WEEKLY WELLNESS/ rest, removing judgment from the equation, and on to exercise

Weekly Wellness is a community driven project to help each of us adopt a more mindful lifestyle. It is a twelve week experiment wherein we (Laura, myself, and whoever else wants to join) commit to one small change for each of those weeks in an effort to see how even a small shift can reap big rewards. (For the introduction read this and this.) 

I know, I know, I'm a little late to the party this week. There was a bit too much partying this weekend, if you know what I mean, and so I'm behind.

Okay.

So rest. Rest, rest, rest. I am a person who finds that if my home is impeccably clean I sleep better. It's as simple as that. I wake refreshed and with a feeling of peace.

Whenever I leave home for a trip or for an extended period of time I become nuts about everything being clean and in its place. Why? There is no better feeling than returning home after a little sojourn to a clean house. There just isn't. There are other things that are up there with it, but nothing trumps it.

So, for this last week with the goal of rest, I got to thinking about this clean house, clean room, clean space directive.

And so I got on the subway, headed to Target, and bought myself a new shower curtain. I've lived here for a few months now and I've held off on getting one because...well, I'm not sure why. I wanted it to be PERFECT, I guess. And also because the bathroom is the place in the house I least care about. It's such a small and odd space and if the door isn't closed just so then it seems you can't navigate the thing. But I went to Target and got a shower curtain and then a massive white spa towel. And I tell ya, if those two things didn't just transform the space. My bathroom went from the place where I left all my dirty clothes hanging on the towel rack to a space where I could keep dried lavender atop the toilet and in the mornings light a candle by the sink. Transforming that space meant that my everyday shower now felt luxurious. And that alone is incredibly restful.

In the last few years I've come to learn (and really relish) in taking a lot of joy in every day necessities--cleaning the sink, cooking myself a meal, climbing into the tub. It makes for a much happier, more fulfilling life--and one where those things that we have to do just to keep going move from the realm of chores to small, restorative actions. Restorative being the operative word.

I think the key to any of these weekly goals or any suggestions you read on a blog or in a magazine is figuring out how to make them work for you. Redefining the norm, thinking outside the box (cliche, but true). For me focusing on rest became decorating my bathroom.

What about you all? What did REST mean to you and how did you make a go of it?

and now on to Fat Talk...

I'm gonna level with you. This week was harder. Maybe it was that it was my birthday and I was around more people and more food and where there's that much food and that much celebration people make comments. Or maybe it was the cover of People Magazine declaring Jenny Garth 30 pounds thinner which meant she had just gotten her life back! Full disclosure, I didn't read the article. Maybe it was about how she reclaimed her life after divorce, but that wasn't what the huge block letters on the cover suggested. I found it offensive. The implication that she didn't have a life at 30 pounds heavier, the implication that I-SHOULD-THEN-NOT-CLAIM-WHAT-I-HAVE-AS-A-LIFE-IF-I-AM-30-POUNDS-HEAVIER-THAN-WHAT-I COULD-BE-IF-I-LIVED-ON-A-DIET. Meg, you're overreacting you might say. You're reading too much into it. But I'm smart enough to know that I'm reading just as much into it as they want me to--just as much into it as all the weight-loss driven ads that pepper the pages hope I will.

So yeah, fat talk was harder this week. Harder to avoid. Harder to disengage from. And that made me harder on my body.

But there was also a lot happening this week (or the last two weeks, really) with celebrities admitting eating disorders or coming out and saying that they love their fuller bodies.

First their was the flurry surrounding Lady Gaga as she released a picture of her in bra and panties (supposedly 25 pounds heavier) and admitting to anorexia and bulimia. A part of me was totally impressed by this and yet another part of me was also a little perplexed. So I went to my guru, Tom, and asked him about it. And he said something that has stuck with me since. A static image (a photograph) can never accurately reveal or show or convey what a body looks like. He then asked me, What did you think when you saw the photograph of her? Well, my first thought was, if that's her 25 pounds heavier, what did she look like before? She's still tiny. To which he replied, That's the point. By releasing a photo she invited judgment of her body--and judgment of our bodies is the problem. Counterintuitive as it seems, it would have been more powerful had she made that admission with no photograph attached. 

I saw his point. Or well, I thought I did. Sometimes Tom will say something and I'll start to get it and then I'll come in six months later and say, Tom, remember when you said this, this, and this?! I GET IT!  {I was a little afraid this was going to be like that}.

