Walking Slowly, Scared

I'm scared, all the time.  It has taken a lot of time, reflecting on why I'm stuck, what I'm feeling, to realize that.  I'm scared to try.  Scared to fail.  Scared even to care, about anything or anyone.

There are reasons.  But I want to stop being scared, now, because the result of all the fear is that I've hardened into a lump that can't move, can't create, can't love well.

What's needed, I think, is enough experiences where I did what was scaring me...and it all turned out fine.  Joy after the fear would be even better.  But how will I get to that critical number -- the tipping point -- when I'm too scared to move?

Well...I'm going to have to move, of course.  But I won't be able at least at first, to do anything quickly, or gracefully, or even correctly.  So here's to moving slowly...walking haltingly...feeling scared to death the whole time.

Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.  Deep breath....and.....5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

November 4, 2018, mid-day.  Weight 361.0 .  Blood sugar 330.

Heath Journal: March 11-??

March 11
Evening blood sugar: 207
The intention is to do a Whole30, then do a *real* reintroduction phase.  I also want to start adding some gentle exercise.  I have a doctor's appointment in about four weeks (April 7), which is motivating.  I hate to go to the doctor when nothing is really different.

How I'm feeling right now:  bloated, achy.  Definitely symptoms of inflammation.  Skin is dry and even cracking in a few spots.  I have those weird scabby spots on my back and upper arms that went away completely when I did Whole30 last time.

Emotionally, I'm numb and disinterested -- depressed, I guess.  Having a hard time motivating to do anything.  I've taken two days off just because I felt I needed a break, and that means I won't have any income next week after the car cost comes out of my Lyft earnings.  In fact, I'll probably end up paying about $50.

What I'm longing for -- a tidy, simple home, organized and thriving work, some beauty and some joy.  Honestly, nothing has changed but the food, so I really think that's at the center of all the issues.  Driving makes it hard to eat well (but not impossible -- I've actually pulled it off a couple of days!).  I've been living on drive-through food that I hate on so many different levels.

Tomorrow I'll start taking my weight and blood sugar measurements in the morning.  I'd also like to push myself to do my weekend routine, even if I have to do it rrrrrrreeeeeaaaaaalllllllyyyyyy slowly, just to start some positive momentum.

UPDATE 12/28/17.  Same.  Except I'm not driving anymore, so I'm not doing drive-through food so much, but the holiday feasting and in-between nibbling and snacking has me feeling really sick and sluggish and not like myself at all. Willing to be productive, but not able, except to knit.  So I've done a lot of knitting, lately!

Stay tuned.  Something could be changing.

UPDATE 11/4/18.  Oh, good grief. A year later, and everything is the same, except my blood sugar has more than doubled.   Most days I start out at 300-some, and at some point my sugar actually goes over 500.  Yes, that's dangerous. Onward...dammit.

Grace

My word for today, for myself, is "grace."  The Beast In My Brain hates grace.  The Beast is much more into the word "should."  

"Should" is just confusing.  When I'm tired and I need exercise and my bank account is low and my apartment is a mess...what in the world "should" come first?  The Beast loves confusion -- confusion is its favorite food.

On an internal level, it occurs to me that grace and confusion are actually opposites.  Confusion says I I have to do everything, all at once.  It only offers pressure, and no help whatsoever in sorting it all out.  

Grace tells me I don't have to do anything at all.  It gives me all the time I need to decide what to do, whenever I'm ready.

I live in the Kingdom of Heaven, so I float in a sea of grace.  I don't have to do anything at all.  I am loved.  I am free.  There are only opportunities, not obligations.

Grace is God's attitude toward us -- always.  We can look into God's face without fear because it always reflects a deep understanding of us and a deep acceptance.  We don't have to do anything to earn any of it.  

The pressure is relieved, and the paralysis melts away, leaving only the "broad place"  David speaks of in Samuel 22:19-20:

    19“They confronted me in the day of my calamity,
            But the LORD was my support.

      20“He also brought me forth into a broad place;

            He rescued me, because He delighted in me.

He delights in us.  Breathe.  Just breathe.  

Here Goes Nothing

Something's gotta give.  My health and my work and my personal world are battling for attention, and none of them are winning.

So I'm going to start...something, but I'm going to have to act like it's nothing, or that weird beast that lives in my brain will freak out and ruin everything.

It's just going to have to be daily, hourly, minute-by-minute stuff, and I hope it's going to take the shape of something I read (and wrote) eight years ago: HERE.

Instead of posting it in order to somehow force myself to actually do it (which of course ALWAYS works GREAT), I think I'll just journal it.  Gently.  So the beast in my brain doesn't catch on.

