It is what it is

(This was started 5/31/09) I have been saying "It is what it is". Almost like a rallying cry. Until tonight I didn't stop to think what I was saying. I don't know about other emotionally challenged people, but if you're not careful you will hide a mountain of feelings behind a word, phrase or a look. For example when I was in college I would say, "okay" in response to everything. Now I use okay as a way to give me time to think before I answer. During supervision my college field instructor at the agency advised me that he didn't know if I understood him, agreed or disagreed with him, or if I even was really listening to him. From that point on, I decided to make a conscience effort to respond with something other than ok, because before than I didn't think people really cared what I thought.

Warning: if you know me and you think my mom hung the sun and the moon, stop reading now. Come back another day.

My dad was a smart and industrious man until his alcoholism progressed to the point he wasn't able to run a business. He was in and out of the house. Leaving for a couple of years at one point. My siblings knew this business man who loaned money to men who later became quite wealthy by African American standards. I only knew a caricature of that. A man that other family members found entertaining and laughable. They respected who he had been to my mom's family after my granddad died. But I felt they pitied what he had become. See my mom has 9 siblings, and when the youngest one was still very young my granddad died. The boys in the family were just that boys under 18. My dad was successful at that time, so he was a good support to mom's family. He was even willing to give up the master bedroom in our home when it was decided that my grandmother would come to live with us. He could be in the middle of a tirade and immediately calm down when she came in the room. I am not saying he or my mom were not good people. However, by the time I was old enough to know anything, he was far along in his addiction. The reaction to his actions was that my mom who had been home for my siblings became a full-time and then some working mother. She worked two jobs and for years I bragged about the fact that I got my mom's work ethic. It was what got me through college. I worked 3rd shift at the campus fast food joint, and went to school full-time during the day. In a lot of African American homes this scene played out. So there is a lot invested in denying that this was unhealthy. It happens in homes of various races now thanks to the economy and the large numbers of single parent households. In my situation I know mom had to pay the bills, but I also believe it was a form of escape for her...who can blame her. At home she had an alcoholic husband, an elderly mother, who my mom placed in a position of leadership in her home, even above her husband, and a late in life child. Work is one of the most common excuses for ducking out on being home. I came home to my grandmother, I woke up to my grandmother, I went to bed when I wanted, no one ever checked my homework unless I got wrote up for it and then mom would check it long enough to make sure it was done. I did my own projects or didn't do my projects. I rarely had a plan or prepared ahead of time for projects. No one had a clue about teaching me things like that. Follow through was unheard of. The only time I heard I love you was in the following context, "I discipline you because I love you. If I didn't love you, I'd let you do whatever you want." As a child the hypocrisy of beating a child who was left to her own devices for doing something "wrong" never occurred to me. It was not uncommon for my dad to come home drunk, want something to eat and expect someone to warm up something or fix him something. If he was feeling particularly "kingly" he would demand it or mom would tell me before she went off to work, "warm your dad some... up if he comes in." If I heard him in time, I would turn my tv off and pray he would think I was sleep. Sometimes warming up his food also meant sitting and listening to him go on about whatever. For years I would joke about his conversation. That was the way most of that time was handled. Even now I can find something funny in almost any situation. Ever heard the saying "laugh to keep from crying", worst to keep from feeling betrayed, hurt, unprotected and "freaking" angry.
So what has that got to do with "it is what it is", right? The night I started this post, I was getting ready to roll the trash receptacle to the street. I was putting on my sneakers. I had been out with my friend all evening, and now mom was trying to catch me up on her day. I thought since she knew I wanted to take the trash down she would talk for a short time, but she kept going. I told her I had to roll the trash. She sounded disappointed and I felt guilty. That happens a lot. She follows me to the door or lays in wait in the mornings before I go to work, she comes in the connecting bathroom when I'm in the toilet, etc. She calls me at work to tell me unimportant things and wants to talk until I remind her I'm at work. Basically she wants as much of my attention as she can get. As I walk to the trash receptacle, I think "oh well it is what it is". Then it hits me, "what the heck are you saying and whats the meaning of this bs? I'm pissed by the fact that I'm feeling obligated by cultural pressures, by people who choose how much time and when they spend it with my mom, by religious beliefs taken to the extreme, and my own need to be a "good" daughter, to nurture my mom in her old age. I am angry that I have to arrange time in my day, that I turn down time with my friend, that I have to take this into consideration with jobs I look at, and I'm really angry that I feel that I have to do this. Especially, when you consider that she has friends, other children, a car, funds and the resources to get her socialization needs met UNLIKE me as a child who had no option but to accept being left with others and at the mercy of others. I remember locking myself in the bathroom to keep from being harassed by the boy she bought over to cut the grass. I remember being afraid when a particular relative came because of a violent physical threat he made. She only knows about one of those incidents because I share it with her about 2 years ago. As a child I thought I brought these on myself especially since she trusted them enough to leave me alone with them. I must have done something so I didn't tell her about it. And now this busy woman wants me to do the very thing she wouldn't do for me when I needed it most. It is what it is had become the new millennium version of the early "ok". It was my way of hiding strong negative emotions. My way of avoiding telling someone how unhappy I am with the situation. So now I have to put the phrase on the exile list and explore what I'm feeling and trying to dismiss without feeling or acknowledging. This was a tough post to write and I don't think I'm finished with this subject, but I'm glad to get it on the table.

