Sunday Secret

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It's time to come back to where I started - to refocus

I'm not sure what it will look like here

Whether the negativity and self-loathing that I've been nurturing elsewhere will follow me, or whether I'll be able to start wandering to a better place

I'm hoping for the latter

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Big Fat Ugly Cow!

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I hadn't really thought much about it. If I look at myself in the mirror, it isn't usually to see how I look, it is to remind myself of how ugly I am. "My nose is too big," "I have a chin like Jay Leno" and "I better be sure to always face the camera head-on because my profile is hideous."

Don't let me catch a glimpse of my entire body ...

"God I'm such a pig," "It's no wonder people don't like me, I'm a big fat ugly cow" and "I really should be ashamed to hang out with normal people because it just makes me look even fatter."

It's not just my appearance. Spelling error on twitter? "I'm such a idiot!" A blog post where it's clear I'm not getting my point across? "If I were a half-way decent writer people might get what I'm saying!" A mistake at work? "Some day they are just going to fire my stupid ass!"

I don't know when I started doing this, but I do know it's been decades ago.

I distinctly remember taking private clarinet lessons when I was 14, and after screwing up a rather difficult passage saying (out loud), "Dana! You are so stupid! Can't you do anything right?" I also remember the look of horror on my teacher's face when he made me stop and said, "Do you always talk to yourself in the third person like that?"

It was the very same day that I started internallized those dialogs - saying them silently to myself after discovering it wasn't OK to say them out loud. And they got louder ... and stronger ...

They never go away.

Sometimes they yell and scream at me telling me how worthless I am. How ugly I am. How it's no wonder no one wants me.

Sometimes they are a more quite, persistent voice reminding me that there will always be people prettier, skinnier, smarter and more desirable than I ever will be.

They are the words that tell me people only make nice comments my HNT pics out of politeness. The words that remind me I don't deserve to be happy. The words that won't let me forget that I am worthless and will never be special.

They are seldom quiet.

They are never nice.

Am I begging for compliments? No ... in fact I'm hoping this might explain why your compliments are seldom heard even when you do make them. You see, the words - the messages inside my head? They talk far louder than all y'all ever could. They have over 30 years of practice.

But you know what? I'm tired of listening to those words - words that I would never speak to anyone but myself. Words that I wouldn't even dare think about anyone else.

It's a very bad habit and one I'm struggling to put behind me. For now? I avoid looking in mirrors, choosing instead to walk with my head down when I think there is a possibility of catching a glimpse of my reflection. It's not a cure, but at least it's a start.

I've been trying to do a few nice things for myself. Very small things but things that remind me that I have value. It's amazing what a difference just buying moisturizing soap and a bath poof can do. Up until about two weeks ago I used Irish Spring. Irish Spring that made me sneeze and dried out my skin terribly. Why? Because it was the soap Cam likes and I really wasn't worth spending the extra $4 on to get something that I liked. I could get by. I don't deserve special treatment.

Or do I?

Which voice wins?

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Christmas Morning

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There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning
and not be a child.
~ Erma Bombeck

Maybe that is where the sadness came from - memories of childhood Christmases that revolved around family and, at least for a few minutes on Christmas morning, knowing that people were thinking of me.

We all, at some level, want to be acknowledged and validated.

Last year was a difficult Christmas. The move out of husband's house was still raw and scary, but people opened their hearts and made it one of the most memorable Christmases for Cam and me.

This year? They were gone. I should be all settled now, right? Last Christmas may have been difficult, but someone else needs more attention than I do, right??

Yes, I did find find joy in giving. A few opportunities to pay it forward, trying to recreate that joy that I felt last year, for a few people who really needed it this year. I hope I was successful.

Cam had gifts under the tree and a stocking filled to the brim. He hadn't asked for much, instead wanting to spend money that would have been spent on him on others (primarily his girl friend).

I keep telling myself it shouldn't have bothered me that there was nothing under the tree for me. After all, Christmas is about giving, not receiving, right? I was able to provide for my son and share some joy with others. That should have been enough, right?

Yet waking up Christmas morning and facing the fact that there was nothing for me - that other things (people) were more important - hit hard. It made my heart heavy.

