Out of Ideas

“Racial Sobriety”

(I wrote this over a week ago and hemmed and hawed on editing it to completion. Things are moving at a rapid pace – for everyone – and my thoughts and experiences are continuing to evolve. But this is where I had been.)

Writing a blog can be gratifying. Writing a blog can be torturous. There are so many wonderful things in my life. There is so much heavy shit going on. I am radically fat positive and committed to unlearning a lifetime of misogynistic programming, which tells me that, as a woman, I’m only valuable to the degree that my body lines up with the “thin white ideal.” I get up many mornings and look to the size of my tummy to tell me how to feel about myself that day. I’m embarrassed by the lack of concern I’ve had for black and brown lives up until now and am eager to examine my own racial bias and complicity in systems of oppression. To some extent, this sudden eagerness to admit to, unpack, and unlearn my own internalized racism has to do with wanting to “be and look good.” These are the dichotomies that I live with and I bet you do too. Sure, it may not be desirable, but it still is, all the same.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve sat in so many AA meetings, church groups, and counseling classes with a bunch of other confused and (mostly) remorseful (mostly) white people. It’s been a long time coming. Lord knows that those of us who belong to the majority racial group in America could stand to exist in a space of something less than complete confidence and perfect comfort for more than, I don’t know, half a second? I’m not someone who’s thought all that deeply about the pain and injustice visited regularly on black, indigenous, and people of color. I’m not someone who’s stopped to take stock of how I might be contributing to this pain and what I can do to change it. I’m not someone who’s made an effort – up till now – to prioritize black voices or to diversify the kind of media I ingest along racial lines. And so I find myself on the verge of shutting up. Now I’d invite you to bear with me here, because I am about to quote a white lady:

“If white women don’t learn that our experiences in early racial sobriety are predictable, we think our reactions are unique. So we enter race conversations far too early and we lead with our feelings and confusion and opinions. When we do this, we are centering ourselves, so we inevitably get put back where we belong, which is far from the center… we have fallen into the trap of believing that becoming racially sober is about saying the right thing instead of becoming the right thing; that showing up is based in performing instead of transforming. The way we show up reveals that we haven’t yet done the studying and listening required to become the right thing before trying to say the right thing.”
– Glennon Doyle, “Untamed”

I happened to be reading this book a couple weeks back and this section obviously hit home. I can’t say for sure whether I’ve been guilty of this yet, but this seems like the right time to pull back, take stock, get clear around my own racism and culpability in systems of oppression, and allow the voices of the oppressed and marginalized to rise to the top. This is a unique moment for BIPOC, beyond long overdue. I am prayerfully excited to see where this goes.

Guilt, Pleasure & Compassion

I had set out to write a good blog post here – witty, inspirational, the whole nine yards – but I feel totally uninspired. There’s a rumor going around that this shelter-in-place business is an unexpected opportunity for us to slow down, rest, and re-invest in what really nourishes is. Frankly, that feels like a lot of pressure. I have done very little over the past two and a half months, apart from living the pared down version of my normal life. This has involved a lot of talking to my dogs, coloring, drinking too much coffee and staying up too late, checking in with my friends and fellow AA-ers over Zoom, and feeling slightly paralyzed by the programming options I have between Netflix and Amazon Prime. No clever family TikTok videos, no sourdough bread baked, no new skills or hobbies learned. It just is what it is.

And there’s been a lot of guilt. Guilt that I couldn’t bring myself to keep this blog updated more regularly. Guilt that I couldn’t muster the motivation to get ahead on schoolwork or social media projects for my part-time job. Guilt that I’m struggling to get myself off of coffee again, languishing in the middle of this wacky time desert.

And there have been a few breaks in the clouds. One was this great episode of the Rebel Eaters Club with Virgie Tovar on the topic of pleasure. This dove-tailed perfectly with a conversation that my boyfriend and I have been having recently about how we each have the tendency to turn even our hobbies into obligations. I know we’re not alone in this particular disfunction. The tendency to make everything a form of work is as much a feature of his and my personality as it is a natural outcome of the capitalist ethic. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that productivity has somehow evolved into a cherished virtue, an end in itself, one of the primary ways that we distinguish between who and what is “good” or “bad,” who and what is deserving of “pride” or “guilt.”* Listening to Virgie’s interview with Shay Neary, I was struck by just how rarely I use pleasure as a guiding principle. Even now, with nothing but time on my hands, so many of my decisions are guided by what I think I “should” be doing. To spotlight pleasure feels like a tender and powerful game changer. A f*ck you to the shitty “shoulds” and a “hello sweet thing” to myself.

