Happy Valentine's Day

I have felt very challenged trying to write a witty and engaging post today. Not valentine blues but just a mental block. Maybe I am feeling chagrined because for all the years of complaining about Valentine's Day not being what I hoped, at least I have kept my head! History of St. Valentine Or perhaps I am out of witty bits and need to re-up before I can be amusing again. So I am cheating and posting something I wrote a few years ago. Have no fear, it is very apropos for Valentine's Day as it is about the muckety muck of relationships between men and women and the wonderful joy our female friends share. Though the below picture wasn't taken the same day the conversation took place, it was taken at Market and is my absolute favorite of Nan and me, friends for 30 years! 

So here is "Sex Confuses Things" from 2009... remarkably little has changed!

"We sat after a long morning - longer for her than I, I am sure - and mumbled at one another. It was hot and we were thirsty and dirty. The bugs were nipping at our ankles like small dogs and her little one still had more energy than the two of us combined. I know I looked worn out and worked over: the waist of my pants was sweaty and at some point the seat of them had acquired a hole. The sleeves of my shirt and bottom cuff were unfashionably rolling up reveling more of my corpulence than I cared to contemplate. The parts of my skin that weren't doughy white were freckled and pink. She, on the other hand, looked fresh. Her shoulders and cheek bones glowed with perspiration that somehow looked dewy instead of sweaty. Her legs looked long in her short(ish) shorts and the design of her top showed off her tan, muscled back. The parts of her hair that had escaped it's barrette were curling sweetly.

As so often happened, we began discussing the relationships in our life. Impatience with and awe of our sons. Frustrations with our mothers. Failings as friends (though those we we able to soothe rather quickly since we knew when all else failed we had one another. Always). The conversation then turned to our partners. Our failings which seemed to pale in the face of THEIR failings. I wondered why it was that she and I fought so little, were so capable of maintaining a healthy, long term, relationship. We were quiet a long time watching little man race around, cars meander up and down the street, birds picking at the detritus of market leftovers. Finally she says "Sex confuses things." Instantly we chortled, belly laughed, cried as it gets funnier. And when we are able to compose ourselves, I suggest we not ever have sex with one another. We shake on it as her husband arrives and the laughter fades."

Some helpful hints

I was going to wax philosophical in today's post and had written two-thirds of what I wanted to share but then I got frustrated. And irritated. And I lost a little patience. So I decided I would interject some levity into the day. Share some joviality in the hopes that it will make others laugh and, perhaps, provide a little insight into the female mind for all those guys out there that we tend to confuse and overwhelm.

These are true stories, some happened to me, some to my girl friends. I am sure they will sound familiar to you ladies and, hopefully, no man will recognize himself. I'd like to apologize ahead of time to anyone who does but, really, it is better to know now and not repeat the mistake. So here are some very small things that would make an "eh" date so very much better:

• Bathrobes are not appropriate attire for a first date. Especially if the only thing you have on under the robe is calamine lotion. I repeat NOT APPROPRIATE.
• Similarly disconcerting is removal of your teeth. Don't mention your dentures if you wear them. No matter how much chemistry there might be, taking out your teeth will dampen it. Well, will flood it.
• Keep any fetishes under your belt until a rapport is developed. Having a first kiss followed by a request for bestiality is more than a red flag. It is a whole flag corp of scarlet and crimson flags including horns and whistles.
• It is probably best not to list your famous "relatives" too early on in a relationship. Let us be comfortable with who you are and the people we see you with before spilling that you are Patti LaBelle's godson.
• Perhaps excuse yourself to the bathroom if you want to jot down our birthday or favorite flower. Note taking in excess is not a comforting quality, it is perhaps a little scary. And if you do do this, there is little chance of a second date.
• Do not serve reheated fast food. At home. Do not serve fast food at all unless you are going through a drive through after a movie. And even that is iffy. 

I am sure that men have as many if not more stories of crazy women from whom they couldn't wait to escape. Women who literally caused their skin to crawl of blood to run cold. I'd love to hear from you. And ladies - please feel free to share more of your stories - my bad mood has dissipated and I can't stop giggling!

It's Going To Be A Good Day

Yes, it is going to be a good day. No matter how tired I am when I wake, how grumpy or worried or late. No matter what, it is going to be a good day. How do I know? What superpower do I possess to see into the future and know that today will be good? How in heaven's name can I predict that no one will cut me off in traffic or ask me 1,001 questions that will try my patience?

I don't know. I have no way of predicting if I will be inundated with phone calls, will have to explain myself over and over to different people with the same question, or have a long meeting. But, I also don't know if I will have the privilege of working with someone who makes me laugh or will recommend a good book. Someone who will leave with a thank you and "job well done!"  And that is how I know it will be a good day - because I determine it will be even before I get out of bed.