Keeping it real

Driving home last night, my cousin told me she would be reading my blogs. I didn't think much of it at that moment, but today I began to think about people I know reading what may be some very high highs and some very low lows, as well as lots of dark thoughts. Then I thought good, its too damn hard trying to keep that stupid curtain closed pretending to be the great wizard of my own dysfunctional oz. I can only be me. Whether its whining, crying, fussing, laughing, loving, fearing, cussing or committing crimes its me and either folks can understand that or hopefully they'll just move on.
So, I'm reading Geneen Roth's book, When Food is Love. I am thoroughly enjoying it. Its actually a quick read, but its so filling for me that I read a bit and stop to process it. For years I looked for a man who would love me so good that I would feel whole and complete. Then I started looking for other things to make me whole. Things like the perfect job, the right car, the perfect friends, the perfect piece of clothing and when that didn't seem to be working out, I looked to weight loss to be the avenue to feeling complete. This is my paraphrase (get the book for her exact words). Geneen tells a story that her husband had issues with his feet. His mother made his shoes, and his family had no really significant dysfunction. Her mother on the other hand was twisted. Get the book if you want to know what I mean by twisted. She says that the opportunity for that kind of nurturing and parenting has passed. Man I did not want to hear that, but its true. Life is not fair. Let me repeat that for those of you, who like myself can have grand pity parties about stuff. Life is not fair. Suck it up and accept it. What you didn't get at that time is gone. Even if my dad had lived, gotten sober, and taken parenting classes, the opportunity to impart certain things into me that I would need in life would be gone. We would forge a new relationship based on who we both are as adults. So where do I go from here? According to Geneen, (let me add right here, I don't hold anyone as the final authority on anything. Information gathered from other human beings is like eating fish. You eat the flesh and spit out the bones.) you are now responsible for getting you what YOU need. To make this relevant for me. When I start feeling insecure because I don't feel loved the way I think I need to be, but whats actually going on is that the 10year old me inside wants someone to tell her that she is worthy of time, attention and love, I can't pass her off to someone else. It is on me to acknowledge that I am important and a person deserving of love. If someone is truly not loving me in a healthy manner than I have to rectify the situation. That may mean asking for what I need, giving it to myself or removing myself from a relationship that is not able to give me love. Now the catch here is that I have to distinguish if what me and/or the 10 year old is asking for is a reasonable request. Make me feel good enough is an unreasonable request for someone else to fill. If my childhood was twisted enough I may not even have it within myself to give and require assistance in developing it.
Easier said than done. Especially when there are so many messages coming at us everyday to do whatever it takes to make us happy...of course the majority of those messages are focused on acquiring something or someone that will make us happy. Buy the right mini-van so that your family will travel peacefully and happily wherever you go. Buy the right flea collar and your dog will love you so much he will sing. Buy your clothes at the trendiest store and you will look smart, dance with other attractive people...stop right there. Same folks selling you this bill of goods also takes it upon themselves to tell you what attractive IS, and more than likely you don't fit the definition. You wouldn't need what they have to sale if you did. Anywho, listen to music with the latest electronics and you will exercise, be wise, more productive and all sorts of other things. My favorite is when a particular person says read a book you MUST read that book!!!! This one never ceases to amaze me. You don't become rich, you don't get to have a personal chef, you don't get to be the only person on a particular major airline that can purchase a first class ticket for your pet...you just get to read the book and talk about it with others who HAD to read it too. WTF!!??? Don't get me wrong, if I ever complete my book I'd sit right there on the couch smile and silently pray my book will be the next IT book. Momma didn't raise no fool.
I have conquered a couple of my "get this it will make me happy," voices, but still got lots of work to do. That's the thing most people don't want to do. Speaking of what would make me happy right now, I gotta go snatch those red ruby slippers from that ditsy chick with the hairy dog, but I want to get a little irreverent next time and talk about work, God's part, our part and what we like to shove off on Him in the name of religion.

