I'm on my way home.
I'm on the road, on a time crunch, in hopes of beating the snow.
As I mentioned before, I don't really want to experience towing a trailer on bare-treaded
tires in snowy conditions.
I feel like I've done enough learning this year with everything I've gone through, and
I'd be okay with taking a break from adding more to the list of accomplishments.
This is resulting in me having to hammer out this drive.
It's a long distance to go, with very little time for myself.
Much less exercise than I'm used to.
You know, the movement that I desperately need to remain healthy in mind, body, and spirit.
I am managing but a few lines in the journal here and there when I get a second.
I just need to get this drive over with.
Snow could be here any day now.
It's getting colder as I go further north.
I am very thankful that at this time, Central Ontario, where my parents are, is so much
milder than the West.
So while the snow has arrived in Saskatchewan, there's still hope yet.
It's only a matter of time.
I've been realizing that over the last little while, I need to learn to be more gentle with
myself, to show myself kindness.
I'm often unaware that I'm being mean to myself.
It's been such an ingrained pattern of behavior for so long.
Much too long.
From here on out, I vow to practice kindness and compassion in the moments that I may not
be doing so.
I am ashamed to admit, and I do hold a fear of judgment.
For the last while, I've been struggling with my body.
I've allowed myself to enjoy food that are not easily accessible back home.
I had Mexican the other night, justified by this exact reason.
They don't have authentic Mexican cuisine in Canada, never mind in the great white north.
I try to tell myself that a part of enjoyment in life is enjoying these experiences.
Unfortunately, and I really don't know if it's stress related, I've been eating in
such a specific way for so long that it seems like my body reacts with absolute violence
to the consumption of any foreign food.
Not culturally, but foods that are foreign to my system.
I confide to close friends who tell me they experience similar things.
But that doesn't seem true, not in my mind.
Objectively, it makes sense.
We're so much harder on ourselves, and maybe that's why.
But I don't understand why I need to bloat like a balloon, to be plagued with gas to
an extreme level of discomfort where it looks like I've gained 10 pounds overnight.
Of course, it's perceived as more of an obvious problem by me.
Having a smaller body, it means it's very apparent in a physical sense.
Very visible.
Apparent.
I struggle to record this, and to put this into words.
There is so much shame.
I feel like when I post photos or videos, that people must be thinking, oh, there she is.
She's letting herself slip.
She's gained weight.
I'm embarrassed to post.
I just want to hide.
I hate that I'm hard on myself like this.
But this is the society we live in.
This is the cost of having a body and existing as a physical representation of ourselves
within this world.
I can't help but worry that interactions with others will yield comments about my increase
in weight.
This makes sense because the past has proven this true.
As I mentioned before, my return from our trip in May, I received two comments on two
separate occasions pointing out factually that I had put on weight, that I looked rounder.
Their defense in my attack was, you look healthier now.
You were too thin before.
I can't look at that and be okay with that.
I just can't let it roll off my shoulders.
I used to be picked on, made fun of because of my weight, my severely overweight body,
where I couldn't make others happy.
I've been too happy, too fat, too ugly, too thin.
Yet, no one ever expressed concern when I was overweight.
I was only picked on as though it was a terminal flaw in my hard wiring, in my experience,
my existence.
And then, the realization that you are treated differently when you lose weight.
I get asked so often by those from the past who knew me in the before.
What are you doing?
What's your secret?
You look so happy.
Compliments galore.
Then you get to a certain point and people's tone changes.
Are you eating enough?
I'm really concerned about you, you look like you're starving yourself.
Then I put on a couple pounds.
Hey, you've gained some weight, hey?
As if it's a good thing.
I struggle to comprehend that.
I don't get it.
I can't seem to make anyone happy.
So then I decide maybe I should ignore it and try to make myself happy.
The world just continues on telling you how you're doing it wrong, reminding you exactly
how you're doing it wrong as you go.
Why is it that everything seems to be about my body, my weight?
My current dilemma exists in being afraid to be out there when I am my most vulnerable,
when I feel weak, when I have moments of time where I feel as though I slip up, where I
rely on food for comfort to try to feel better about things.
Then I'm so hard on myself because you shouldn't be this way, nobody else is like this.
I don't even want to openly share this, but I promised myself I would.
Maybe this too is the space where people live in the dark alongside me, where it's important
to know that you're not alone.
Us women, we're so hard on ourselves.
