Feeling Fucking Fabulous

 
I am in Vieques, Puerto Rico.  On my first full day on the island, people are already asking if I am from here.  “You look like you are right where you should be,” they say. “You are in your element here!”  one woman remarked as she passed by my table for one.  This place is magical and I feel fucking fabulous.  I’ve been to the beach twice and will discover a new one today.  

Yesterday, for the first time ever, I wore a two-piece swimsuit that did not have that attached annoying piece of fabric intended to cover my belly.  I sat down with my turquoise sundress covering the bright yellow suit and the thoughts started coming.  Do I sit here with the dress on?  Do I take it off and just sit in my swimsuit?  Do I take it off and cover myself with my towel?  Every step has so much thought.  When can I just be?

I took off my dress and rested it over my thighs.  Then I set it to the side and got comfortable with my summer read by Jennifer Weiner.  As I continued to steal glances at the boaters and their families as they entered the Caribbean Sea, I realized that no one was looking at me.  They saw me, but they weren’t looking at me.  And who cares if they were looking?  Why is so much mental space spent wondering and worrying about what others think about me?  Who the hell cares?  I don’t know them, their opinion does

not matter and, most of the time, the responses I get are quite positive and involve cat calls and long stares.  

I feel like I have to tell everyone I meet that the me they see is the during in a before and after episode.  Can I just be?  At every stage of this life that I have, just be?  This is my goal.  Figure out what I want, consider who it impacts, and then go for it.  Just be.  I think we miss out on opportunities when we run every move, every bite, every step through the filter of “what will others think or say.”  Like that middle-schooler who was never able to shed the cliques and labels that were put upon her.

Yesterday, I participated in a workshop that included breath-work and sound bowl healing.  It was deep and transformational.  One message that I received from myself was that now is the time for me to grow what I have already started, instead of adding more to my plate.  The other message was that I need to rest - just be still.  When was the last time you were just STILL?  This does not include the five to twenty minutes you stole from your children to sit on the toilet and scroll while pooping.  And why is it stealing minutes when we step away to catch our breath?  It isn’t.  It is gathering strength to get back at it in a better and more mentally healthy way.  So, when was the last time you took time to gather strength and health for yourself?  No guilt.  No shame.  No planning to do one of the 88 things on your recurring list of things that need to get done as soon as possible.  Do you just sit and allow yourself to daydream?  

In what we call daydreaming, our brains are able to create and rest.  The next time you catch yourself staring off and thinking, don’t snap yourself back to reality.  That is also reality and it is giving your brain a chance to do its thing.

And when you can, and I suggest you do when you are able, step away from it all for just a moment.  Cry, laugh, sing, sit and let waves wash over you, climb every mountain; whatever your thing is, do it.  If you don’t remember what your thing is, for God’s sake, ask a friend or ask yourself.  We carry “busy” as a badge of honor and it is killing us.  Slow down.  Let some things go sometimes (like the dishes, not like brushing your teeth).  When you do, you will thank yourself because it feels fucking fabulous.

Why so Sad?

 Today, I had my three month follow up appointment with the nurse practitioner.  I walked to the back where I stood on the scale at my first visit seven months ago.  I have less anxiety when approaching the machine than I did three months ago, or even last week.  I took off as much as I could; my purse and my sandals (which weigh one pound each).  I stepped up.  267…on the doctor’s scale, which everyone knows is at least five pounds over the home scale - do they do that on purpose?  The nurse celebrated my accomplishment!  “You are down 54 pounds from when you started this process,” she shared and offered a high five.  

I was beaming with pride when the nurse practitioner walked in.  She also commented on how well I am doing, although she mentioned that I am two pounds under the average loss over three months.  I still have one week to make that up, but I am doing quite well.  Let me pause for a second to explain that I am not used to being average.  I do extra.  I work extra hard, I produce extra good stuff, I go beyond the expectations of the average person.  Average was hard to swallow.

Then, she pulled out a graph that was created with my pre-surgical information, “along with some other demographics,” and it shows the projected weight loss over one year post surgery.  The graph showed a line that dropped drastically and then evened out.  She explained that over the next six months, I would lose another 63 pounds for a total of 117 in one year.

I felt so disappointed.  Only 117 pounds?  What’s this I’ve read about women losing 150-175 pounds?  I want to be one of those!  After all, this blog is called “Breaking Up with HALF of Me,” not “Breaking up with some of me” ( I tried to do the math and come up with some percentage or fraction, but ya’ll know how I am with math).  I won’t even be a candidate to offer my husband one of my kidneys at that BMI.

I was confused about my first emotion.  Disappointed.  I’ve never lost 100 pounds in my life and now, losing it over one year is not good enough?  What the hell is that all about?!  Am I getting addicted to losing weight?  Do I think I can lose and lose and never stop losing?  Maybe.  Because I have never seen results from  my efforts (except for the time I starved myself on the HCG diet.  Great weight loss until I saw a piece of cake).