Another silver lining was the two-part Diamond Approach workshop on compassion that I took part in last weekend over Zoom. One thing I love about the Diamond Approach teachings is how they always start right where you are. Feeling furious? Cool. Feeling elated? Also cool. Last weekend’s workshop was not about myself and the other students forcing ourselves into a state of compassion, but rather about checking out where we were in the moment and exploring how we might set the stage for compassion’s natural emergence. According to the Diamond Approach, compassion is not something you do, but rather something that is. When you can learn to let things be, to stop meddling with your experience, and to attend to the needs of the moment as they arise (the work of a lifetime, really), whatever quality is needed will arise of its own accord. That could be compassion, anger, enthusiasm, or whatever. Our job is not to decide what is needed and to adhere to that at all costs. Our job is to allow whatever is there to be there, as best we can, with an open mind and heart. This also doesn’t mean that we set our discerning, thinking brain aside. There is room for everyone of our precious faculties at the table.

Pleasure and compassion. I need both of these right now. I need both of them all the time, really, but now more than ever. Like most people, pretty much all my usual sources of external validation have fallen away. It’s me, myself, and I (and the dogs) for now. Here I am learning to enjoy it.

*I am continually inspired and impressed by The Nap Ministry. On their blog and Instagram page they talk about rest as resistance, liberation practice, and a rejection of white American “grind culture.” Quote, “You are enough. The systems you live under are trash.”

I Am Having A Hard Time

I am having a hard time.

It took a lot of effort not to minimize that statement. I am not “having kind of a hard time.” I am not “having a bit of a hard time.” I am currently riding the struggle bus, plain and simple. I’ve spent a lot of time on Zoom calls with wise, treasured friends these past few weeks (in online AA meetings, book groups, and church group gatherings) and I know that I am not alone. Everyone is going through this COVID-19 quarantine in their own way, but no one is exempt from the emotional and psychological toll.

For myself, as of the past two weeks, I’ve noticed a shift. I’m more anxious and more sensitive and my emotions are unusually close to the surface. At times this has been painful, but it also has its upsides — I feel more tender, for one thing. And I have the sense too that God is doing some important work in me, even if I have no idea what that is.

I’ve (re)learned that my addiction to activity is strong. With all this time on my hands, a lot of things which used to give me pleasure just seem less appealing. This has sent me into several tailspins of anxious half-doing, where the compulsion to be “productive” has gone head-to-head with my total lack of interest (to no one’s surprise, my total lack of interest was the victor). I have the sense that, like many of us, I’m being called to settle into greater trust amidst all this uncertainty. The unknown-ness of all this is an opportunity for greater surrender. But as usual, easier said than done.

Surrendering is hard. My inability to surrender to what is, despite my best intentions, is another woefully ironic reminder of my personal powerlessness, of my inability to help or heal myself. One of the few things that gives me lasting relief from this whacked out merry-go-round is the remembrance that there is a power greater than myself and that, thank God, He just so happens to be on my side (all of our sides, in fact).

I know there’s a huge number of people out there suffering right now. I wish this weren’t the case, but I’m finding relief, too, in solidarity with others who are struggling. I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about other alcoholics and addicts, both those in recovery and those who are still active in their addictions. I’ve been wondering too about so-called “normies,” people without substance addictions, who are still dealing with the usual issues of life in the time of COVID-19. How many people out there right now feel overwhelmed by their kids, worried about money, or frustrated by their inability to communicate with a spouse or loved one? I’m guessing a lot.