Here goes.

My Why

I've just started reading Jen Hatmaker's new book, For the Love.  I really enjoy her style, and I was totally thinking we should be BFFs, until I read the Introduction to the book.

In it she talks about her "why."  The reason she writes, the reason she does just about anything in her life.

She does it because of people.  She wants people to be happy and well.  She genuinely cares about everyone around her, and everything she does is informed by that desire.

That made my heart sink, like it does every time I hear someone talking like that.  Because...you know what?  I don't feel that way.  And I work with children.  Underpriveleged children.  Underpriveleged, poor, mostly-brown little children.  Six year olds.

Why doesn't my heart bleed for the children?  Why don't I toss and turn at night, like my friend Brandi does, and spend hours like she does praying and crying over each of the children in her villages in Uganda -- by name??  How can I be so certain that I'm called to this work, and so able to walk away at the end of the day and go home to my cat without any tears at all?

I'm getting over the idea that I'm not good enough, that the real me isn't okay, so instead of getting shameful over this I've started thinking about my *own* "why."  Why DO I do this, if it isn't anguish over hurting kids?

Well, first of all, of  *course* I care about the kids.  But that's not what makes me cry -- with joy or longing.  You know what does?  The Kingdom of Heaven.  "Oh, Lord, I love your ways."  My heart beats for love to be the motivation for our actions, for forgiveness to be radical and complete.  My heart overflows with joy when I see people from diverse backgrounds coming together to do something good.  I want to make things better.  I want to make things better through the power of love.  I want to make things better God's way.

It feels like a fairy tale to me when God's Kingdom is expressed on earth.  It makes me want to dance.  And I will do just about anything to see that happen!  I will talk for hours with someone trying to give grace to someone who hurt them.  I will give stuff away in defiance of worry or greed, even to a ridiculous point.  And then I'll stand back, breathless, and wonder at God's ways and how they WORK!!

Beauty.  Simplicity.  The very best meaning of "holiness."  These things inspire and motivate me.  And yes...I want them for other people.  So I guess I care about people after all!

I Am Not Enough, and I Am Too Much

So I'm clearing out a bunch of stuff, and in the process I ran across some pages torn out of old notebooks.  This is stuff I didn't want to throw out (when I threw out the notebooks), but I don't want it floating around my desk, apartment, etc...so this is where I'll keep it.

When I start to get healthy, all my strengths surface -- terrifyingly.

I start to think big thoughts, to dream big dreams, to have things to say, wrongs to confront...books to write...

And then I realize that to fully realize any of those big, beautiful things in me will take a LOT of risk.  It won't be safe.  People will oppose.  It will take work -- research, late nights, hard labor -- and I might even be wrong.

And...all that work, I fear, will exhaust me.  I'll only fall back into my dormant state of disease and depression -- and the work won't get done anyway, so why bother?

So I squelch it.  Usually by accelerating the cycle and crashing as quickly as possible. Dormancy is a lot more comfortable than action.

That's what has to change -- I have to decide I'd rather live in action than dormancy.

What will that take?  Courage.  Tears.  Conviction.  Rest (strategic rest -- Sabbath plus!)  Certainty.  Study.  Prayer.

The Double-Edged Sword of Judgment

So I'm clearing out a bunch of stuff, and in the process I ran across some pages torn out of old notebooks.  This is stuff I didn't want to throw out (when I threw out the notebooks), but I don't want it floating around my desk, apartment, etc...so this is where I'll keep it.

This one is from some notes on a book I might write sometime...maybe...
*****************************************
Ooh, such a Christiany title for a chapter!  I'm kinda hoping it won't make you put down the book if you're reading the contents page in the store.

Hidden awesomeness...my dad's influence...in my adult life, I knew I had it.

"God thinks you're beautiful."
" I know.  But does anyone else know it?"

I thought, i guess, that I was the only one -- or one of the very few, rare ones -- with hidden awesomeness.  Other people were awesome, but they wore all their awesomeness on the outside.  I envied them.

...End by encouraging others the way my dad encouraged me, about their awesomeness.  And then get Christiany again and give scripture...

Observations at lunch time in a bank lobby

So I'm clearing out a bunch of stuff, and in the process I ran across some pages torn out of old notebooks.  This is stuff I didn't want to throw out (when I threw out the notebooks), but I don't want it floating around my desk, apartment, etc...so this is where I'll keep it.

As I write this, I'm sitting in a busy lobby of a downtown bank lobby.  It's noon, so there's quite the flow of people on and off of elevators and walking across to the front doors to find lunch outside.

