Mother, May I?

I’m back!  May arrived and sucked me into every celebration, ceremony and closure known to man.   My blog didn’t get updated for over two weeks.  But I did a decent job, better than I thought, regarding my weight loss and eating habits.  My two triggers, Celebration and Stress stuck their claws into my back and they were pretty loud sometimes.  I was anxious about May, the month that would really test me.  And lord help us all, it’s not over because I haven't sung yet. 

May is my most feared month, full of tempests and lather.  It’s got the stress of the holidays, plus the farewells and celebration, all rolled into one wicked machine.  Many of you have told me it doesn't have anything to do with whether one has kids in school or not…you are having the same May as I am.  

And no matter how hard I try each year, I can't seem to change it.  In January, I look at my May calendar page, expecting purity and free range squares, and I’m irritated to find things already written in there.   Dates got claimed 6 or 8 months ago and were sold to the highest bidder.  I resolve early on, just like we all do around the holidays: “I’m going to do May differently.  I will keep spaces open for last minute things to worm their way in.”  I never hear the Fates laughing at me as they pat my head, ‘bless her fool little heart.’   And for several months, all the way till April 30^th, I stupidly think I’m still in control, even as I find myself adding things to May daily, filling in the empty spots, triple booking, declining things, delaying things, trading up….a shell game.   My calendar started to sound (yes, it had a sound) like the trading floor of the NYSE as I arm-wrestled to stay on top. 

Then, around May 15^th, I took mercy on my fool little heart and surrendered.  I decided the month was so much bigger than me.  I had taken it as far as I could and I turned into a compliant Zombie, my powers useless against the clowns of May.  I adopted a different strategy. 

I have posted this on FB two years in a row, because it was true twice, and I will post it every May from this day forward:

The month of May is like machinery that grinds faster and louder.  If you don't keep ahead of it, it will run you over or mangle your limbs. The trick is to outlast and outrun it so that when it sputters and quits, you have emerged victorious with your contentment of a job well done. 

So, this brings me to ‘how the hell do you try to stay on your weight loss plan through the fire that is May?' 

Stress and Celebration…they had bought lots of property on my May calendar page, unwelcome squatters that were itching to sidetrack me.  Then, my mom said something to me that led to another epiphany, and I want to share it with you because she gave me the perfect gift: a thought. 

We had multiple and special events lined up for the weekend.  I was flying my mom up to visit, to partake in the joy (when May still felt like joy).  She said, “Oh, I feel bad that you’re in the middle of weight loss and now I’m coming to visit…all that hard work you’ve put in!”

I nodded and totally went there without even thinking twice.  I completely accepted with certainty that since we’ve got events and visitors, it means weight gain because of all the food and treats and celebration.  Why, of course the diet will get suspended; that's the price. It's to be done on normal days only. 

I can't believe how easily I just accepted my mom's statement as fact.  We both agreed with it.  She voiced the belief that so many of us hold.  But I thought about it right after I hung up and smacked myself in the head.  Wait…my mom is visiting.  When she’s 300 miles away, I eat one way and lose weight.  Why does her proximity to my plate have anything to do with my weight?  Why do my habits have to change just because my mom is in the next room?  One has nothing to do with the other, but yet I so easily gave in to the sultry belief that a family visit automatically meant a vacation from my own health. 

I know celebrations and family usually mean food and treats.  Lots of it.  And it would be okay to screw the diet if you only had ONE celebration a year.  If that were the case, you’d see me bathe in cake, followed up of course by a dip in fondant.  But after looking at my calendar, even for a year, I realized there is a celebration almost every other day.  Good grades, visits from a friend, wedding, performance, birthday, a sport’s win, road trip, a trip to Costco (!) or just because it’s Friday.  So, if I was going to excuse myself from a healthy life every time there was a celebration, why even have a plan?

I decided right then and there that I had to find a way to factor in celebration as a regular and blessed occurrence in my week, and I’d better find out quickly how to stay on course.  Health does not take a vacation.  Road trips aren’t an excuse to visit every gas station on the way down I-5 for the chili cheese Fritos that have 750 calories per bag...that you think don’t count just because you’re on a road trip, or because it’s a special day.   Not that this has happened to me.  Okay, yes it did. 