There’s no way to wrap this one up neatly. Things are hard. Things are usually hard, but they are harder right now. My AA sponsor has said me to several times recently, “go back to the basics.” Maybe the most basic thing I know to do as a member of AA is to say the Serenity Prayer:

“God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Lessons From A Quarantine

A lot of people have written a lot of things since the COVID-19 crisis kicked into high gear early last month. I’ve been thrilled to see the number of Health At Every Size dietitians on Instagram who’ve rallied against quarantine-related fatphobia in the form of jokes like #quarantine15. I’ve been heartened by the volume of articles encouraging people to prioritize self-care over using this quarantine as a time to “reinvent the wheel.” If anything, this suggests to me that there is a quiet, but steadily growing rest revolution taking place in our culture. I’ve heard “gratitude” on the lips of many, many people this past month. Mostly, I’ve heard people express gratitude for the simple, taken-for-granted things: time with family, a fridge full of food, a roof over their heads. No one is happy that this is what it took for people to start slowing down and taking stock, but it is an obvious and praiseworthy silver lining to an otherwise f*cked situation.

In my own life, some things have changed and some have stayed the same. Because I went back to school this past fall to become a counselor, I’ve already spent most of the last 9 months cooped up indoors, plugging away at my course work. While the transition from working full-time and supporting myself, to moving back in with my parents and learning to be a student all over again at the age of 29 was not exactly a cakewalk, it did prepare me for an unprecedented amount of “alone time.” Like most of the other introverts I’ve heard from, I found the extra isolation fun for 36-48 hours max. It has allowed me to wrap up my second term finals in relative peace, but I am (like so many people) lamenting the lack of regular, face-to-face time with my close friends and communities. There is definitely something lacking in my life without that sense of regular connection and contribution to a greater whole.

But I’m thankful. I’m thankful for my health. I’m thankful for my family and friends. I’m thankful for the communities that I’m a part of and which I have the privilege of staying in touch with via Zoom. I’m thankful for the spring weather, which has given me some great stuff to stare at through my dining room window. I’m thankful that I live in a house full of animals – two Welsh corgis and a guinea pig – who let me nuzzle them and keep me company. I’m thankful that my parents’ business has had the curious fortune of not just surviving, but actually thriving during this period of time. I’m thankful for AA and the profound tools I’ve learned through my program. I’m thankful for God’s provision and the thousand amazing little ways I see His spirit moving in my life and in the world.

And with that, allow me to move onto some slightly “lighter” material. With all of this time on my hands, I’ve had a lot of space to think. I pray you’ll indulge me as I share just a few of the slightly useless things I’ve learned during quarantine:

Drake is actually doing a lot better than I thought. “What is most important for you right now is to connect to your own inner light,” he shared in a recent Instagram post. “This will create the biggest opening of all. Trust that you have all of the power within to make this happen, and in order to do that connect to the people and things that bring you a lot of joy.” Frankly, last time that I checked, the poor guy was still working himself to the bone, churning out three hits a month about the proverbial “unnamed girl from back home in Toronto,” so this heartfelt suggestion was a lovely surprise. Thanks for the wisdom and way to go, Drizzy.
I think coffee is trying to kill me. In an earlier post, I shared my intention to “give up” coffee for Lent. There were several reasons for this, but the main one is that, as I’ve learned over the years, I am a sensitive lady. A counselor once shared her belief with me that, “some people are Chevy pick ups and some people are Ferraris. That doesn’t mean one is better than the other. It just means that some of us are working with more sensitive instruments. If you’re a Ferrari, you can go fast, at least for a time, but you’ll never be as durable as a Chevy. You’ll just have to learn to treat yourself a little differently.” The older I get, the truer this statement has proven to be. I have always been a Ferrari. Unfortunately, I’ve spent much of my life treating myself like I was a Chevy (slash berating myself for not being able to push myself as hard or as long as all those “Chevy people” do). On the cusp of 30, I’m beginning to reckon with the reality of my makeup and part of that is accepting the fact that coffee is not my friend. I made it three weeks through Lent without that dark, luscious Devil’s juice and then one day last month, before sitting down to write my previous blog post, the thought occurred to me, “why not settle in with a nice iced coffee to get the inspiration flowing?” Well I did. And it did. And ever since, I have had the hardest time putting the stuff down. The list of physical and psychological consequences of my continued consumption is long, and yet the struggle continues. (Leave it to an alcoholic to keep touching that hot stove even after they’re burned!).
There are few situations which cannot be improved by sunshine and dogs. I’m confident that this one speaks for itself.