I snapped when we picked up Cam's girlfriend Christmas morning and she began reciting the long list of gifts she had received. UGG boots, a flat screen TV for her bedroom, $250 in gift cards. I was disappointed that I wasn't able to do that for Cam and angry that her "bragging" resulted in Cam trying to "justify" the few things he did get.

My snotty toned, "You know, Christmas isn't about all of the things you got" comment managed to quickly shut her up and simultaneously piss off Cam.

A phone call from my step-son Christmas Eve led me to believe that Cam and I would be making a visit to husband's house - spending time with family - something that really has far more value to me than any material gift possibly could.

A text message from husband Christmas morning took that gift away. He was irritated that plans hadn't been made far enough in advance and told the kids not to come for Christmas. There would be no opportunity to spend time with what little family I have here.

My father, who specifically asked what Cam wanted for Christmas, didn't come through with one of the few things that was on Cam's list. I knew I shouldn't have trusted him with something Cam actually asked for, but hoped beyond hope that he would come through for his grandson even though he never came through for me as a child. He didn't. I was silly to think he'd do things any differently than he has in the past.

There was an invitation for dinner from a dear friend, but I couldn't bring myself to go knowing that I would likely ruin a joyful day for others. I knew I wasn't in a place where I could fake being happy which meant going would have been extremely selfish. I stayed home.

I kept trying - really trying - to let go of the feeling of invisibility - of feeling like I just didn't matter to anyone - but the glaring reality was difficult to ignore, especially from my own family.

I take responsibility for most of this. I've built walls. I've kept people out so that they can't hurt me and instead I end up hurting myself. Somehow that is easier than letting other people do it.

I've got to figure out how to stop this. How to be a better judge of character, choosing relatively safe people to open up to. How to feel comfortable letting people in because keeping them out? That just invites misery and self-deprecation and honestly? I'm tired of feeling not good enough damn it!

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Why Oh Why?

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Yesterday's secret was one I really thought I'd never share on the blog. I thought it was a well hidden secret - a secret that would be only mine until the end of time - although I did "confess" to a fellow blogger when he posted a story on his blog (thank you Ro, you were indirectly a motivator for my own accountability). Clearly, my secret didn't stay just with me.

This post will be uncomfortable for many of you. You won't understand. It will make even less sense than most of what I've posted in the past. It doesn't make sense to me when I think logically about it, but in the moment, it makes perfect sense, and it gives immediate relief.

During stepdaughter's (14) visit two weeks ago, the subject of cutting came up at the dinner table (yes, we still eat family dinners at the dinner table at least 4 nights/week). When something like this happens, my mom-dar (radar of the mom variety) goes into full alert mode. Not because I am worried about being "discovered," but because I've learned that kids often bring up difficult topics as a way to open a discussion regarding something they may be experiencing.

Stepdaughter shared with us that a girl at her school was hospitalized for cutting. She seemed to want to understand what had happened, but husband dismissed her conversation by saying, "People who do that just want attention. Don't give it to her." In his defense, this is a difficult topic to talk about - especially if you don't understand it. I didn't push the issue as the shame I felt increased at least 10-fold in response to his comments. Although attention can be a motivation for cutting, that isn't usually the case. Opening up to stepdaughter during that conversation would have meant a HUGE risk for me - and I wasn't ready to go there.

Saturday, again at the dinner table, I got a bit careless. I wear long sleeves inside the house, but it was warm this weekend and I pushed those long sleeves up to my elbows. Stepdaughter was sitting in a position where she caught a glimpse of my arm and asked, "What are those marks on your arm?" When I tried to dismiss it with, "Just scratches from the cat," (by the way, this is one of the more common "explanations" for marks from cutting) stepdaughter replied, "They sure are in straight lines and don't look like scratches." Long, uncomfortable silence, then I changed the subject. No one pushed it any farther.

I'm not sure how to explain to a 14 year old why I self-injure (it is difficult for me to type "cut" - it even sounds shameful and crazy) - I have great difficulty putting into words where I am emotionally at that point.