I say that I want my body to decide where it wants to land to be healthy.  In reality, I want to randomly pick a number based on NOTHING and make that my goal and then feel bad about myself when someone tells me that I may not meet that goal, but will reach a more healthy number for my body.  

I used to do whatever I wanted.  I wanted to travel, so I did it.  I’ve been to the Philippines, Hawaii, Mexico x2, Taiwan, Italy
x2, Uganda, Ghana and Hong Kong.  I wanted to get a good education.  I did it.  I earned one bachelor's degree, two master’s degrees and was accepted to four PhD programs.  If I wanted to work out, I did it.  I wanted to go on vacation alone, so I did it.  Now, I am no longer in control - of anything it seems.  Of course, that’s not true, but that’s how I feel at this pity party.  I want to lose 160 pounds and I don’t want anyone telling me that I can’t; even my own body.

My bestie, Jazmin, keeps reminding me to “Let that sink in.”  She will say “YOU LOST 54 POUNDS!  Let that sink in.”  Or “You have gone down three sizes in three months - don’t sleep on that shit.  Feel it!”  Am I rewarding my hard work with expectations of more hard work?  That’s a normal routine for  many women that I know.  It’s like saying “Good job!  That was great, now do it again and better and faster - GO!”  I’ve lost five 10 pound bags of potatoes.  I may have to step into Food Lion and pick up a few bags just to really feel that accomplishment.  I will then put them back down because potatoes are nowhere on this meal plan.

Smoke and Mirrors

 

My mouth went dry and I guarded my eyes to avoid temptation.  As I sauntered by the window, I stole glances, one, two, three times just to look at her.  Never before had I seen such beauty in white.  She was sleeveless with bows adorning each shoulder.  She would never be a good fit for me and before I could make a fool of myself, I walked right on by.

Less than thirty minutes later, I returned to see her watching me, calling out to me.  

This time, I answered.

“Hello beautiful,” I said to the white dress in the window at Express Outlet.  She said  nothing, but boldly displayed her number.  “I don’t know if we will look good together, but I’m willing to try if you are,” I doted on her.  

Today, I weigh 268 pounds.  40 pounds down from surgery 91 days ago.  I am 52 pounds down from the beginning of this year. I am 59 pounds down from my highest weight.

Today, I went shopping.  I have been shopping many times before, but this time was different.  I dared try on sizes well below what I knew I wore.  I used to wear size 24 pants, today, I bought size 18!  I used to wear size 20 shirt.  Today, I bought 16.  What the actual fuck?  Can this really be happening?  I had to keep going back for smaller sizes.  I was frustrated because the size that I needed was taken by the other lovely ladies that are my size.  

When I walked by Express Outlet, I shook my head and said, “One day, I will be able to shop there!”  I would never have predicted that “one day” was TODAY.  

As I sat in the fitting rooms of three popular clothing stores, I grinned widely and almost cried.  This process of losing weight is 90% mental and 10%physical, in my opinion.  I thought that I had plateaued or started to gain weight because I have not established an exercise routine.  I have been out of town and off my routine three weeks over the last month.  I had no idea.  Then, to try on a size I thought I would not fit and, not only did it fit, but it was too big?!  Mind Blown.  I believe in the process.  I believe in my efforts.  I believe in me.  I believe that I do look sexy in that pink and white shorts outfit that I found in the “smaller women’s section” of the store.  

Yeasss Queen!  SLAY!

Criss Cross

 Hot DAMN YA’ALL!  I can cross my effing legs!  Girl!  I have NEVER EVER been able to cross my legs!  I was imitating my daughter as she sat on her phone with her 10 year old legs crossed.  I swung my right let over my left without missing a beat.  I yelled, OH MY GOD!  I JUST CROSSED MY LEGS!!!  I said to my husband “DO YOU SEE THIS?  MY LEGS ARE CROSSED!”  Get out of here!  What does this mean?  

When I was younger, and had smaller thighs (honestly I have always struggled with my weight, but I assume my legs were smaller then), I never crossed my legs.  I was taught that “Ladies cross at the ankle to avoid showing too much leg or a peek at the upper thigh.”  So when I say that I never comfortably crossed my legs before,  I mean NEVER.  

Since this discovery, I am hesitant to try it.  I run through questions in my mind.  Does this chair lean back too far for my legs to cross?  Are these pants loose enough for me to cross my legs?  What if I try and can’t, then other people will know that my legs are too big to cross?

I realize that, perhaps, most people don’t run through these mental cycles as often as I do.  In the same way that I used to size up a chair to determine if it would hold me or if I would be sitting on the arms or if the arms would be around me, I have to consider things before crossing my legs.  Maybe it’s because it’s all new.

Speaking of crossing things, I now love to cross my arms!  They rest so perfectly under my breasts.  Then, I wonder if people will think I’m cold or stuck-up or disinterested because I’m crossing my arms.  NOPE to all of those, I’m crossing my arms because I can.  

It’s strange to be discovering myself again at 47.  What wonderful things am I capable of now that I’m not carrying an additional 40, 50, 70 pounds of weight?  Wonders never cease and I’ll keep you posted.