Connections

A lot has happened in the three weeks since my last post. COVID-19 has thrown the whole world into a tailspin and I made it twenty-one days without coffee before buckling and treating myself to a tall, luscious iced coffee just prior to writing this post (I think we’re all clear on which of the two situations is more serious). But in all seriousness, in light of recent events, a lot of us feel scared about our health and our finances and are struggling with the effects of self-imposed isolation. As a recovering alcoholic, I know that too much isolation can be more than challenging, it can be down right deadly. Even if you’re not an addict or an alcoholic, connection and belonging are basic human needs, which all of us are being forced to come up with new and creative ways to fulfill. At the risk of trying to put lipstick on a pig, I would suggest that one positive thing that’s come out of this whole mess (one which I am probably not the first to propose) is a renewed appreciation for the connections that we do have and which help to give our lives their richness and meaning.

I’m blessed to have a good number of healthy and mutually nourishing relationships in my life, but I may be in the minority. According to this 2020 survey by Cigna, a health insurance provider, 3 out of 5 Americans are chronically lonely. Authors like Johann Hari and Brene Brown have brought some much needed attention to this issue in the past several years and yet, according to this report, Americans are 18% lonelier than they were just two years ago. The side effects of persistent loneliness and disconnection are not just psychological, but physical too. Dan Buettner’s research into “Blue Zones,” areas around the world where people enjoy the greatest longevity, suggests that social connection is key to living long and well.

The reality is that society isn’t working in our favor. Innovations in technology, social media, and the growing popularity of telecommuting are depriving people of what would otherwise be natural opportunities to interact and deepen relationships. It’s an uphill battle, to be sure. I said before that I’m lucky to have some really positive and mutually beneficial relationships in my life, but it wasn’t always that way. Active alcoholism doesn’t predispose itself to making the best choices (nor does an eating disorder, for that matter) and it’s taken me time, effort, maturation, and a lot of trial-and-error to get where I am today.

One of the many excellent things about Alcoholics Anonymous is that it’s taught me how to enter a room full of strangers. Even so, throughout the process of building connections with people in my AA and church communities, there have been plenty of times when I felt anxious, left out, or self conscious. These feelings didn’t disappear overnight, but I discovered a wonderful circularity in that the more I showed up, the less often I had them, and the easier it got to show up.

Perhaps now is not the best time to go out and join a new group (in fact, it’s a terrible time), but it might be a good time to take stock. How are the relationships that you do have add or detract from your well-being? Do you feel good about the number of close relationships you have? If not, what are some venues for building relationships with like-minded people (volunteering, sports, hobbies, etc.)? If you’re one of those “I prefer animals to people” people, how many cats do you currently own and is it time to invite a new one into the family? (To be clear, if you can’t remember all of their names, it’s probably not.) However you do end up choosing to spend this unusual and challenging period of time, stay healthy, stay well, and as they are fond to say in AA, “this too shall pass.”

Here’s a few good resources related to the topic of connection and belonging: 1) “Addiction & Depression: Johann Hari On Lost Connections” from The Rich Roll Podcast (there’s some more good articles/resources about Mr. Hari and his work listed at the bottom of this page), 2) “Why Relationships Are the Secret to Healthy Again” by Karin Evans, 3) “Together: The Healing Power of Human Connection in a Sometimes Lonely World” by Vivek H. Murthy M.D.

Lent

I’ve always been a little obsessed with Lent. Ironic, since I’m not a Catholic, and couldn’t really profess to be anything like a Christian until just recently, but not without reason. After all, I am one of those “type A’s.” While I know for a fact there are plenty of type A’s out there who could easily “out-discipline” me (come on everybody, I’m no Enneagram 1!), routine and structure are absolutely my jam. And herein lies the appeal of Lent. I remember how, as a teenager, deep in the throes of my eating disorder, I was enchanted by the atmosphere of devotion and self-sacrifice surrounding this period of the liturgical calendar. Clearly, my interest in Lent was a wee bit unhealthy. Looking back, I can see how my eating disorder exploited what can otherwise be beautiful and life-giving spiritual principles for its own sh*tty purposes. Ten years and a lot of self-work later and I’m interested in what real gifts this season has to offer.

I was reminded of this connection between disordered eating behaviors and Lent by this potent Instagram post from Kitty Underhill.