In response to Lady Gaga all sorts of people shared photographs of themselves with statements. The one that stuck with me (and began to clarify Tom's point) was of a young women who said something like If size 2 is beautiful then my size 22 must be glorious--implying that a size 22 is somehow better than a size 2. This comparison, this either/or, this one against the other is at the heart of the problem. I get where she's coming from and it's great if she can embrace her body but her body is not better or worse than someone else's because of the size. It simply is. The size 2 simply is. As is the size 6, size 8, size 18.

Strangely enough, it was Christina Aguilera that drove this point home for me. I came across an article in which she talked about her curves and having gained weight and the record label's problem with that.:

When she gained about 15 pounds during the tour, her label held an emergency meeting, she confessed.

"[They claimed] people I toured with would also miss out if I gained weight, because I would sell no records or tickets for my shows. I was young, so I lost the weight quickly and was toothpick thin during 'Back to Basics' promos and touring."

But now, Aguilera is fighting back. She says that when she met with her label before she started recording her upcoming album, "Lotus," she told them:

“'You are working with a fat girl. Know it now and get over it.' They need a reminder sometimes that I don't belong to them. It's my body," Aguilera told Billboard. "My body can't put anyone in jeopardy of not making money anymore -- my body is just not on the table that way anymore." (text source)

It was that line--my body is just not on the table in that way--that gave me what Oprah would call an ah-ha moment (and let me in on what Tom was really talking about).

Oh right! My body is not on the table in that way--not on the table to be scrutinized or judged or declared beautiful or ugly. It's just not a discussion I'm open to having with myself or with anyone else. My body gets me out of bed each morning, it gets me to the subway and up the stairs, and through the tremendous hour-long workout that is Physique 57, and so yeah, I'm going to celebrate that--the tremendous ability and miracle that my body is. So when fat talk pops up that's my new answer: my body is just not on the table in that way. No more. Now as I look in the mirror at my reflection and start to scrutinize I hear that new mantra, that new edict: nope, not on the table, and I walk away.

AND FOR THIS WEEK: STRECH!! commit to exercise and trying something new. (I've committed to a full month of unlimited Physique 57, which is not a new exercise for me, but it's been a good long while since I've gone {or done any exercise} consistently. 

**I also want to say something else here: In a lot of ways a blog--my blog, any blog--is a static image and so not an accurate depiction of the person writing it. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with this,  but it's made any and all criticism much easier to deal with. The critics aren't coming at me, they're coming at the blog. And that's okay. I can take criticism, what's more dangerous and of more concern is this: just because I don't post pictures during those moments when I've eating a full box of donuts doesn't mean those moments don't happen. I write about health in a way that's meant to encourage and show strides I've made, but I, as much as anyone, have my moments (often, I fear I have them more than most). Moments in which I don't want to exercise. Moments in which I hate my thighs or hate my stomach or can't believe I just ate a whole bag of those pink and white frosted animal crackers. Moments when I can't divorce the guilt I feel about what I've just eaten with the desire to then eat more, because well, screw it. I, as much as anyone, am still very much in the trenches of making peace with my body and the constant need to feed and nourish it. The past few months have been quite difficult for  me in terms of food and acceptance, which is in large part why I wanted to do something like weekly wellness and focus on small actions. It's my opinion that getting better feels much like a grain of sand traveling through an iceberg. And I'm still trekking.**

If you're new to the blog and want to understand why all this is so important to me, I'm going to direct you here. 

on living alone. and the small joys.

i'll be the first to admit that living alone can be somewhat lonely. but good lord is it wonderful.

having some of my friends gathered into the small space this last week reminded me of that--preparing for their arrival reminded me of that. the joy of cleaning. of a clean bathroom. and wiped-down kitchen sink. the joy of buying paper towels and flowers at the grocery story that i can walk to. (i remember having a roommate's meeting at my last apartment about half-way through our last year together and there being a discussion of expenses and who pays for what and what we use and one person said, well i don't use the paper towels so i don't want to pay for them. and i probably-not-so-calmly said, I WILL PAY FOR THEM. I WILL PAY FOR THE PAPER TOWELS. AND THIS IS AN OFFICIAL INVITATION FOR YOU TO USE THEM: HELP YOURSELF). which is to say, there is a special sort of joy in those cloth-white-sheets. a special sort of joy in opening the fridge and not wondering what is mine. in keeping the eggs in one of those special egg-crate-containers.

the small joys add up to a different quality of life. one that is wholly and altogether different, but only has meaning because of all that came before. so strangely enough i am thankful for each time i paused before my front door wondering what i'd walk in on. each roommate meeting i wanted nothing to do with. each time i danced before the bathroom door wondering if i'd make it until whoever was in there GOT-THE-HELL-OUT. i am thankful for all that came before. and for having to made it to the other side--to this place that feeds me in so many ways.

what i know at 27.