Even though logically, we know we're meant to fluctuate in a normal way.
It's a mere adaptation for survival, our menstrual cycles, the ability our body holds
to do beautiful things for us.
Yet, we're instructed to hate them, and this makes it hard to exist within a body as a
woman.
I struggle because I don't understand why I simply can't proceed past this obstacle.
It's always been one or the other for me.
I'm either feeling out of control, hating my body, or I feel on top of the world at
my absolute best, where I really like where I'm at within myself.
This isn't living.
I should be able to exist on this earth in this body, experiencing balance, moderation
in every sense of the word, not just food, travel, work, but everything in my life is
just in a constant pendulum swing, with no solid footing when it comes to this exact
concept.
When I look back on my life, I can see it.
I think of how I would work 7-9 shifts in a row, and that would be the norm for me.
My longest stretch, and I'm so ashamed to admit this, and that I used it as a bragging
tool, I worked 21 shifts in a row.
What the hell is that?
That's not even remotely okay.
That is so unhealthy.
What is wrong with me?
Why am I like this?
Why am I all in, or not in at all?
It is so imperative that I find balance, that I find ways to be kinder to myself.
I wish I truly believed that everyone experiences what I'm going through, that others feel the
same, and that due to shame, we just don't share it.
It does make sense, and right now, I am ashamed, as though something is wrong with me, something
I can't figure out even still.
I don't understand why I bloat when I have too much salty food.
I know everybody does, but it's excessive in a way that I appear 3 months pregnant,
rather than just a blip for a day or so.
The media, diet culture, the pressure we put on ourselves, which we then place onto others
because we're so hard on ourselves, that those around us think that we expect that of them
too.
I know that I have personally triggered others into saying or doing things, even though I
truly believe that what applies to me does not apply to others.
That others should not treat themselves like this.
They should not talk to themselves this way.
It's almost as though I set an example that others take as a message that says, you're
not doing a good job if you're not being as holy as me with my regiment.
This shows up in forms of comments stated in my direction about how people feel about
themselves and their beliefs.
When we're out at a restaurant and I eat a certain way, there's comments on my choices
versus theirs, where they express shame about themselves in the open, in an accusatory way
as though I would be judging them when I am not.
Or could I care less as to the choices someone else makes for their bodies in that way on
any given day?
This would happen at work all the time.
I recall when people would bring donuts as treats for nurses, comments float around,
and I know everyone listening has heard these exact same comments.
Oh, I'll start eating better later.
I deserve a treat.
As they grab a donut, in all honesty, I don't really care what it is you're doing, ever.
If you make these choices for yourself, that's fine.
You're allowed.
You're absolutely allowed to exist on this planet where donuts are available and you can
enjoy them, for no other reason than the simple fact that you like donuts.
What I'm not okay with is when I'm not believed in my responses.
I have never been someone who enjoys many of the treats were given at work.
Donuts, cinnamon buns, I've never been a fan of these at any point in my life.
I've never made them, I've never baked them, I've never went out and bought them.
The comments that ensue when it's noted that I don't partake in the consumption of the
items are a lot like accusations.
Oh, right, you're on a diet.
Ugh, you're too good.
I wish I could be like that.
It's none of those things.
I just refuse to eat something for the sake of it existing in this space.
It doesn't make sense to me.
If it was a plate full of chocolate chip cookies, absolutely I would be enjoying one.
But it makes me angry.
It keeps me rooted in the feeling that I am constantly under a watchful eye, living under
a microscope for everything pertaining to food and my body.
This isn't in relation to how I put myself out there for all to see, for the podcast
or social media.
It's all the other stuff, the minute details.
If I'm reading a book, what are you reading?
If I'm doing anything at all that seems out of the ordinary in the slightest, like let's
say I'm using my laptop at work on break.
What are you doing?
I feel like I'm constantly scrutinized, watched, assessed.
It makes me wonder, are people worried that I might have unlocked some secret to life
providing me with enjoyment or some form of success that they're worried they're not
gonna have discovered for themselves?
Are they worried that I'm gonna somehow pass them by by using my laptop at work in some
messed up way, some FOMO?
The point is, I'm struggling right now.
I'm struggling to love myself.
I know I need to give myself more love in these moments, these exact moments where I feel
so bad about my body, how I look.
I feel increasingly vulnerable, as though I want and need to hide.
I'm not mad it's getting colder.
I can hide behind big sweaters, oversized clothing.