Getting from point A to point B with a carry-on

One afternoon I was driving along listening to Mary J Blige. She was singing about baggage and its affect on her life...man I love her openness. Anyway I was dealing with some insecurities and a male friend. I called him up laid out what was in my head and the fact that MJB was the culprit behind the call. He thought that was funny, but seemed to appreciate my honesty. He was just as honest in responding. "I call em like I see em," his favorite phrase about his honesty. I was thinking about that tonight and how tough it is to travel through life. I have so much baggage it falls out the overhead compartment. I have stuff under my seat. The flight attendant took something and stored it in another bin, and I paid extra fees for all the trunks I checked. For example, I was in my favorite store yesterday. The cashier was lazy, rude and basically not a nice person. Yes I have proof. She would not greet anyone approaching her register. She would not pick up their items off the counter to her right. She stood and made a customer bring her item around the counter, by simply standing and refusing to acknowledge the customer where she was standing. Well it was my duty to be just as uncooperative as she was...in my humble opinion. So I put my items where the previous customer had and glared a nonverbal challenge. I had already made a snide remark to the other rude cashier. She picked up my items and began to ring them up. I told her I didn't need a bag and she could put everything back into the laundry basket I was purchasing. No grunt, no uh hu, nothing, just her slow movements as though being at that register was the worse form of hell. At that moment I'm thinking waterboarding can't be that bad, and I know just the girly to try it on! She was so lazy she pushed things around in the basket rather than take them out to ensure she got everything. She didn't ring up everything and being the queen of nice nasty, passive aggressiveness I didn't tell her. I snatched my receipt and walked out. Mind you I felt perfectly justified in what I did...until I related the scene to a friend. I told her about the injustices I "suffered" from the other cashier before the part I shared with you, so I expected nothing but sympathy from her. She was shocked at the right points, indignant appropriately, however she stated "maybe she was having a bad day." First thought is and that's my problem how? Here's how it went down really. I walked in the store, a bit peeved that my friend cancelled on me. Sure I had run into another friend, but I was still licking my wounds from earlier. I get to the register where there is a very long line. No one seems to be pressed about this and the one cashier is taking her sweet time. My friend cancelled to help someone and had apologized. Now I could have been a stank butt, dropping and dragging the offense until the cows came home. If I did that he and I both would not like me very much. As it is, his cancelling touches my overnight bag of baggage. That bag contains my easily accessible insecurities. Things like being dark skinned, short hair, less than 5'7, and other things that lie in wait just below the surface. That's the bag that makes it easy to go from 0 to 60 in no time. Ever ask yourself, "why was I so upset about that?" Someone probably opened your overnight bag. Okay stay with me. I'm trying to stuff displaced feelings back into the overnight bag standing in line. Another cashier opens a line and of course some of us make a beeline for her. A young man who appeared to be either White or a White looking Latino leads the pack going to the new line, however the White cashier calls out to me in a disapproving tone, "Ms! The next person in line is to go to that register you stay in one line." I look at her, I look at him and don't move until she speaks to him. When he gets back in line, I get back in line. The overnight bag just popped open again. Did she just try to put me on front street rather than the guy because of color? I'm feeling like the kid that got wrongly accused of talking in class. She then proceeds to ask the three people in front of me if they wish to go to the other line, each declining. Rather than ask me she goes back to ringing up her customer. Well I'm not gonna let that go. With as much sarcasm as I can muster, "Excuse me, I will assume you will now allow me to get in that line?" It gets the reaction I want. Several in line laugh and she sheepishly confirms my "assumption". That's when I encountered salesperson of the month. Honestly she probably was having a bad day. Someone might have popped the lock on one of her checked trunks down in cargo, but like most of us, she didn't have the luxury of hiding out until she had put a new lock in place. This whole tit for tat dog and pony show was more than likely about the fact that we were all just trying to deal with baggage, which had very little to do with that moment.
How does communication ever get successfully transmitted considering all the ways things can go awry. That's what made me think about issues and baggage in terms of travel. I'm headed to bed and this may have been a series of ramblings, but I wanted to get it out. I do know that I want to have a fire sale and get rid of some of my baggage. Nah, I'm not going to sell it. I'm going to have a huge bonfire. I absolutely refuse to continue to allow old stuff to stand in the way of new happiness.