I’m also tired of the anxiety I’ve felt when going to a party or wedding, fearing what will be there. Will I blow it?  How strong will I be?  I’m trying to change my mindset so I can go to an event completely looking forward to it, breezing in, regarding the food purely as art, none of it calling my name unless I choose it. 

So, here is a photo of the First Holy Communion Cake that has been on our counter for three days.  My husband picked it out and I didn’t understand at first.  I looked at the round circles.  Then thought of Holy Communion Wafers.  Wow, without even trying, he treated us to religious irony. 

I’ve walked by it all day for three days, sticking my head in the lion’s mouth by taking one or two finger scoops of the frosting only once or twice during those days.  A taste.  And I didn’t hear my name called once.  It was pretty dangerous of me to play with fire like that but somehow, I did it.  And I am happy to tell you that after six days of being with my mom, where we went to tea, out to dinner, and where that hero made me her special fried eggs and rye toast every morning, I managed to lose one pound. I need you to know it was possible.   However, she fears she did not fare as well.  

So, maybe there is a way to just accept that May, and life, will have plenty of reasons to celebrate.  You can’t send Health to the babysitter while you’re out having fun. Let it come to the party. Otherwise, how else will it learn the way to behave in social situations?

A Tale of the Traveling Pants

Keeping my eye on the prize.  And the glare!

I’ve noticed something odd during the last three-and-a-half weeks.   As I read the numbers on the scale, it’s really like watching the floors change in an elevator car.  But during the last year when I was on the way up, I zoomed past the numbers, because apparently I was in the express car.  I think I even skipped some floors on the way up to the Penthouse Suite (which isn’t NOT the floor I wanted; and I don’t care what kind of gift basket is on the bed.)  But for the last few weeks, the ride down has been so…………….slow.  I spent a whole week on one floor.  So excruciatingly long, that I pulled up a chair and had time to read ‘The Help’ again.

However, suddenly it’s May.  I can't believe I'm saying this, but as of yesterday morning, I have moved down a total of eight floors.  I may be taking the stairs up just one level tonight, because my husband brought home a bagel.  That’s okay.  I can spend a night one floor up, for old times’ sake.  I heard there’s a killer view.

Okay, enough of the metaphors.  I have a story for you. 

Yesterday, I decided to be kind and treat myself to a new pair of shoes, because to buy clothes for this moving elevator car, well, that would be foolhardy.  I don’t plan to fit in any set of clothes for more than three months.  Don’t laugh.  I dare to dream. 

So, anyway, I tried the mall.  I realize it’s been awhile since I bought shoes.  I noticed that I had to do a lot of bending down to try them on.  The boxes of Size Nines are always wedged tightly like the bottom brick in an ale house wall and so I really had to work up a sweat to pry them loose.  Kneel, stand, walk, judge, re-wrap the shoes in their protective plastic papers, try to fit them back in their box like a wooden ‘Let’s-Test-Her-IQ’ puzzle, and then shove the torpedo back into its ill-fitting tube.  Now I know why people shop online…it’s too overwhelming to handle the mechanics of a shoe purchase, while also trying to make a critical fashion decision.  This is made even harder when you can't bend very well at the waist. 

Anyway, during this little workout, I didn’t realize my stretch jeans had been busy trying to keep up with me.  And perhaps, even though it would be a dream come true, my jeans may actually be too big now. 

As I walked through the long aisle to the register, (my hands weren’t free because I had store swag to hold), I felt a small draft near my caboose, but not in a good way.  As I walked, my jeans were slowly sliding south with each step.  Just slow enough that I could calculate reaching the register if I changed the width of my stride.  Not length…..width.  So yes, your visual is correct.  I looked like a walking swing set. 

I could have done it, except I didn’t factor in my underwear.  Apparently, they were in the fast lane, and my eyes widened at this new discovery.  I walked with my legs even farther apart to slow down the migration. Good gawd hips!  Where are you when I need you?  My hips are usually too big to pass between a chair and a wall without scraping off paint, so you’d think they’d come in handy to hold up the waistbands of my clothing.   They did not do their job of keeping my pants up.  They failed every step of the way, because once the pants scaled the gentle rolling hills that are my hips, the pants and unmentionables had only one direction on their mind…..Florida. 