She goes onto share:

“I used to do it – for years I would restrict my food intake for the Lent period so I could lose weight. No one asked, no one questioned. Because sadly, we live in a world where self punishment and restriction are not only normalised, but celebrated. Whilst not everyone who engages in these restrictive behaviours has an eating disorder, it’s important to note that diet culture means that these behaviours aren’t seen to be anywhere near as problematic as they actually are.”
– Kitty Underhill

I kind of love that it’s National Eating Disorder Awareness Week and the beginning of Lent, because it gives people like me an opportunity to commit this time to truly nourishing behaviors. In her post, Kitty suggests that folks pick something new to try, rather than something to eliminate. I think this is a wonderful suggestion. “How can I bring more fullness and joy to my life, as opposed to encouraging scarcity?”

Now I’ll admit that, contrary to Kitty’s rather delicious advice, I have decided to “give up” some things for Lent: coffee and social media. Why these two? Because, after a lot of thought and a lot of trial and error, neither of these things seem to be serving me. While I love me a good iced coffee on a hot summer day, I also find that it spikes my anxiety like nothing else and leaves me feeling harried and ungrounded. And while I love scanning my Instagram feed for updates from my favorite HAES dieticians and fat positive role models, I’ve also noticed my social media use has gotten a little compulsive. I’m excited to see how taking a break from these things will contribute (or not) to my level of presence in day-to-day life. And for anyone who does decide to commemorate the Lenten season with some sort of commitment, my prayer for us is that we would move through the season with a great deal of gentleness, flexibility, and self-compassion.

Healing Above All

Hey everyone, it’s been a minute! Two things have kept me from writing these past two weeks: lack of inspiration and time. The first barrier is something I’m working on. Without some stroke of other-worldly inspiration, it often feels difficult for me to come up with content on my own. Thankfully, as my fellow 12 Steppers are fond of saying, feelings aren’t facts. Committing myself to writing regularly, regardless of how I’m feeling, is a discipline I’m still working on putting into place. (Enneagram teacher and coach Michael Naylor has written a wonderful blog on how hard it can be for Enneagram type 4s to commit to their creative projects. As an Enneagram 4, he’ll get no arguments from me!) As far as the second barrier, it’s ironic, really. Here I am, back in school, without a full-time job for the first time in several years, and I’m busier than ever! AA, church, school, self-care, family, friends, boyfriend… my plate is more than full. And yet I’ve never felt more purposeful, nourished, and connected.

Still, the times that we’re busiest can be some of the best times for us to take a second look at our priorities. Recently, as part of a graduation requirement for my counseling program, I signed up for a series of group therapy sessions based on the Seeking Safety treatment model. The Seeking Safety model was developed in the early 90s as an intervention for PTSD and substance abuse and has since been adapted to address a broad range of “negative” coping skills (everything from physically unsafe behaviors like addictive drug use to seemingly innocuous habits like self-defeating thought patterns). Walking into the first of five group therapy sessions this morning I wondered, “will I be a good fit? Will I feel out of place?” Needless to say, I fit in just fine. (Apparently, just being a human being gives you plenty to work on, no matter what!) At the end of the session, I was invited to pick one healthy coping skill to focus on and practice in the week ahead. I immediately gravitated towards the phrase “healing above all.” But what does that mean?

“Healing above all” means putting what matters first. It might sound simple, but almost none of us do this. I know I sure don’t! Instead I put my schedule first, my to-do list, other people’s expectations, my perceptions of other people’s expectations… the list goes on. I carve time out of my schedule for meditation, AA meetings, reading the Bible & other spiritual texts, and yet I often lack the clarity to discern what is truly important in the present moment. How many times, in my woundedness, have I chosen my to-do list over a moment of connection with my mom? How many times have I failed to really hear a friend, a fellow AA member, or my partner, because I was lost in thought about what I needed to do next? How many times have I struggled to appreciate a day home alone, because the floors weren’t clean enough or the dishes weren’t done yet?

There’s no shame in this, because it’s normal life. But I find the reminder helpful and inspiring. This week I have an opportunity to prioritize tenderness, to do less and be more. In another not-so-coincidental-coincidence (you gotta love those), as part of a recent practice with my church community, I’ve been spending a lot of time with a certain Psalm:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
(Psalm 23:1-2, KJV)

I’m not even that fond of the King James translation, but this verbiage just speaks to me. I love how this passage is all about trust. Because when I get real about what is at the core of all my to-do lists and busyness and hustle, it’s a lack of trust. Having faith that God is here, working in me and in the world to restore His perfect creation is not my default state. My default state, as a human being and, moreover, as an alcoholic (we addicts generally have “stinking thinking” to spare!) is a scarcity mindset. Without some kind of spiritual aid*, I tend to see the world through the lens of my own judgments and flawed priorities, which is a cloudy lens at best! When I trust in God, I can relax. I know what’s important (kindness, grace, compassion) and what’s not (how much homework I have left, whether I make it to that appointment on time, how many pimples have come to visit me this week).