Waiting to start living

I started a new job in the Spring. In fact I started the new job specifically to get the surgery. That's part of the 10-year journey I mentioned in an earlier post. Lots of companies hide behind the excuse that it cost more for the surgery especially if there are complications. That's baloney. There are enough varieties of the surgery for a company to limit their employees to one surgery, a few select surgeons and approve only those with the highest weights or BMI's, or only those who suffer with certain co-morbidity's. Imagine you have someone who has high blood pressure, diabetes, heart disease, and arthritis and they are 100 or more pounds overweight. Sure you can play the old southern patriarch looking out for the good of all the field hands, and put them through YOUR ideal weight control program. But in the end I will bet you the plantation that the company is gonna be out more when its all over. I am not saying they don't work. People lose weight, but as I've told my family every doggone time they come to me with a new diet someone they know had used to lose lots of weight, "anyone can drop the weight, come back to me when after 2-5 years they still have the majority of the weight off". So you have company newsletters displaying workers who lost 25, 75 and even some centennial pounds. When the outward incentives and attention are gone, what happens? Each case is different but for those that gain the weight back, you run the risk of now having to pay for therapy, or lost wages due to depression. You also have to pay for illnesses that re-occur and typically its worse, because they gain it back quicker and more of it. Bariatric surgery is not a miracle cure and 5% find a way to gain the weight back. However, 5% is a fairly decent number, when you consider that some experts say 95% of those who lose on a diet gain it back, that your typical dieter can expect to gain back 10% of what they lose, and worse of all 31% not only gain the weight back, but quicker and more.
Use those numbers the next time a well meaning lover, friend, relative or busy body brings you the latest greatest diet. Just know though that they will eventually trump you with "I don't want you to die" or the knife twister "I can't stand by and watch you kill (do this to) yourself". At which point, if you have not worked through some of your issues, you will dutifully take that "eat all the rhubarb you want and still lose weight" diet and go out to by rhubarb.
As I was saying before I got off on this tangent, I changed jobs to have weight loss surgery. My two previous employers specifically wrote an exclusion for weight loss surgery. I am rushing through the approval process and all along the way I meet doctors, nurses, psychologist etc, who are as excited as me that this is about to happen for me. Each one talks about the drastic changes that will occur in my life. Friends tell me the same, and many are excited. I, of course am excited as well...I think.
If you have ever had a monkey of any type on your back you know that mindset of "I could be a contender if I could only get this monkey off my back." I call it waiting to start living. My mom would say that she stayed with my alcoholic father because kids need a father, and that when her mother who stayed with us passed away she was going to leave. I went off to college and granny died but she went no where. In fact she was looking forward to spending her golden years with him. She now says something similar about her place of worship. Don't hold your breathe. My good friend says he'll say no to people who impose on him one day. Since he reads this, I'll save my thoughts for him personally. My old co-worker says she's gonna leave her job when she finishes school, but she takes 1-2 semesters off at a time. I say that I will get the love I want from a partner and get married and live happily ever after when I lose the weight. I've turned down two proposals and dumped 2 nice guys along the way. I've been in several relationships that any idiot could see were dead ends from the beginning. We are waiting to start living, and its a powerful dream. Its also more exciting and tantalizing than the mundane stuff that living life is made of. It allows us to remain cordial to people and things we really shouldn't even give the time of day to. Leaving my father would have meant ostracizing herself in a world of families. None of my mom's siblings have ever divorced, no matter what. Men have left, but the women waited faithfully for them to return. You got to have some pretty big ones to buck that kinda trend. If you are under 40 its no biggie to change jobs, but slower baby boomers still remember their parents retirement parties and the names of their parents co-workers. Besides my old co-worker is the first in her family to land a "good" job. You don't just walk away from that. My friend would have to explore who and what else he is and what his value is to those who impose if he told them no. An "acquaintance" of mine has a Master's in making you feel guilty for telling her no, AND because of her victim persona she gets others upset with you for telling her no. Who wants to be bothered with that? Real commitment to a real relationship means facing the possibility of someone knowing me and rejecting what they find. Why would anyone want to move out of the waiting to start living mode?
When I really start thinking of living life after surgery, I think about not having weight as a defense against unwanted attention, my chances of being a victim of crime increases, if I fail at something or if someone doesn't like me I can't blame it on the weight. What will I fixate on if I am not dealing with my current diet, the diet I plan to go on, the latest book I'm reading on space, earthworms, the reduction of nuclear weapons and how it relates to why I gain weight? What on earth will I do without this lifelong companion and nemesis?!!!!!!.
Hopefully I will have the courage to find out who I really am, what I really want, my habits both good and bad, my negative emotions that I've hidden behind layers of fat, I'll hear my real voice saying what I really think and feel, and most importantly maybe I'll know what its like for someone else to know and love me for just plain ole me.