On New Year's Eve 2012 I decided that I would focus on joy. I wanted to leave behind the anxious, worried me and embrace the me that laughed until she cried and could appreciate all the small gifts life provides. I wanted to change the way I viewed the world. So I did.

It wasn't always easy... some days my list of 5 things included silliness like "This is my list so I can skip #5 if I want!" It often is a proclamation of how much I like my job, my coworkers, my boss. My landlady's Boston Terrier makes appearances; the man who walks one of the homeliest dogs I have ever seen each morning by my office also makes me smile so on the list he went. And as winter became spring, the lists got easier and easier. Some days it was done by 10:00 a.m. And I felt content. Not always happy, not always without worry, but content.

After a few months I started a Facebook Group that is "Happy, Thankful, Grateful, and Blessed" and what started with 5 or 6 of us in now more than 40. We support one another. We share accomplishments - both big and small - and vent our frustrations. We feel like sisters even though only a few of us know one another in person. We are HAPPY. And THANKFUL. And GRATEFUL. And BLESSED. Very, very blessed. And we will gladly tell you why!

Validation

So many ideas run through my head about what interesting, easily related to topic I should write about and yet, when I sit down to write, nothing I ruminated upon is what I actually post.

I have spent many years in various types of therapy. Many years trying to "accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative" as my Gram would say. Many years learning, growing, submitting, fighting, aching, and even resigning myself to where I was instead of where I wanted to be. Most recently the type of therapy I learned was Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, or DBT, created by Marsha Linehan (link to more information here). Originally designed for those diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), those who self harm and/or struggle with suicidal ideation and thoughts, DBT has also begun to be used for those with other diagnoses successfully. I am someone who has made great progress using the theories of DBT. Not shot out of a cannon success or success without mishaps and stumbling blocks but success none-the-less. And the piece of DBT that resonates with me so strongly is validation.

For the first time in over 25 years of seeking help, I was told it wasn't all my fault. The hurt I felt was acknowledged. For the first time I learned that some things in life do suck but the best way to move out of those places is to admit they suck and then leave them behind. I am not a clinician, a therapist, a social worker or trained at all in the field of mental health. And I had a very hard time with some aspects of DBT. But when someone looked me in the eye and said "you are right" I was willing to listen to what came next. When I was told it was ok to be dissatisfied with a certain situation, when making sure I took a bubble bath and nurtured myself with exercise and healthy eating was no longer the only answer, I could exhale. DBT isn't a feel good program, it doesn't empower those with mental illness to continue struggling. DBT requires work. A LOT OF WORK. But knowing I am not alone, knowing that it is ok to be a mad and sad (and even how to be mad and sad), knowing there is a light at the end of the tunnel, is a great gift. And that gift is a wonderful cornerstone on which to build other DBT skills like mindfullness and wise mind.

If you are someone who suffers from depression, anxiety, BPD, or another mental illness, please get help. I am blessed to have excellent insurance and was able to get DBT therapy through Kaiser Permanente. But there are other providers and other types of therapy that may work very well for you. There are a multitude of online resources such as To Write Love On Her Arms or even PostSecret. What both these sites, as well as the multitude of others, offer is validation. They say "What you feel is real. You do hurt. There is a better way to live."

Please remember that all I shared is my personal journey and not at all a diagnosis or professional mental health solution. And remember that validating someone's feelings may be the best gift you can give them.

But... I'm FAT

Before you decide I need help with my self confidence or being comfortable in my own skin, please don't worry. My confidence level is really just fine, some may even say it is a little too high. And I am not saying fat in a derogatory manner, it is a statement of truth.

I am fat, heavy, a "big girl." I know people who use the term fluffy - that I am not! - but there is a lot of me and my desire to talk about it has nothing to do with explaining myself or wanting to be accepted or loved. Those who are friends need no explanation; I am blessed not only by how fabulous they are but also by men who are engaging, bright, handsome, and interested. Any desire I have to change my figure is much more about having hips and knees that don't hurt, or wanting to ride roller coasters and sight see with ease, than it is about pleasing the masses. The most discomfort I feel emotionally about my body is when someone else is obviously uncomfortable around me.

Within the last year, obesity was classified as a disease. This signaled to me that those who struggle with their weight weren't going to be considered lazy or greedy, we wouldn't be seen as crass, graceless "pigs." What had been a struggle most of my life was going to be recognized as one - this was an opportunity for education and acceptance! But this week I have read that the determination of obesity as a disease has "backfired" and even: "The 'disease' designation becomes a prescription for inaction" (Hank Cardello, Director of The Hudson Institute's Obesity Solutions Initiative). But, wait a minute: That is NOT right! This "label" made me feel like it wasn't all my fault, gave me hope that there would be medical solutions available. Instead of being judged derisively, I would be accepted for who I am and not by the body in which I reside.