As in FLOOR-ida.   I felt like the circus lady who tries to walk while keeping two different sized hula hoops spinning in different areas of her body.  I developed a new walk that doesn’t even have a name yet, but I’m sure it got faster and raunchier the closer I got the register. 

When I made it, I wanted to yell SAFE!!!!! or BASE!!!!! because I was able to dump the cargo on the counter.  Before too much damage was done, I seized the waistbands of both sets of pants.  Just like a stuntwoman grabbing the hands of a buddy who was dangling from the door frame of her fleeing helicopter.   And, cut. Print.  That’s a wrap folks.  

I’m not really sure what the security cameras caught, but I don’t care.  If this is the price to be paid for the hellish month of weight loss I’ve been through, so be it.  I am very happy with the 42nd floor of my 50 floor descent.  I sure hope they sell clothes on this floor, because I guess I need some new ones.  For the sake of all you good people and your visuals.     

Dare to Say 'No.' On Your Own Terms.

Part Two

Emotional and Mental Clutter: The Silent Saboteur

In Part One, I briefly talked about what physical clutter can do to one’s weight and health.  I also touched on the ‘other’ clutter, not visible to the naked eye but ten times more dangerous.  It is emotional and mental clutter, or Calendar Clutter.  If you keep a real calendar or one in your mind, this will still apply to you. 

Whether I worked full-time in the city or freelanced while staying home with my family, there was a steady stream of obligations and volunteerism.  Requests were plentiful, whether handed out by my boss, the schools, the sports, the band, the neighbor, the friend, the church, the doctor, the house, the committee.  You name it, there are plenty of valid ‘needs’ coming at you every day if you are truly plugged into your life.  Did you notice “Sheri’s Family and Personal Health” were nowhere on that list?  Just thought I’d mention that. 

For about a decade, I’d say yes.  To everything.  I was unable to ignore Society’s Call of Duty.  Because that is what I thought I was supposed to do.  I said yes out of guilt and commitment, but many times I actually WANTED to help.  Then it became a growing beast.  The more I said yes, the more I was asked.  Because my net was so big (no fish ever thrown back!!!), some rotting seaweed got in there, and I found myself with the more pointless and unrewarding tasks.  Some became urgent because someone else sucked at planning and suddenly it was my problem to solve.  Other tasks I hated and wondered how they ended up as my stinking catch of the day.  I felt very protective of friends who became victims of their own competency: they got so much done, and therefore so much more was asked of them.

By the time May appeared (Sigh. It’s here again, isn’t it?), I was so burned out and resentful that I nailed my door shut the moment school let out.  I noticed as the level of commitments rose during the year, so did my weight.   It was simply because I had no time to manage my food or exercise.  I’d be too tired or worn out to care; I’d eat too much, not enough or grab garbage food on the run; and the more I helped and committed, the worse I felt and the worse my friends, family and weight suffered.   But I still took on more, just because I was asked.  I became resentful, and I didn’t want to be resentful because that’s not when I’m at my best.  I owed my best. 

It started to occur to me that society has a weird message for ‘helpers.’  When you give at the Gold or Platinum level, there are very strong pats on the back and praise for those who ‘always say yes,’ and always ‘step up.’  Sacrifices are encouraged, reinforced and even expected.  Basically, society cheers you when you’re crawling on bloody elbows to do your task, even if you’ve left behind a trail of destruction in your own family and your own body.  But society is also the first one to harshly judge you if you and your family start to show signs of neglect.  Society encourages your choice to cannibalize that which is near and dear to you, as long as you finish the task. It sends you the wrong messages that the result only counts if you were ground down to powder.  And if you happen to hurt yourself and family in the process, please don’t let society know.  It would prefer not to be faced with the fallout, thank you very much.

Then it occurred to me; I had no one to blame but myself.  My friend once wisely said, “If you say yes to a request, you say NO to yourself.”  I finally understood what she meant.   