It doesn't change or improve anything though.
Even when I feel my best, I prefer large clothes, because I just don't want to hear comments
about my body ever.
I don't like how it makes me feel.
I feel like I'm an object that needs to be meeting a basic standard at all times for
the enjoyment and comfort of others regardless of what it might mean or look like to me.
Because I am driving back, I am trying to let myself know I am aware I need to be more
gentle.
I will hopefully get back into a routine that allows me to move my body and just feel better
in my skin.
I haven't hiked since I complete the 8km jaunt, which resulted in me seeking medical
assistance in the ER of a small town I was passing through.
This experience scared me enough that I decided it was time to listen to my body, to take
the rest I need and recover properly.
I can't afford to be at the hospital, and there's no sense in putting myself in a situation
that would only delay my healing.
Also, I need the proper time to recover to ensure that my voice returns to normal, much
needed for the podcast.
I want to get home.
I don't want to relapse and need to end up in the hospital for a lung infection.
I try to tell myself, I'll do yoga, I'll do meditation.
I haven't taken the time to do any of this, and I just need to take responsibility and
accountability for that fact.
This is so hard.
The time crunch poses a challenge in this way.
I need to get to camp locations before nightfall to be able to see the spot so that I can back
into them.
Most state parks don't have extra lighting, and it makes it really challenging.
I've also got this really horrible worry that judgement exists, where people will take
sick pleasure in my putting on weight.
That's so fucked up, especially because I don't feel that way, or believe that for
others.
If someone does gain weight, I'm really lucky if I even take note.
I don't think of others in this way, nor do I care.
I care more about the way in which people present themselves.
Are they happy?
Are they healthy?
Are they treating me well?
With love, kindness, respect?
How is it that they're treating me?
I would be naive to believe that this is the case with others, though.
I know, and have met people, who hold judgments in this way, as a means to gauge other people's
happiness and where they are in life, to compare it to themselves as a way of feeling better
about their own unhappiness levels.
This is a part of the messed up world in which we live, and it's no wonder shame is such
a deep-rooted experience among us all.
This isn't for those people.
This is not their journey.
Even if they feel this way, I'm still allowed to feel what I feel.
I'm still allowed to go through what it is that I'm going through.
At the end of the day, the ones who do love and support me as I live this incredible experience,
where I get to find out about myself and learn and grow, the judgments don't matter.
It doesn't take away from my level of ability to attain things, to reach healing and happiness.
It's just society teaches us we should be ashamed of these things, to be hard on ourselves
and behave this way.
In truth, if we do, we're too busy focusing on ourselves and our supposed flaws, that
we don't have the time or energy left to recognize what it is that's really happening
around us.
It takes us away from the recognition within ourselves that life isn't designed to work
the way it should be.
We can't be happy and healthy in this environment.
It's not sustainable.
So instead, we are provided distractions to keep us performing and doing what it is that
is expected of us.
It's a lot, but it's true.
A break from the heaviness.
My sleep?
Meh.
I sleep pretty good since I started the antibiotic, minus the occasional night here and there,
attributed to outside noise levels, and I don't have control over that.
In having a cumulative number of good sleeps, though, it has allowed me to remain fairly
energized, at least enough to get through what I need to do.
I feel more of an emotional fatigue starting to creep in, where my capacity is just diminishing.
I'm looking forward to getting there, to feel solid ground beneath my feet and feel
more settled in an environment without as many distractions and considerations being
a constant variable I need to contend with.
Right now, I crave the time to sit in silence and take in all that I have experienced and
learned within the last 50 or so days away.
Somewhere I can review my notes about my life.
In learning so much in such a short amount of time, I need to let it marinate and sit
with it.
It's like when you take a class.
You can read an entire textbook, but you need to review it and try to find the tools that
work to be able to connect it with the real life experiences, the ones in the now, and
find a way to apply it to your goals moving forward.
I want to use it to plan how I want to live my life, so that's something I'm really
looking forward to taking time for.
Eventually, I hope to get around to adding it to the book I'm writing, and that's what
it's all coming to ahead with.
The book is starting to open my eyes, to transform things, and to allow me to come to terms with
some very important factors.
It's allowed me time to think about what direction I think is going to be best suited
and sustainable for myself that works to bring me happiness, contentment, and peace.
I really look forward to the quiet time of reflection.
For now, I'm going to leave you with this heavier update to digest.
I'll be back in no time for the next one.
You can bet on that.