For the record, I have tried to lose weight. I went to Weight Watcher's camp - twice - and have explored surgical options, diets, exercise and combinations of all of those. I have consulted my doctor, a nutritionist, and the staff at my workplace healthy living program. I have tried, time and again, to not need a bigger chair than is standard for offices and I have only vacationed at places to which I could drive. But I have also taken baby steps to live as fully as I can. I love P!nk and have often found myself relating to her music. So I bought tickets to see her in concert and, in the company of my dear friend Barbara Haines-Zuazua, I screamed and danced at the Verizon Center in November. I found a travel agency that promotes "size friendly" vacations and I am very impressed already with their attitude and skills (their website). Just two weeks ago, I went to New York and had photos taken by the extremely talented Substania Jones (her Twitter Feed) that made me feel risque and beautiful and just fabulous.

So today, I am embracing my fat. I am going to apologize less for how I look and enjoy life more. I am going to try new things and relearn the things I used to love. I am simply going to be me.

Soul Mates

As a young girl, a teenager, and even into my 20's, I believed the hardest part about love was finding someone with whom to fall IN love. That the searching and connecting was the challenge but once that person is found, once your eyes meet across a crowded room, then you are on Easy Street. The older I get, the more I realize the real work comes after the falling in love has happened, the work is staying in love.

I do believe my friend Michelle found the answer though:

I certainly feel most connected to my girlfriends. I am blessed to have a life rich with witty, wise and wonderful women. I have a friend who has a mind that creates sumptuous recipes and whose hands make meals over which we laugh and linger. And she can paint. And sculpt. Her doodles make my concentrated efforts at creating beauty look, at best, comical. I have friends who can spin letters into words that can make me laugh and weep, feel great joy and sadness, words that give me pause for thought as well as spur me onto action. I have friends who can turn squares of fabric into the story of my mother's life or create a warrior princess who sits guard at my desk. My friends make me brave and kick me in the seat of the pants and sit quietly when I don't want to be alone.

So perhaps the girls of "Sex and the City" got it right. We love men, love kisses and flirting and feeling like princesses. We even - insert gasp - love sex. We cry ourselves to sleep over some men and act like silly, goofy teenagers for others. We dress for them and paint our toes, we flip our hair and nibble our lower lip and act coy and demure. We literally put our best foot forward for certain men.

But if you want to know me, ask my girlfriends. They are the ones to whom I pose the complicated questions, the ones for whom I bring out my soap box and wax poetic. My girl friends are the ones who can tell my mood by the tone of my voice, the ones who can say "Don't you dare cry!" and make me stop or grasp my hand and soothe my tears. My girlfriends are my lifeline and, it seems, my soulmates!

Catharsis

I have always sorted out things most easily through words. I love to write, to create something tangible to represent what I think and feel, what I want and wonder. Words have saved me time and again.

Words aren't just letters to me, I feel them: Max's name is bright blue, warm with crisp water, it feels like the most perfect day. My friends are bright, jumbled, colorful with soft, blurred edges. My Gram is warm, sunny, strong and just by saying "Gram," I belong. The name of the man with whom I am in love is both bold and subtle, bright and grey.

He has made me brave. He keeps me safe. He has challenged and infuriated me as no one else can. I have loved him since the day I met him and it took me too long to realize how lucky I am to have had the opportunity to do so. He loves me, too, this I know. And for each of my brave acts he has rallied with one of his own vulnerabilities. I have challenged and infuriated him, too. He may not have loved me since September 18, 2007, but he has loved me a long time.

But we love differently. And that hurts. Hurts in ways that make me feel like I am turning inside out so I hold my middle. Hurts in ways that makes my usual gregarious and overwhelming self withdraw into a quiet cocoon. Hurts because, despite the differences, he treats my bruised heart gently and respectfully. Because he would never see me scared or in need without flying to the rescue in the silly superman boxers I bought that he only wore to make me smile anyway. Hurts because even if I am loved by someone else, I will not love like I love him. Hurts because it hurts.

Since our first Valentine's Day, in 2008, I have listed 101 reasons I love him. In a little journal, written on 101 origami hearts... always different, always 101. Even on the years that we weren't close there were 101 and in three weeks there will be 101 more. And in the six years we have danced this crazy dance, I have seen that I made so many mistakes. That I needed far too much. That I was just not easy. And I have learned that love doesn't always look the same. That sometimes, love can be overlooked while waiting quietly and calmly to be seen. And I have learned that his name feels so very good.