My Humble Solution 

“What do you have going on today?” was an innocent question asked of me, usually to be followed by a request.  My first mistake was thinking, well, if I didn’t have an actual appointment, then I guess I was ‘open.’  If I had a chore or personal errand I wanted to do but it wasn’t officially ‘scheduled,’ it was at the mercy of me drop kicking it out of my week in order to fit in ‘the request.’  Well, I’d always end up having to skip a meal, eat in the car and shit-can the 20 minute walk, in order to do the chore I ignored, because like a stray cat, it always shows up at your door again.  And it’s usually a little cranky. 

Duh.  I finally realized there are many tasks during the week which may not necessarily be scheduled for a certain time, yet they still need to be done. 

So, now, I black out chunks of time during the week, for things like bills, repairs, writing, running the house, helping a friend, laundry, a project, eating, exercise, volunteering, etc.  I actually ‘schedule’ them and hold them sacred.  I call them “Desk Time” or “Bless the House Time.”  They are valid residents of my week now, taking their rightful place in a day.  I am now very clear in my mind when I am requested for something: I have made a date with my house or a project or a workout, and you can’t have it.  I can’t give it away to you because I need to keep it. You’ll just have to accept my ‘no’ and trust that it wasn’t said lightly. 

Whenever I’m asked to do something, even if it's a lovely social invitation, I don’t just look at the day of the event; I look at the entire week.  I quickly ask: if I add this one more thing to my week, even to an open ‘slot’, will it cause the house of cards to fall? What happens to my week if I give away that block of time that was reserved for something, even if it was a chance for me to sit in a dark corner of my house and read 'Little House on the Prairie'?  And cry because I’m not anywhere close to being Ma?

What this does is keep me from overscheduling, because too much on the calendar leads to stress, which always leads to poor eating.  The booby prize is increased weight.  And folks, I don’t want to be on that game show anymore.  

I feel that people need to give themselves permission to stand their ground, have very clear boundaries on their time and need to value it as a precious resource.  Just because they have two free hours that week, doesn’t mean they need to give it away and say ‘yes’ to a request.  Just because you have no appointments written in a slot, doesn’t mean it’s OPEN.  We are the only ones who know what’s on our plate, and need to protect it like a pit bull. 

Obviously, if there are friend and family emergencies, I’m a big fan of dealing with those right away.  But as for the routine requests, I feel that we all should accept requests that matter to us, that we’re good at, that make sense, that are valuable to the group and which we are passionate about or at least have a passing crush on.  Understand that it will take 50% more time than what we are being told and factor that into the decision.   But be clear on our boundaries and love ourselves and our family enough that we will not let requests bleed us dry. 

Don’t take on tasks or invitations that you aren’t good at or don’t care about.  “Just because someone asks you,” isn’t the right reason.  You cheat everyone if your heart isn’t in it; the project, your friends, family, yourself.  If you don’t like the project, the best thing you can do for a cause, is to pass.  Don’t worry, more will come your way. You will always be presented with opportunities, which means you have choices. 

And sometimes, “I don’t want to” is enough of a reason.  You should never have to explain, but if you’re okay with it in your head, you will mean it when you say it out loud.

Fair warning: once you set your mind to approaching mental clutter this way, it’s not a done deal.  Because the world hasn’t gotten the memo yet.  You will expend energy, guilt and regret being the gatekeeper, constantly thinking about and turning down requests, favors, opportunities, volunteerism, situations, etc.  The requests will never stop, and neither should your boundaries.

But being the staunch gatekeeper is the best gift you can give yourself, your family and the requests you do take on. 

I’m here to tell you I have already seen the fruits of these labors lately, and it’s showing up on my scale and in my attitude.  Who knew?

(Dedicated to my friend B.H., who helped me form this very idea in my head when we were trying to avoid burnout last year.)

Clutter Is A Thief. It Steals Your Waist.

Part One

Of a Two Part Epiphany

Stay with me…I have to lay out a bit of road with you first, and then you’ll understand my title. 

