your voice in my head

I recently read Emma Forrest’s ‘Your Voice in my Head’.  If you’ve read it, you understand when I say it is not an easy one to get through.

The writing is beautiful – she clearly loves language and marries words in such a way that in a healthy mind wouldn’t come so easily, but that still seem to make perfect sense. The danger in reading an autobiographical book about someone else’s mental illness was the reminder of my own sadness or as the official diagnosis goes, “mild to moderate depression”.

I was never suicidal, just shrouded in perpetual gloom. There were days I’d wake up and wish I hadn’t…days when the anxiety over feeling without hope was so paralyzing I’d be late for work and social events, if I even went at all…when the negative stigma attached to being mentally ill forced me to instead of being open with people about it, place blame elsewhere.  He broke up with me.  She was a terrible friend to me.  So-and-so was a terrible leader and stifled my career.  I sometimes still joke “you know I’m only really happy when I’m miserable” because it veils the underlying truth.

There have been times I felt I blended into walls, completely unnoticed.  Ugly, fat ,dumb, a terrible person…undeserving of love and friendship and success.  I sabotaged relationships with good men because I knew eventually they would realise I was a loser and want to leave…orchestrating break ups so I wouldn’t feel the humiliation of being dumped and then persecuting the guy in a way that people couldn’t help but join in on my pity party.  I come from a good family, and have a small but mighty circle of friends.  There was no rationale for me to feel this way, but it was there, knawing away at my good sense…

The doctor gave me pills, they stopped me from feeling sad… they stopped me from feeling anything so I stopped taking them.  I saw therapists, but I felt they were belittling me (see? the fault always lies elsewhere) so I stopped seeing them.  Over time I got better, and have been for a while now.  There are moments when I feel the melancholy creeping back in – the irrational thinking, the conspiratorial notion that the universe is working against my personal happiness.  I’m of the lucky ones, who can sense it coming and fight not to get sucked back in.  Most aren’t so fortunate and get stuck in a spin cycle of highs and lows.  Be patient with them.  Be kind.  Be compassionate.  Do not judge.

It’s true, about misery loving company…so please share your own stories or comments.  My pity party welcomes you...

the new freshman fifteen

Well readers, I have a confession to make. I fell off the wagon…the weight watcher’s wagon that is. I signed up in January for their awesome and amazing point-plus-jennifer-hudson-program, after my last post (yes, it’s been 6 months since I last blogged, what of it? I’ve been too busy starving myself to write) and right off the bat, I was losing weight like gangbusters! Ok, more like a snail’s pace – but it was motivating to see results both on the scale and with how my clothes were fitting, not to mention how much energy I had and how great I was sleeping!

At about four months in, the unspeakable happened. I peaked at 15 pounds lost. Even though people at work had nick-named me “Shrinking Lori” and my mother commented on how great I was looking (well, you know how mothers are…she said “you’ve lost a lot of your belly fat” or something equally backhanded), I still felt like a failure because the weight had STOPPED coming off. I was eating properly, tracking each grain of rice and drinking a camel’s worth of water each day…exercising even…and the needle just sat there…at a lousy 152lbs.

“F*ck you, one-fifty-two!!” I would say to the scale, but it didn’t hear me…or maybe it just didn’t care.

This is the reason I haven’t been blogging, and the reason I stopped sharing my success on Facebook and Twitter.

I was ashamed and embarrassed. It’s weight loss for crying out loud, how could I fail at losing weight?!?

And then, something worse happened. I threw in the towel. I allowed all the bad habits to come creeping back in. Ice Cream for dinner. Cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Regular vs. lite beer. Dear readers, I hate to say it – I caved. Like a house of cards gently tapped by a charm bracelet (yes, it’s a Brady Bunch reference), my awesome and amazing weight loss plan came tumbling down. And what happened next, you may consider a bright side, but not me. None of the weight came back. That’s right, eating what I wanted when I wanted and still stuck at that one hundred and fifty two f*cking pounds!!

Not only am I not successful, but I am a FAILURE at FAILURE!!!

Fortunately last week, thanks to the wonk weather and poor air circulation at work, I got sick. Really sick. Three prescription sick and with that, came zero appetite. This, my friends, is what finally toppled my freshman fifteen and put me back on track.

I am re-motivated and back to tracking and starving. Bikini season is half over, and I didn’t reach the goal I’d set for myself in time for summer, but my 40th birthday is still 3+ months away and I will not let myself see another setback such as this. This I promise, to myself.

i'm not a girl named boney maroney

Let me explain, because unless you’ve known me since grade five, you have no idea what the heading of this blog refers to.

When I was in lower grade school, I was one of the skinniest kids in my class. My last name being Moore, Boney Maroney was as good a nickname as one could earn. Because at the time, I really was about as skinny as a stick of macaroni.  As I grew into adulthood, I became quite a hot little ticket - slim legs, tiny waist, great rack...

...flash forward 30 years to the present day, specifically this morning when I tipped the scales at 165lbs – my highest weight to date.