these are things that i know to be true for myself, at this moment in time: 


never accept advice where love or matters of the heart are concerned.


all thoughts and feelings and beliefs are subject to change given the right experience.


sometimes you have to graciously and gracefully relinquish your grip.


don't berate the character of a man to make a girl feel better. it'll only make the girl feel worse.


the F train is far superior to the A.


i love Brooklyn just about as much as everyone thinks i can't possibly. which is to say, a lot.


loneliness is character building. it is also a bitch.


there is nothing interesting or noteworthy (or worth anything at all) about the notion of cool. cool and fine and totally okay is where the coward lives.


it is totally acceptable to wear your sunglasses on the subway if you are crying. otherwise, no.


no woman should ever stand in front of a man and ask him to lover her. literally or metaphorically. the man worth having will love you long before the question even crosses your mind.


love or happiness or in-the-mood is not a place that you get to and then live there happily ever after. these things are moving, movable places with shifting terrains that demand constant navigation with new eyes and courageous hearts.


nothing offers more protection than honesty, even if in the moment few things feel more vulnerable.


i have always learned best by making the worst sort of mistakes.


falling in love with a lot of the wrong guys is par for the course. this is not everyone's story, of course. but if it's yours, that's okay.


sometimes the blues really is just a slight breeze and then sometimes it is a motherfucking freight train barreling straight through.


every woman (and man) should have a really good therapist and a hairstylist who tells the truth.


we suffer small deaths as we age: the feeling you get as a child the night before your birthday. or on christmas morning. the wonder and sense that the world is different--and you in that world are different too. but the wonderful thing--the thing no one talks about--is that you find these feelings elsewhere in unexpected ways. christmas morning becomes a man--becomes his hand on the small of your back.


everyone has a ground zero. a phone call that splits the before and after. a moment that lives like a sinkhole and around which we then narrowly navigate all that follows. we are not alone in our suffering.


humility is damn appealing. and a man who offers his seat to a pregnant woman or an older woman or a man with a cane is damn sexy. you can't ever go wrong with flowers. and few things are more attractive than someone who pays for the dinner bill long after the first date.

i wore cowboy boots, ate a lot of cake, and welcomed another year surrounded by the best people i know.

homesick.

i have been homesick ever since i went home to texas this last time.

it's such a particular emotion, homesickness. unhurried and unconfused. the compass needle pointing north, unrelenting in it's message: that thing there, go there. home. a small and quiet and unyielding chant.

it's not that i've been homesick for texas so much, but homesick for home in that large and aching way that has nothing to do with place and everything to do with people.

we're not from texas, my family. i'm the closest, having been born there. but my family, well we can't count back the generations the way a lot of people can.

there's me. just me. the lone one from that lone star state.

growing up there was always an awareness of being a little bit different--a little other. of being raised in a home in which texas and its values and its history and its culture wasn't in our blood.

and so there was this perpetual sense of displacement. of a loyalty to one's self more than the place.

a ferocious sort of independence.

now, looking back, i can think of nothing more texan than that.

the state and the place and that little sense of otherness branded me. texan, indeed.

my parents are looking to buy a house as they enter this next stage of life.

there's been a lot of talk about this house. about where it should be--beach or mountains, north or west. texas and.

and being the question that must be answered.

and then there's the talk of the bones of the home. of its configuration. of how many rooms are needed and should there be two kitchens and more than one floor and the real concern there is the families my brother and i will one day have. and the children--those small and noisy and heavenly creatures that i think we all really want to fill this house on holidays and long summer nights.

but we don't talk about this explicitly. and so the house is heavy with all those things not talked of.

i am homesick for this house. homesick for the life that has yet to be built to fill it.

this will be house in which i'll be married--beach or mountains, north or west.

my parents don't know this. i've never told them this. but i imagine they'll read it now and it will worry them.

my father because he'll say that i'm putting the cart before the horse and he'll be right of course, but i also think he'll understand precisely what i mean and what i want and why it is i want what i want without me ever having to say.

my mother will read this and it will worry that soft and feminine part of her that fears i'll never find the one. she will deny this of course--say this is not a worry she caries, but we both do--mostly because it is a want we both have--her wanting it for me, me for myself. and where wanting lives, worry trails.

i want to get married in this house.

i want to get married in that place where we welcome the next generation. in the yard where my children will one day play.

and i want to say to them as they romp and fall and stumble into each passing year--there--that spot there is where your father and i did the most courageous thing a person can do anymore. where we promised to weather the worst and the best of it. where we pledged, in front of family and friends, to trade in the fairytale for that delicious and dangerous thing that a real life is.

i am homesick for a thing that is but a wish i carry. but it is true and real and the needle points north.