I’ve had a theory for a long time, but it was kind of foggy.  It had to do with the fact that when my life had clutter, my weight went up and my health suffered.  From many friends, I kept hearing the same thing: “I have too much stuff and too much to do,” and then in the same breath they'd say, “I’ve gained weight and I need to lose it.” I was fascinated with the possibility that clutter and calories could be related, like first cousins or perhaps even siblings.  But I was so busy with my own mental clutter, I didn’t have the time to make the connection.  How’s that for irony?  

I know we think of clutter as ‘too much physical stuff’, but I’ve noticed the ‘mental stuff’; the quieter and more attractive twin.  Regarding physical clutter--I don’t like empty walls or corners.  Ask anyone; I have stuff.  I am also an odd bird.  I am organized, but I like my nest nice and full with my favorite things close to me, protecting me.  To exist this way, my rule is: if it doesn’t make me happy, has no use or I can’t remember who gave it to me, it’s gone.  I have been organizing people for 10 years, and they are relieved when I don’t make them downsize to a house that is a sterile, white clinic with straight lines and no dirt.  I may be one of the few organizers who believe some clutter is okay, as long as you have whittled it down to what you use and love, as long as it has a home within your house, can stay relatively clean and allows you to easily move around in your dwelling.  But we all know that physical clutter can cross the line quickly and start its little thieving ways, hijacking precious time and health. 

However, mental clutter is a different beast entirely…an apparition or a moving swarm of starlings in your head.  It’s the one that I fight every day to keep at bay, but it’s hard to control because it is shifty and has no form.  And this is the one responsible for my weight. 

Let me tell you how I define mental clutter:  projects, thoughts, obligations, errands, events, activities, volunteerism, invitations, meetings, social gatherings and wishes.  They are necessary and important.  If you’re living in a house with others, everyone living with you also has their share and perhaps you’re the point of light through which their things stay straight.  This clutter is not just reserved for parents; I had it when I was working full-time before marriage.  I call it Calendar Clutter and I don’t view it as negative or bad.  Maybe it’s more of a ‘Collection’.  

Sometimes, ‘Collections’ get too big.  Whenever my calendar was overfilled, that was when I was the most unhappy.  And that’s when my weight went up. Why?  Because I simply had no time and was too worn out and crabby during the five times a day I needed to stop and make a good food choice.  Again, I ate to fuel myself, to keep moving from dawn until the late night shows.  I ate in the car, on the run or not at all. 

I began to notice that every interaction, project, invitation, volunteer duty or event had its share of items attached to it, which doubled the size.  It occupied my time and took up space in my brain.  It didn’t matter if it was a two hour event, a weekend or a month-long commitment.  It had baggage, good or bad, that I had to squeeze into an already full day.  And it was waiting to distract me, to lead me to the drive-thru at Joe’s Fried Food Shack.  (I've never been there.  I just thought it looked funny in writing.)

Take a simple birthday invite: there’s the email, the RSVP, the gift buying, logging it in the budget (I’m a big fan of budgets), finding wrapping, possibly an appetizer, getting ready to go, getting there, being there, and while you’re there, it will spark an invitation to something else, or a request of you, or an idea, etc.  Something as simple as a birthday party.  Imagine how a project, or a request or a volunteering stint has an impact on your day.  And on your health and eating and weight. 

All of this is part of life.  But it can’t be ALL of your life. 

Of all this calendar clutter, there is one area which is constant and where I have to hold my ground or prioritize constantly, so that I can fit in the important ones.  It is the topic of Volunteerism, Obligations and Requests.  That is my Part Two tomorrow.  I caution you:  I am writing it in a month when I seem to be crawling on bloody knuckles to the finish line, and so my tone is edgy.  But also, it is pure.  I am experiencing very real almost-burnout at this moment, so maybe that is the BEST time to write about it. 

I leave you with the good news that I’ve found something which has finally started working for me.   Maybe you'll like it too.  Did you notice I used the word “almost” burnout?  I put the brakes on before I hit the Absolute Burnout Zone.  And interestingly, I’ve dropped five pounds as of today.  Gosh, I’d love to think I’m on to something. 

Tomorrow. Part Two: "Dare to Say No.  On Your Terms."