Now, I’m a tall-ish girl, so the extra pounds crept up without any real notice except for maybe some tighter waistbands and a second chin. And before some of you out there in Bloggerland say "165lbs? I’d be happy to weigh that!" please bear in mind, I was always between 127-137 for the better part of my life to date. So, as I am currently rounding out my fourth decade, I’ve decided I’ll be damned if this is the body in which I turn 40.

Before I get into the planning stages of said weight loss, let’s review two major obstacles:

     1. I love food
     2. I hate exercise

It would seem I am doomed to fail before I even get out of the gate because it’s true, I’d rather suffer a hangover than a workout but I am determined. Too add to my motivation, friends of my parents with hotsy single sons have bought a cottage on our lake and no way are they going to see this current bod in a bikini. No. Effin’. Way!

The point of this post is for me to take ownership of my weight. I got lazy, I stopped caring, and as a result, I became unhappy. Not with the fat, but because I let it get to this point. I know how to eat right. I know about portion control. I know sitting on my ass and watching movies for hours is not a great way to burn calories. Going forward dear readers, to help hold me accountable to my goal I will be boring you with the details of how I am going to reach it. Which brings me to just that – my goal. I would really be quite satisfied with a 20lb loss, bringing me down to 145. I can do it. Right?

Ok great, we’ve owned it, identified roadblocks and set a target. Next steps? The how-to.

I guess finishing off the ice cream in the freezer doesn’t really count as pre-work. Or does it? Because once it’s gone, it’s no longer there to tempt me. Right? *sigh* I’m pretty sure it’s this same misguided mentality that got me here in the first place. So the ice cream stays until kids come for a visit. Or until I have a major bout of PMS mixed with full moon fever. You don't want to mess with me then. Trust.

I don't expect at the end of this journey for people to start calling me Boney Maroney again, but you can bet my fat ass, readers, I'm bringing sexy back!

the birds and the bees

I was recently faced with the daunting task of talking with my 14yr old nephew about the value of condoms. Uncomfortable? Yes. Unnecessary? Also, yes. He knew where to get them, how to use them and more importantly when to use them, which is every time. Whew for me, that part of the conversation was short! It was also important to me that he understood beyond the mechanics of sex that no matter how much fun he was having, to make sure he was never disrespectful – to either his partner or to himself - treating girls the way he’d want guys to treat his younger sister. (At this he made a face and said “She’s only seven.” Ya ya, you get my point.) He agreed breakups online weren’t cool and that switching girlfriends every 5 minutes wasn’t either. He volunteered that he wasn’t having sex, and I said that I would never judge him if he were but made him promise he’d be smart about his health and his future. Soon after that, a friend told me her 5yr old was asking questions, beyond the garden variety version of where babies come from. Both situations have got me thinking about when my mom had the talk with me, and how times have changed in the thirty years since.

One day, after I had called one of my grade 4 classmates a ‘prick’ at the dinner table that resulted in very shocked looks from both of my parents, my mother came to my room with a book she wanted me to read with her. It was called “Where did I Come From?” and the cover had a cartoon picture of a really cute baby. Being an avid reader and having no clue what was in store for me, I eagerly agreed to join in. We had already had a very basic talk that went a little bit like this:
Me: Mommy, where do babies come from?
Her: Well, a Daddy plants a seed in the Mommy.
For years I had visions of my dad with a gardening trowel digging through dirt in my mother’s navel to plant a seed, water it and watch it grow. It made no sense, but I didn’t have the imagination to conjure up anything even remotely closer to the truth. I also didn’t have the courage to speak up and challenge the explanation. Well, this book cleared some things up but also left me completely deluded about others! I mean, sperms in tuxedos??? My mother concluded the reading with the following:

Her: Now Lori, when a man and woman love one another very much and are married, they show each other how much they love one another by having sex. Nice girls wait until they are married. Do you understand?

Me: Yes, Mommy.

Her: Do you have any questions?

Me: Mommy? How does the sperm know it is time to leave the man’s penis and go to the woman’s egg? Does it come out in his pee?

Her: (squirming) Well, that is a very good question....(she then proceeded to tell me about ejaculation that I heard in a wah wah wah Charlie Brown Grown Up voice because it way over my head and kinda gross too)

Her: And this is something we don’t talk about to anyone. It especially isn’t appropriate to talk about sex with your friends.

Me: Yes, Mommy.

Naturally my friends and I did talk about it. We tore the clothes off our Barbie & Ken dolls and mashed their plastic naked bodies together making kissy-face noises hoping that Barbie would miraculously become pregnant. Sometimes, Barbie cheated on Ken with GI Joe, He-Man or Donny Osmond. Just because we had to behave like nice girls didn’t mean she couldn’t have some good times!

Flash forward to the year 2010; I am shocked at how openly promiscuous kids are today. I attribute my shock to the fact that when I was becoming sexually curious/active, it was during the onset of the AIDS crisis which at the time instilled fear (and ignorance) into the masses. So it makes me happy to report, that kids are very aware of and are practicing, safe sex, even if they are engaging in things like sexting, rainbow parties and sex bracelets. Add to the mix the accessibility of information via the internet, movies, video games and tv shows contributing to their overt sexuality...and it all has me asking, whatever happened to the simple days of ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ in the garden shed?

let me give thanks

I hope you all are enjoying the last long weekend of 2009, the weather could not be more fitting for Thanksgiving - sunny skies paired with the crisp Autumn air and the crunch crunch crunch of leaves beneath your feet.  Today I want to list the things I am thankful for, as I am about to close an old chapter and start a new one, and that has found me feeling a litte reflective...

