I started my new year’s resolutions earlier than the 1st. Honestly, they are such challenges for me, that I’ve had to spend a year psyching myself up.
WRITING
One of them has been to get back into writing. It’s not easy for me. I’ve had attention problems and dyslexia to contend with and school was always difficult. I was able to push myself 3 times in my life to achieve A’s. That was 6th grade and twice as an undergrad. But even so, it took me 3 times to finish my undergrad degree.
And it is because I have acute anxiety disorder that has taken half a lifetime to manage.
I can now admit that.
The shame of having a disorder like acute anxiety disorder or dyslexia or the attention problems has been huge. I didn’t grow up in a safe place where weakness was acceptable. Weakness was to be rooted out or denied.
Simply, stop it.
So I’m incredibly imperfect, and that is actually normal, but in the circles I found myself in, it was like throwing raw meat to starving scavengers.
Working through and with your weaknesses was not seen as a value, something to be appreciated.
Just like being scared and doing the things necessary was not appreciated.
No fear. No weakness. Perfection. That was the only way to be safe in my world.
And that is impossible.
And I love to write and create art and poetry. Weird funky things that no one in my circle appreciates or values, not the way I do. Every flow was knit picked and held up as evidence that I was doing something and pursuing something worthless, and I was worthless.
The thing is perfectionists are not themselves perfect. They are horribly flawed and lopsided individuals, which is more normal than being balanced and oh so without flaws.
So I was angry with this realization. How people so messed up could be making me feel worse and worse about myself, to the point where I had to remove myself from them.
But I had absorbed the messaging: perfection is the only think worthy of attention and approval.
Wow. Just stop living then, because that is not a human trait. Perfection is merely illusion.
So now that I have digressed to this point, I want to go back up and get to my point: although feeling unworthy and knowing I’m not going to write the right things, spell perfectly, use perfect grammar, I’m going to write and share it.
Maybe I can submit some writing for publishing, too. Here’s to becoming published!
(And not in one of those damn online magazine’s that is just covert advertising and PR. That was gross. Pretend I never did any of that. What a bad experience.)
WEIGHT
Weight is a shame thing, too. For myself, I feel like I”m wearing another person’s body. It happened ever since I got pregnant the first time. I felt at peace when I was a smaller size and although I got shamed for being too small (honestly, I wasn’t but now I know I was violating some unspoken clause in friendship that I was not to be prettier, thinner, or achieve more that others in the group) I want to return to being thinner again.
Again, for me.
And it isn’t societal thing, or social thing. If anything, being curvy and fluffy is more acceptable in middle class circles anyway.
But I don’t feel good at 170. I’m back in the 150s now and have my goal weight set before I start weight training again.
I already feel better, but like when I was pregnant, being heavier hurts my feet then some. Carrying 30 extra pounds is like carrying around a child on my hip. It’s just too much in addition to everything else.
So I got the jump on that just like the writing: while I was beginning to journal again each night before bed, I starting intermittent fasting and drinking herbal teas. I’m conscious of protein calcium vitamins minerals and good carbs.
Will I be cranky sometimes? yes. Straight up. And I’ll eat a cookie with my macchiato. Just like once in awhile there will be pizza!
I’m not a sadist.
I just know intermittent fasting was the only success I had in the past. And now in middle age it seems to be the only thing that works with eating lean and being mindful.
So here’s to getting as close to 135 as possible.
ART
It may be last mentioned, but I’ve worked on this the longest. Last year, I made a permanent art studio in my garage. I participated and even won an Honorable Mention for a piece of art work I submitted. I sold a couple of pieces. I started a website with items for sale. And this year I start up again with a fresh, clean, organized art studio that will flow better.
So here is to making art!
Dawn Scribbled to the End 