I get it, but it got me first

Have you ever watched one of those health shows with a really really really morbidly obese person bedridden and gaining more weight everyday? I've seen a few and the first thing I think is at least I'm not that big. Then I think WTF (that F stands for "freak" for my mild-mannered friends)? How could anyone allow themselves to get that big?!! Didn't he or she feel the bones start to ache, the heart beg for space to beat and the feet crying under the pressure? Yep, I've sat there and smugly said THAT could never happen to me... today I walked into the building at work, looked into the security camera and wondered who would see my tubby body waddling into the building and notice that I was breathing heavy. I use to measure how fat I was by the fat that I didn't waddle. I am...was a bouncer. You know the folks that bounce when they walk. When I am conscious about it, I walk...walked with twist. So there I am in the camera and a voice that has been quietly whispering a sing-song chant in the back of my head like Rafiki in the Lion King, suddenly starts yelling. It shouts in that sing-song taunt "Now you know, don't cha? Now you know, don't cha?" What is it I'm suppose to know? You know what its like to see your body get out of control, to feel the disgust with yourself, to wonder what's wrong with you, to know that you are not this person you are slowly becoming, to want to yell for someone to pull you off the cliff you are hanging from, and to tell the people who rudely look too long or stare at specific body parts, that this is just a momentary lapse in judgement. Yes, I know now.
The main reason I started this blog was to process what's about to happen in my life. I am about to have bariatric surgery. Its been 10 or close to 10 years in the making. When 9/11 happened, I spent days like everyone else trying to grasp the enormity of the event. After several days I remember talking to 3 other ____ (you fill in the blank, fat is like the new Black you never know what to call yourself or others) friends of mine. Everyone had the same thought, "would I have survived the building only to die of a heart attack on the trek across the bridge out the city?" Like my psychologist said no gets to be over 250 just because they like potato chips. No one wants to die on a bridge leaving family, friends and a life not led. But somewhere along the line the stars align themselves in a way that the fat monster seems to run faster, plan strategies better, and mount massive attacks that you FEEL you can't possibly beat. To me the fat monster is a mix of my seventh grade classmates who put a tack in my chair and waited for me to sit on it, a bit of my well meaning relatives who said wait until she meets a boy she likes she loose it, a bit of my pediatrician who always looked disapprovingly at me as though I were the only fat kid in the world, a bit of my mom who rewarded me with fattening food for being good (quietly sitting in my room reading, basically invisible) a bit of my brother who looked at his wife and disgustingly said, why ain't somebody taught her not to smack like that, momma lets her eat whatever she wants", and there's a bit of the first boy that ever told me he would never date a fatty like me, but mostly the monster looks like the face I see in the mirror. The one that has failed over and over again at millions of diets real, made up and just plain insane.

So as I begin this journey, I begin with a very clear understanding that I'm no better than the bedridden soul who's been beaten longer or harder by the fat monster and is holding on to a rock or a tree root on the cliff edge just like me. I get it, but not before the fat monster got me too.

Okay, I'm too much of the family clown to let it end like this...I don't believe in saying die, uncle or giving in when its this important. The fat monster has me in a corner but I firmly believe that I'm about to open a can of you know what on him/her. So stick around and watch the fur fly.

Hmmm

This is my first blog. I haven't got a clue what to write, but I have a lot to say. Ok, maybe just a lot to get out. Caroline is my mom's dad's mom. Pearl is my dad's mom. I never met either one, but both influenced my life tremendously. My grandfather's mom, Caroline left her children and the south to find a better life. I've heard she landed out in the Washington State area. Considering we are talking late 1800's early 1900's, that's a bold move for an African American woman, and it has fed the fires of my imagination for years. My grandmother Pearl was the first of three wives for my dad's father. She died when my dad was young. He didn't talk about her much that I can recall. One night he'd had a few too many and my sister was home for a visit. She was wearing a loose gown, came down the hallway in the dark and for weeks he talked about the night he thought he saw his mother. Hey, this is a blog and as Mary J says "Take me as I am". That includes my "peeps" too.
Speaking of ghost and those passed on. Someone new in my life died today. Isn't it weird how your human instinct is to be shocked and or saddened by the news, but then you began to wonder how this will affect you? Come on, admit it. Your ex-boyfriend's mother dies and after the initial emotions you wonder if going to the funeral will mean a reconciliation for you. Your co-worker has a fatal accident, leaving a wife and two toddler aged kids. Forget them what about that massive project he took on and left unfinished? Why aren't there rules stated about that and why can't I ask, "so will I be consider for her now vacant position"? She would want me to have it...ok maybe that's pushing it a little.
As I end this first post, you should be warned I can talk about anything and probably will.