The way I see it, to trust in God is to put healing first. Perhaps my favorite line from A Course In Miracles is, “I need do nothing” (T-18.VII.5). I’ve been graced with the remembrance of this line in many difficult moments and it has been an incredible balm. This line is a comfort because it points to the same truth I’ve repeated six ways from Sunday! All my efforts and my good intentions are nothing compared to the healing power of God in the present moment. Remembering this, I have the power to pause, lay my plans aside, and surrender my will to the one who knows best. Now, let’s see how long before I forget (hah)!

*I think that the concepts of True Nature and Pure Being, as elucidated in the Diamond Approach, are very beautiful and helpful “secular” equivalents to the idea of God/Holy Spirit in the Christian faith.

Bellies

I am recovering, but I am not recovered, and diet culture relapse can come in many forms. The other day I realized that, over the last few weeks, I’ve spent more time examining my belly in the mirror than I feel good about. Recently, between grad school, family, friends, AA, work, and extracurriculars, I’ve been blessed with a full and vibrant schedule, so this “mirror-time” may not amount to much in the grand scheme, but even a few minutes per day of self-criticism is more than I’m willing to spare. Even writing this, I feel guilty. My poor belly! How many times in my life have I eyed it with contempt for being too big or too round or too this or too that? How many times have I picked it apart, willfully ignorant of all that it does for me? How many times have I wished it looked different – flatter, fewer stretch marks, a more inconspicuous FUPA – unaware that my tummy is, in fact, the very seat of my personal power, the seat of embodiment itself?

Peak at a fantastic FUPA from the inspirational @rubyrare.

In the Diamond Approach, a non-denominational spiritual school that I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the belly is one of three centers through which we experience our essential nature. Contact with the belly center gives us a sense of solidity and immediacy. We need this contact with our belly. Without it, there is no embodiment, just the ephemeral world of thoughts and feelings.

I spent years avoiding contact with my belly. Once when I was in my early 20s I had a session with my dietician (who is also an ordained Buddhist teacher) where she invited me to sense my belly. I made an attempt, reluctantly, and was so uncomfortable that I lasted less than a minute. The truth was I had no interest in going anywhere near my belly. My belly was not something to be embraced, but something to be destroyed. Shrunk, changed, morphed, whatever. The last thing I wanted to do was to experience it as it actually was.

It’s been some years since my failed experiment and nowadays I check in with my belly happily and often. One of the key practices in the Diamond Approach is the Kath meditation. The meditation consists in breathing into the belly and sensing it from the inside (I like to think of it as meeting my tummy “on its own terms”). It’s a powerful meditation, for reasons that extend far beyond body positivity. But it’s had the happy side effect of familiarizing me with a part of my body that I spent most of my adolescence actively rejecting.

And yet, like I said, I realized that lately I’ve been looking at my belly with a critical eye. I’ve been waking up in the morning, making my way to the bathroom, and checking to see how flat my stomach is or isn’t. Depending on its size, thoughts will begin to float through my head like, “What did I eat yesterday? What will I eat today? Should I eat any different? What clothes will I feel comfortable or uncomfortable in?” These thoughts are largely automatic. They are the remnants of 20+ years of indoctrination in diet culture. Sometimes, I will catch myself in the act. Sometimes, I will soothe my self with the reminder that I’m under no obligation to do or change anything in response to the size of my body. Sometimes, I will puff up my tummy nice and big and admire the size and shape of my body, how nicely it moves and fits together, how it looks and feels like me. Sometimes, I get lost in the tailspin and I forget to do any of these things.

Another inspiring gem from @rubyrare, sporting one of the cutest tums.