• the tinkling laughter of children – little giggles that remind me almost everything is funny if you open up your mind enough to see it
• Trixy, who constantly expresses her love for me with great exuberance, and Chloe, who does the same with much more subtlety
• the seasons...all four of them, each with their own distinct beauty and the reminder that life always comes full circle
• family and friends who understand that when the chips are down, often I am too – they tolerate, support, advise and encourage...and know exactly when to deliver a well deserved kick in the ass... I love and appreciate them all dearly
• snowflakes, that stay on my nose and eyelashes
• beer
• the freedom to say what is on my mind without risk of ‘formal’ persecution
• having found the courage to try something new, to take a risk, to create something with my own hands and put it out into the world
• celebrity gossip, it is my guilty pleasure
• making a difficult decision, sticking with it, and having it work out the way I’d hoped it would
• people without common sense, they give me something to bitch about (and you know I am never truly happy unless I have something to bitch about)
• supportive women who never made me feel like I didn’t belong, even though I wasn’t a proper member of their club
• being on the winning side of things, for the first time in what feels like an eternity

Happy Thanksgiving! Please pass the gravy and share what you are most thankful for this year...

a bushel and a peck

"I love you, a bushel and a peck...a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck"

I will always remember my Nana singing this song, in her kitchen on Sturgeon Lake. I spent every summer up there, hearing her sing and her ha-ha-ha laugh. Yesterday, we spread her ashes. I was sorry to see they were in a plastic bag inside a cardboard box - she didn’t want a funeral or any fanfare, but she was a very classy lady and deserved better than that.

Today is a much harder day, emotionally, than yesterday. The finality of that act followed by the passing down of her things did not bring the closure I’ve been longing for. The ache in my heart is stronger and the tears in my eyes more heavy, when I think of how much I love and miss her...but there is a sense of guilt too, because I didn’t tell her during that last visit in January, and she was gone shortly thereafter. I couldn't say I love you, I couldn't say goodbye. I knew she was dying, and I didn’t have the courage to say the words out loud. I didn’t have the courage to make it real.

I love you Nana. I miss you, too. I talk to you, sitting on the mantle. Do you hear me? I wear your wedding band almost every day; I get choked up when people ask me about it. I often see a white butterfly in my yard – I talk to it and when I do, it comes closer. I like to think you have something to do with it. I like to think that maybe, it's you.

I love and miss you so much, Nana...a bushel and a peck.
xoxo

The first of many summers spent with my beautiful Nana.

the lolita factory

Is it just me, or are there some of you out there in bloggerland who also have a strong disdain for Disney and their 'Lolita Factory'? You know that place where young girls are being groomed into prepubescent stardom and taught that traits like sauciness, sassiness and sexiness are appropriate for today’s teen/tween audience? I don’t blame it all on Disney – there are parents out there who allow their kids to be treated like a commodity - Lindsay Lohan and her mother Dina are a perfect example - but an attachment to the Disney brand and the money that follows are what makes it all sooo attractive. And if you’ve seen ‘Bruno’, you’ve seen that some parents will allow their kids to do anything for a chance at Hollywood’s brass ring.

My 6yr old niece’s name is Hannah. Everyone at her school, and even some members of our family, call her Hannah Montana. It makes me cringe! Miley Cyrus is a 16yrs old smoker who started living with her 20-something boyfriend with her parent's consent at the age of 15, and who at the 2009 Teen Choice Awards, where the audience is...well...teens...was pole dancing dresed in next to nothing. Meanwhile, girls with a ‘cleaner’ image like Demi Lovato and Selena Gomez are being pushed to the backburner, clearing the way for the red-carpet antics of their sexier counterparts.

Now throw into the mix shows like 'Toddlers & Tiaras'; in our current society tramping up young girls is becoming the norm and good old fashioned values are being thrown by the wayside.

I remember when Jodie Foster and Brooke Shields being accepted into Yale and Princeton respectfully was considered celebrity news; giving girls at the time (like me) something real to aspire to. Now all it takes is a flash of skin without panties and 'hacked' cell phone pics to become CNN headline news.

So I’m fighting back. How? I have started watching Little House on the Prairie with Hannah, so that she can learn it is not cool to sass grown-ups, attitude will not win you friends (courtesy of one Nellie Olsen) and that doing the right thing will always earn you respect (remember when Laura and Bunny won the horse race and she gave the cup back to Mrs. Olsen?). She calls it ‘our show’ and often has to remind me when it is on. In addition to that, a full Miley/Hannah boycott. Not a dime to be wasted on that crap. And I am always on the lookout for more positive role models for young girls – like Demi and Selena – to encourage Hannah to look up to. Any suggestions?

Please feel free to weigh in - I would love to hear your thoughts...whether you agree, disagree or agree to disagree!

Cheers,
Lori