I kept things in a manageable rang. I threw up 1-3 times a day, 5 to 7 days a week for the next 7 years, like brushing teeth or getting a haircut. 

   It was my socially acceptable dirty-little-secret. I’ve talked to countless women and girls who’ve all tried something unhealthy or extreme for the sake of being thinner. Never once in my life have I heard a woman say that she’s not done something unhealthy. We sit in gym classes and watch cheesy Lifetime network movies about the one girl with anorexia and it rolls off like a load of crap because everyone is doing it. The extreme was normalized from birth!

   The misrepresentation of women in the media has become so rampant, Photoshop abuse (yes, that’s what I called it) so common place, that whether it’s weight, skin color, or feature size,  we are raised from the very beginning of life to be unhappy with our bodies because we’re not “perfect” and “perfect” is…just, important. It’s sick. And I’ve had enough.

   So when I heard that Seventeen Magazine had refused a Change.org petition to include one non-retouched photo spread per issue, and the responding Keep It Real Challenge, I decided to get on board.

   Things won’t change until we start talking about it. Things didn’t change for me until I finally talked about it with someone I trusted- till something was more important than “important.” And you know what? One of the first things that they ever told me was that they loved my nose.

The official challenge may be over, but we can still tweet to editors, stop buying the magazines and products, something- anything!- to get them to drop the Photoshop. Enough is enough.

http://www.sparksummit.com/2012/06/25/join-the-keep-it-real-challenge/

http://www.missrepresentation.org/blog/

The Pills I Hang Out With

    I’m a very lucky girl. I get one of Mother Nature’s gag gifts: the psycho/neurological disorder. My flavor: Bipolar Disorder Type 2. What that means, in short, is that I need to take a cocktail of medication just to function in a way that passes for normal. This is curious as each drug happens to have a complicated personality all its own.

• The Big Orange Pill:  Me and Orange go way back. He stood by me when every other antidepressant left me alone or landed me in the hospital with an allergic reaction. He’s a romantic that will turn the lowest lethargic into a raging insomniac. But he’s got a dark side, and is not to be neglected. Missing one day means migraines, the sensations of shocks running from your scalp to your toes, and a craving for French fries that would scare the 7^th month of pregnancy. 
• The Little White Pill: Meet the hipster of the group. He’s so fresh you probably haven’t heard of him yet. So potent, he has to be split in half. He’s tinier than the others, but he costs five times as much. In just the right amount, he’ll show you passion and reaffirm the deeper meaning of life. You’ll also get really irritable. Too much, and you’ll be wallowing in anguish because no one understands you.
• The Medium Pink Pill: This is the guru, the master of the group. He may be the newest to the regimen, but he’s been in the service the longest and knows how to make things run smooth. He cranks the engine. But it is a crank engine. He needs to be there to crank it twice a day. Miss a crank in the evening, and next morning you will…be…stuck…in…tar. 

    I don’t exactly get it, but somehow the result of these three guys working as a team equates to…normal.  Do three crazies make a sane? I guess so. 

Pranayama-lama-ding-dong

   For sure, there’s been a lot of changes going on with us lately. Still, I don’t understand it, but I’ve been left NOT WANTING TO KNIT! Seriously- you couldn’t pay me to knit (I mean that literally- my mom tried to pay me to make a hat for her; I’m weeks behind). This has left me in an awful situation. For about six years I’ve spent my evenings knitting. Now, evening comes and my mind is racing with everything that is changing or that I can’t change or that won’t change quickly enough or is changing too quickly and I can’t settle down. I’ll be catatonic on the outside and hurricane on the inside.

   So tonight I had a well-duh-moment. I thought well, what other hobbies can you focus on? Writing- already done that, feein’ dry. Get off your butt and do some Yoga!  

   So I busted out the mat, and turned on a video from yogajournal.com. Fifteen minutes later I was sweating like a demon, my legs full of fire and alignment, and I was feeling better than I’ve felt in days. For all the physical exertion, there is an amazing amount of clarity, awareness, and calm that comes from doing yoga. I don’t know if it’s the focus, the blood flow, or what, but after a good workout I feel such peace. I feel more present in the moment. I’m more aware of my body, its needs, strengths, and I accept and care for myself more.  That’s a beautiful thing that society needs more of.  And just as a bonus, when I was all finished, I notice my body looked better; my tummy was flatter, supporting my back more.  Now who doesn’t like that?! 

   If you are interested in trying yoga, or giving it another go- which I highly recommend- here are a few tips I've learned to get the most out of it (and sometimes save a buck or two): 

• The best place to do a workout is on a yoga mat, but if you're not ready to invest money into your workout (which I think you should, because you'll be more likely to do it) do it bare foot on a carpet. When you're ready for a mat, this one is amazing. 
• Other things you'll need are a couple of books, like phone books (or yoga blocks) and a belt (or yoga strap). 
• Wear a fitted shirt or it will be in your face. 
• Assuming you can't get out to a class, start with a home routine for beginners so you are sure to learn the poses correctly and be less likely to hurt yourself. I think Patricia Walden's program knocks it out of the park. 
• Another great source of workouts is www.yogajournal.com/video/.  All free!
• Breath "through the back of your heart." Phrases like that might not make much sense, until you try them- then they change everything! But it takes focus and listening to minute parts of your body.
• Feel good about the good you are doing! 

   Namaste!

Finding the Bright Side

   There's been an uneasy feeling hanging over me for a couple of days. I went to the college to refresh my status as a student (you need to do that after going a semester without taking classes), where I found out that the financial office doesn't do payment plans during the summer terms. This is relevant because 3 days before we were supposed to get our tax return (which would have payed my tuition) we instead got a letter saying our old student loan demons had risen and snatched every penny. They said they wouldn't do that. It's those demons that are also keeping me disqualified for Pell grants.

    So I've turned up my job searching mode to High. I've sent out applications near and, well, as far as the T will take me. I didn't just exhaust Craigslist.com, I put it in a coma. I've thought of everything I can come up with on my own- I even considered creating a sort of Kickstarter-style fund (doesn't that sound like a good idea for students? Well, not everyone thinks so.) I started a LinkedIn account- Golly, was that demoralizing! My most recent experience was in 2006! Can anyone here top that? And school counts- no cheaters.
   I can't tell how much I've been relying on other people's positiveness. Even my little ones have been a buoy to me. Yesterday, in a moment of weakness the kids found me curled up on my bed. When they asked what was wrong, I told them "I really, really want to go to school but I don't have enough money."
   Lily put her arms around me and said, "It's OK, Mom. Just look on the bright side."
   Then Calvin brought me a penny he found on the floor. "Here, Mom, you can use this."
   So, about that bright side, if we work it right, I might be able to take one class this summer. OK. It's better than going bonkers for another semester.

Guilty

GUILTY

So, yesterday I wrote this big ol' post about getting in shape and healthy vs the beauty cult, yadda yadda. It didn't make the cut.
The irony is that after I busted my butt (and abs and arms) doing Pilates yesterday...Today I'm eating a whole bag of potato chips. Jason said he'd take the kids and give me a break and, well, I couldn't help myself.
I do have clinical bipolar disorder (I don't know that I've mentioned that before) but I don't think I can blame this on it. Can I?

What's your guilty pleasure? Chocolate? French Fries? Hanson? My Little Pony: FIM?

P.S. OMG My Little Pony: FIM is on Netflix!