Nowadays, at my lowest points, I don’t make 11th hour vows to overhaul my eating life with absurd, unsustainable “lifestyle changes,” but I may spend twenty minutes contemplating the value of eating a little less pizza and a few more raw veggies that day. This is progress, to be sure. But there is still an element of shame in this. There is still a thinly veiled kernel of “I could do better” here. I care about rooting out these subtle internal messages, because there’s no room for shame in my relationship with my body. Part of taking back this narrative requires that I remind myself again and again and again and again what the truth really is. The truth is that my body may or may not beautiful, but either way it is good. I did not create my body and it is not up to me to determine its purpose. The moment I decide that some aspect of it is unacceptable to me as it is, I am assuming that I know better than God. I am assuming that I know better than the Universe, the totality of which has conspired to make me exactly how and what I am, in this moment. Not everyone may be swayed by the slant of this argument, but I think you get the idea.

I forget this, often. I may not be able to call this lofty cosmic truth to mind at a moment’s notice, but there are small things I can do everyday to remind myself of who I am. I can continue to practice sensing my body. I can enjoy spending time with friends and family and other activities that have nothing to do with the way that I look. I can take care of myself by eating regularly and savoring a wide variety of foods. I can be present with my feelings, rather than push them away. These are just a few ideas and I would love to hear from anyone who has more to add. In the meantime, let us pause for a moment, put our hands on our bellies and send them some appreciation. “Thank you for all that you do. Everything is going to be just fine.”

Snacks: An Interlude

I generally try to restrict my posts to Tuesdays, but I couldn’t help myself this week. Because my snack game as of late is at 100. Snacking is something I avoided in my ED days (the days when I co-opted “health” as an excuse to restrict), because eating between meals was “bad for my digestion.” Alas, praise be, those days are gone and all the high quality, aesthetically-pleasing snacking I’ve been doing lately has transported me back to my amateur food photography days (I cannot stress amateur enough here). On that note, here are some of great snacks from the past few weeks (full disclosure, the third pic is actually breakfast, but who cares):

All these meals were tasty. Some of these foods sat better with me than others. For example, I learned this week that eating multiple Lofthouse cookies in one sitting, no matter how cosmically delicious they might be, is likely to have some unpleasant effects on my blood sugar. Lesson learned! (The great thing about intuitive eating is that I get to lean into my own experience and find out what works for me and what doesn’t. And just because I have one experience with a food doesn’t mean it has to be generalized to everyone.) But what I really want to stress here is how each of these meals involved a variety of foods. Some had carbs, some had fats, some had proteins, and some had all three. Some of them had what diet culture likes to call “good foods” and some had what diet culture calls “bad.” What I noticed was that how I felt physically and emotionally after eating these foods had very little to do with which category diet culture prefers to put them in. Rather, apart from my Lofthouse cookie experiment, I felt pretty darn good after eating each one of these. I felt good because I enjoyed what I ate, because I ate with awareness & intention, and because my body can make good use of way more foods than diet culture gives it credit for. And with that, I look forward to another few weeks of glorious snacking.

This next bit has very little to do with snacks (I think). I wanted to share a recent sermon by Nadia Bolz-Weber that landed in my inbox earlier this week. I can’t say for sure that I know what her sermon’s all about, because meaning is born in the meeting place between original intent and the perspective of the listener (sermons, like the Gospel, are funny that way), but I know that it spoke to me about the gap between who I think I am, who I really am, and who I’m meant to become. I enjoyed it and I hope that you will too, dear readers.

Read the full sermon here.

Slowing down

I’ve been hearing about the value of slowing down for awhile now. I made the first real effort to pump the breaks in my own life almost two years ago, after attending a workshop where I came face-to-face with my own hard-driving “inner critic.” I learned more about this caustic inner voice (also known as the “superego”) in “Soul Without Shame” by Byron Brown, a book which beautifully reveals and explains its mechanics. My own inner critic is liable to berate me for just about anything (if we’re honest with ourselves, this is the case for most of us). Sometimes I can identify the voice and choose to take what it has to say with a big-ass grain of salt. And sometimes I fall under its spell easily, without even knowing it, mistaking its nasty half-truths for Divine Law.