-- Young man, balding, clinging to the last hairs on the front part of his head.  Leaning on one foot, away from the people he's talking to, even as he asks polite questions:

"How's your son?  Playing football?  Bowling 'em over?"  Hoping for short answers.  Not fully "there," not sure how to integrate the other guy he's going to lunch with.

-- Very large woman, perfect candidate for The Biggest Loser, at least 300 pounds...and beautiful.  Long, blonde ponytail.  Comfortable, attractive blouse, pedal pushers, ankle bracelet.

What's it like, being either of them?  What is their internal life like?  Their relationships?

"We must not judge our insides by other people's outsides."

Cherry Creek / people downtown / from the burbs...always look so scared.  It translates as judgement -- but what is it really?  Who were they as children and teens?  Are they living the adventure they dreamed of?

Protest

I went to church this morning. I'm teaching a five-week class for adults at a church I used to attend regularly, and after the class I stayed for worship.

The message was all about tradition, and how it can get in the way of truth and the real love and beauty that life with Jesus brings. It's a mainline denominational church, so this was a fairly gutsy sermon to preach. I appreciated it.

Until I remembered...

This is the same church where I don't take communion, in protest of the long-standing, traditional policy that women are not allowed to serve communion there.

"Really?" I thought. "You're giving this sermon and *still* not making the change?" Maybe the change will come soon. Maybe this sermon was the pastor's way of nudging us closer to ending this ridiculous, unnecessary injustice. I've been through 16 years and three senior pastors at this church -- and every time I've brought up the inequality between the way the genders are treated, every one of those pastors has admitted that there is no biblical basis for this tradition. They would *love* to change it, themselves...but it would cause too much division in the church. The time just wasn't right.

Today, after some prayer and soul searching, I took another step. Well, a few dozen steps, really. At communion time, I walked to the front, past the men serving the bread and wine, and sat down in the middle of the front row. My intention was simply to be available to serve, waiting to be asked. When communion was over, I walked back to my seat.

One of the pastors came to me, kindly asking if I'd received communion and if not -- did I want to? I was happily surprised to have the chance to gently explain my behavior. He's a dear friend, and I wasn't angry. I just told him. He said, "Okay, thanks," and went back to his seat.

If my heart can stay in the right place -- not angry, not seeking attention, but gently refusing to let the problem stay hidden -- I believe I'll continue to make myself available to serve communion every week until I'm asked. Perhaps some other ladies will join me. A row of women in the front at each communion time, simply waiting to be allowed to serve, might be just what's needed to push this issue onto the church leaders' radar. They're good people -- they're probably just waiting for the right time.

The right time is now. There will never be a better time.

Quoting from _Women, Food and God_

"At some point, it becomes about the weight. When you can't live the rest of your life with ease, the weight itself needs to be addressed. Not so that you can become super-model thin. Not so that you can look like an image in your mind that has nothing to do with your body, your age, your life. You need to address the weight because without addressing it, you don't actually live. You schlep yourself from place to place, out of breath. Sitting is painful. Flying is torturous. Going to the movies is challenging. You become so burdened with the problems you've created that your life becomes small and your focus becomes narrow. Life becomes about your limitations. How ashamed you are of yourself. You close down your senses, you leave the world of sounds of color, of laughter in favor of a reality you've created yourself. If you keep using food as a drug, if your life becomes about your weight, you miss everything that is not related to your weight problem. You die without ever having lived."

This is the most amazing book I have ever read, with the most incredible insights into what it's really like to be an overeater, and why and how we get there. Thank you, Geneen Roth.

...Bitch.

That's What You Do

A tough girl in middle school wanted to fight me for the right to accompany my best friend (and wow...both their names escape me, now...) on the Magic Mountain field trip.

I thought Amy (I remembered!) would find this ridiculous and tell me that of course she would go with me. She didn't. Apparently she wanted to be fought over.

My father said to tell the tough girl that "ladies don't settle their arguments rolling around in the dirt." Good one, dad.

We met just inside the school gate, and a crowd gathered. For reasons that don't make sense to me now, we thought we should go outside the fence to fight -- like we'd get in trouble if we fought on school grounds. I just stood there. A crowd gathered. That's all I remember -- the crowd, some of them yelling stuff, and me staring at my shoes and waiting. I waited until the crowd finally left, and then Cindy (I remembered!) finally left, too.

Then I walked home. I thought I'd handled it pretty wisely, but I was devastated. Amy pulled up on her bike, and all she said was, "I thought you were my friend."

Amy and I stayed friends after that. We talked it through and stayed friends, because that's what you do. And that's what I've continued to do. I've only left one relationship and that was my first boyfriend, a really painful situation that I actually left the state to get away from.

The ex and I are Facebook friends, now. Because that's what you do.