So, it occurred to me that I’m not losing weight despite my iffing (intermittent fasting). And it’s not that my body’s being resistant, although it might be. It’s more like this: when I can eat (after 4:00 PM each day), I eat junk foods.
Sometimes I even find myself eating junk food for no discernible reason. For example, I’m not in the throes of desolation, nor am I hormonal, nor have I just visited my mother. And I’ve started to ask myself why I do this.
I can be quite successful in other areas of my life. When I put my mind to it, I can write a novel, for example, or several. I can build furniture. All good. Can I lose weight? Apparently not. So the question becomes why.
I consulted my psychic friend, Ash, mistress of the Tarot, and she told me that it’s not an inner saboteur thing–it’s more of an energetic issue where I’m apparently carrying my mom’s weight-issue burdens. This actually makes a lot of sense to me, and I never would’ve come up with it on my own. There are limits even to my own soul-searching abilities, even though this seems so obvious now that Ash pointed it out. She’s a genius.
Ash knows how crazy my mom is, but she didn’t know my mom has wrestled with weight issues her whole life. So now I’d like to explore that, since it might help me. My mom was teased and tormented on the school bus for being overweight to an extent that sounds as if it was cruel. She wasn’t even that overweight, based on a few photos I’ve seen, but kids can be merciless when they latch onto a mean idea.
As an adult, she… oh. Okay, we have a tie-in to my issues here. At one point, she attempted to lose weight via those drinking plans: drink a shake for breakfast, a shake for lunch, and eat a sensible dinner. I think by intuitive memory, or something, that that was when she was physically abusive to me at my grandmother’s house. Think about it: that diet would bring out anyone’s inner abusive side.
And now she has a lot of guilt. She goes on and on about it often when I talk to her. This is nothing new; it just comes and goes. “I was a horrible mommy. I just wanted what was best for you, but I have such deep regrets. So many parents want to be better than their own parents were, but human nature prevents it, and we all wind up being just as bad as our own parents.”
She’s incapable of forgiving herself, which is sad; and I probably make it worse by saying stuff like, “Yeah, that’s exactly why I never had kids.” (This is true. Very true. I don’t want to raise any kids whom I could abuse or otherwise mistreat. Growing up, I always felt as if my mom was cursed with kids, because she felt guilty about being abusive, and if she’d never had kids she could’ve circumvented that issue entirely.) (There are other reasons why I don’t want kids, like the fact that I often need eleven hours of sleep. Without kids, that’s not a huge deal. With kids? Lord have mercy. From what I’ve been told, they expect you to wake up at a normal hour, if not sooner.)
So there could be some interplay between her abuse of me and her eating issues, and now my eating issues. With her, weight issues have always been traumatic: looking at herself in the mirror, calling herself TOFU (tired, old, fat, and ugly), and sneak-bingeing when no one’s watching (which I’ve intuited over the years but never witnessed). I myself don’t have that trauma. I don’t mind looking in the mirror, and in fact, I’m prone to making silly faces at myself, especially while flushing the toilet. (Just try it sometime when you’re in a bad mood and report back. It works.)
I don’t eat in secret. I’m more like, “Pass the cookies! And where are my chips? Who ate my rainbow cake? Was it you?”
So now I’m wondering if I’m carrying the weight of her issues without needing to. I have my own problems.
my sister threw my mom down the stairs in a violent rage my mom fell down the stairs under mysterious circumstances, her lengthy period of unconsciousness and hospitalization enabled her to lose all the weight. Now, these days, for the first time since I’ve known her, she has a great and healthy weight.
But do you know what’s really sad? She has a bubble-butt. Thank God I didn’t inherit it, but I feel geniune sorrow for any woman who has that body part. I’m not talking about having a sexy behind like Kim Kardashian’s. You know what I mean–the bubble-butt. It’s just… unfortunate. And despite her massive weight loss and loose-hanging clothing, the bubble-butt lives on. I just feel bad for her. I always have. There probably aren’t even surgical options for it because it’s a matter of bone structure.
She put me in ballet so that I’d avoid a lifetime of weight issues. It worked. I was never overweight until maybe ten years ago. The whole time I was growing up, I was a stick person, but ironically I didn’t know it. I thought I was overweight simply because the mirrors of the ballet studio showed that I had a normal figure (albeit no bubble-butt) whereas all but two of the other girls were sticks.
But now I have weight issues, and I’ve been learning all these things like how to do iffing, but it’s not helping. At the heart of the matter, I must feel like I’m supposed to be burdened with this. My mom exudes that energy whenever I’m around her, like, suffering is a necessary part of life, and we can never be happy, and we must tolerate all bad things because they’ll keep happening, or something. She’s the sort of person who needs something(s) to worry about, or else she’ll fly into a panic.
Like, for seriousness. “Wait, you mean life’s going well? Oh God, how could that happen? Fire, plague, pestilence! Please tell me that something’s not totally safe! There must be something worrisome that I can latch onto! Is your front door unlocked? Maybe you left your keys in the car? Isn’t your dog showing any signs of debilitating illness? Please, give me something!” She believes that if everything’s peachy, then she’s painting a bullseye on herself and tempting the universe to target her with horrific acts.
Ash told me a ritual I can do in two days during the new moon. I’ll try to do it as best as I can. It’s a releasing thing. I need to get my mom’s energy off of me, and yes, her energy feels horrible. There aren’t adequate words to describe it, but imagine if you were coated with honey, or something, and the honey made you feel vulnerable and exposed and distraught. Yuck.
In other news, I seem to have given up on my NaNovel for now. I’ve got too much other stuff going on. I might keep writing it but at a slower pace, or later. Right now, I’m still captivated by my memoir, I’m doing all this outdoor painting for my dad, and I’m trying to prioritize reading my self-help books as well as the memoir by Dominique Moceanu. I like it so far, but I’m only on chapter 2. Working outside on the painting and scraping is exhausting. Like just totally exhausting.
I’m doing the 250-word fiction competition in a week. I don’t know how I feel about it, but I’m still glad (and will be for a very long time) that I’m off the forum. Vicious attacks like that, and then people chiming in to say how much they enjoy it, are the sort of things that I can’t live with. But where does that leave me with the contests? In the case of the 250-word event, I’d already registered. I’m eager to compete, but there won’t be any community involved. But at the same time, I’m so fired up to win one of these events, because there’s a long list of forumites who I want to shove it to. A fire has been lit within me. They goin’ down, ’cause they can’t outwrite me. I’m bringing my A-game, and they’d better fear it.
And I’ll especially be bringing my A-game if I make it to the finals of flash fiction. (That’ll be announced in early December.) If I make it to the finals, I’ll feel like karma’s on my side. And then I’ll write the greatest story EVER. I’ve got this. Just have to make it to the finals.