It was around this time that I started making intentional efforts to slow down, in direct opposition to the inner critic and its unrelenting, “go go go” narrative. Almost a year later I stumbled upon Caroline Dooner’s book “The F*ck It Diet” (a modern classic, if you ask me!). The book is a gentle and incisive manual for anyone recovering from disordered eating and diet culture trauma. One of the cornerstones in Dooner’s prescription for recovery? Rest. Tool #2 in her book is, literally, lie down. She encourages people in recovery to lie down, every day, for at least ten minutes. Honestly, this part of the prescription was an incredible relief. Life has taught me over the years that I am one sensitive lady and that my nervous system has some unique needs. Unfortunately, up until recently, I hadn’t done the best job of attending to those needs. Hearing someone tell me that I not only had the right to simply lay the f*ck down, but that getting horizontal was actually critical to my physical and emotional recovery from years of yo-yo dieting, was downright amazing.

I quickly put Dooner’s prescription into practice and when a significant relationship ended last spring in a hail of emotional gunfire (seriously, with proverbial shrapnel the size of golfballs… is that enough metaphors for you?), I prioritized that rest time harder than ever before. By that point rest wasn’t a luxury, it was a necessity.

This beautiful lady’s got the right idea (“Young Woman Resting” by William Bouguereau).

Fast forward to September 2019 and I was starting my first semester in the graduate counseling program at Western Seminary. While I was stoked to be back in school and putting my energies towards something that I care deeply about, the adjustment had its challenges. I had forgotten just how much energy, emotional and mental, it takes to be a (basically) full-time student. Even with the handy tricks I’d learned for giving myself rest, by early November I was already feeling wiped out. I’d developed a thick wall of resistance to elements of my course work that were making it harder and harder to get through the weekly workload. I felt a deep, global exhaustion, as if my very cells were crying out for me to just stop doing. At a loss, I vowed to let myself off the hook for the rest of the semester. That is, I did the stuff I was truly “obligated” to do, but other than that, I gave myself permission not to do anything I didn’t want to do. I can’t say I did this perfectly, but the feeling of the intention alone was delicious.

For the past six months I’ve been on a rather arduous “church hunt.” Not only does my graduate program require that I be a committed and involved member of a Christian community, but it’s something that I’ve felt called to for awhile. After months of indecisive waffling, I finally decided on Bridgetown. What drew me to Bridgetown (apart from its A+ web aesthetic, of course) was their teachings on “Practicing the Way of Jesus.” This teaching consists in three basic parts, as we’re encouraged to Be With Jesus, Become Like Jesus, and Do What Jesus Did. Now, obviously, these things are easier said than done, and so the folks at Bridgetown Church have prescribed a series of spiritual formation practices for followers of Jesus (like myself) who want to practice this way and cultivate greater intimacy with Him. One of these practices is Sabbath.

Each semester, as part of my program, I’m supposed to pick two spiritual disciplines to focus on and cultivate in my own life. For this term I picked Sabbath.* It seemed like the logical next step on my “slow down journey” and the concept of intentionally devoting an entire day to abiding and delighting in God is attractive at a deep soul level. So far, I don’t really know what I’m doing. And that’s okay. From everything I’ve heard and read, that’s to be expected. In both the secular and religious spheres, most of us lack good models for how to rest. More recently, books like “How To Do Nothing,” “To Hell With the Hustle,” and “The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry” (the latter written by Bridgetown’s own lead pastor John Mark Comer) are calling attention to the ways in which “hustle culture” is sapping us of our humanity. The cultural emphasis on doing over being and product over process has changed the way we experience ourselves. I for one am more aware than ever of the tendency to self-objectify, to treat myself less like a living, evolving, flesh and blood human and more like a robot (if I input this shouldn’t this be the output? Shouldn’t a + b = c?). As these authors point out, this unnatural perception has its origins as early as the Industrial Revolution and yet the influence of technology and social media has exacerbated the situation tenfold. The first step in reclaiming our selfhood is simply learning how to be. For those who wish to approach this from a Christian perspective (myself included!), Sabbath rest seems like a wonderful place to start.

*For those who are interested, I wanted to share some of the resources that Western Seminary offered to get me started on my own Sabbath journey: 1) King’s Cross Church interview with John Mark Comer on practicing the Sabbath, 2) Bridgetown sermon on Sabbath as Rhythm, 3) and “Spiritual Disciplines Handbook: Practices That Transform Us” by A.A. Calhoun. I’m also reading “The Sabbath” by Abraham Joshua Heschel, a slim tome that John Mark Comer refers to often. It’s less practical than it is lyrical. Might be a bit esoteric for some, but it definitely speaks to the heart.