This happens when I am overwhelmed - to a state of frenzied anxiety - by my feelings. Usually, these are feelings of severe rejection, anger or self-loathing. When I cut, I can make the pain tangible. I can see it and feel it on the "outside" where I can deal with it. When I am in that emotional state, I have a cognitive sense that what I am doing is very wrong and "sick", but in the moment, I don't care. I do not feel intense physical pain, but I do feel an immediate emotional relief. Afterward, I feel extreme shame, but am much more emotionally even. The payoff is worth it.

Like many of you, I associate this kind of behavior with people you find locked away in padded cells - those in mental institutions on suicide watch - not with a 44-year old, educated, "successful" woman. An important thing to understand is that this is not about wanting to end my life. On the contrary, it is often the thing that keeps me from wanting to end my life.

What I know is that I am not alone, but that there are much healthier ways to deal with those overwhelming emotions, and I am working towards that. I don't expect anyone to understand this - hell, I barely understand it on a good day - but hopefully, hearing my story will give you a better understanding should you ever be in a position where you are touched by self-injury in some way.

If you are one who self-injures, I would encourage you to get help - to tell someone. If you aren't in a place where you are ready to do that face to face, S.A.F.E. ALTERNATIVES® has a toll free number - 800-DONTCUT.

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*EDIT* My initial instinct this morning was to close down comments on this post, just as I did yesterday. I really wasn't sure I was ready for the feedback - the chance of hearing that I was nothing more than an attention whore who does little more than attempt to evoke pity from my readers. I know that most of you would never even consider such a thing, but I guarantee you there are some reading this who are far more judgmental and far less understanding.

Any doubt I had about the decision to open comments was was completely erased when Biscuit followed my post with her own - "to wash away the rage" It would have been so much easier for her to just identify with my post and move on, but instead she posted her own story. Please - go take a moment and read Biscuit's story.

I will never be able to put into words how much it means to me that she took this risk. Thank you sweetie!

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Why HNT?

I've been doing a little thinking the past few days about HNT and why I do it, and I thought I'd bare a little more than my body and share a long, boring story little insight with all of you!

Yesterday, as I was making my HNT rounds, I came across several bloggers who were making public announcements regarding the fact that they were no longer participating in HNT. Their stories were varied - some felt whatever they were getting from HNT was no longer there for them, some were concerned about being "discovered" - my guess is that the reasons for not participating in HNT are just as numbered as the reasons for participating in HNT. As we all know, blogs are individuals, in every sense of the word. Our alter egos personalities ooze into what we write and what we write about. I suspect HNT is no different.

Seeing people leaving the ranks of HNT, seeing a recent influx of *new* HNT-ers on several of the blogs I regularly read, and reading a recent post written by the HNT master, Osbasso, (you can find his post [HERE]) got me thinking about why I did my first HNT and what I hope to get out of continuing with HNT.

In a single word, VALIDATION.

For me, it really is about validating the woman that I am. For those of you who are married with kids, you know that you become so-and-so's mom (or dad), or so-and-so's wife (or husband). It is the strangest thing and it hits without warning. Even having a career outside of the home doesn't seem to make one exempt from the process. Somehow - and almost instantaneously - we become the object of someone else’s possession.

In my life, this has been compounded by surrounding myself with people who talk about the virtues of others while never seldom expressing any admiration for my virtues, coupled with battling significant weight issues for 30+ years. It has landed me in a place where self-doubt and self-loathing of my physical appearance are commonplace.

I know, this is starting to sound like one of those pity-party posts, and before I lead you too far down that road, know that HNT - and all of you - have put me in a place where I can start to change that way of thinking. What you don't know about my weekly HNT post is that each and every week I have somewhat of a panic attack moment of perpetual deliberation prior to posting a pic. That damn little voice in my head asks, "Will it be offensive?", "Will the compliments I receive seem forced?", "Will people be thinking, 'That old woman needs to put some clothes on!'?" You'd think, after seven weeks of positive feedback, it would get easier, but it has been a terribly slow process.

HNT has been, and hopefully will continue to be, validation of my womanhood if you will. Validation that although a 20-year old body is quite a beautiful thing, a 43-year old body can be just as beautiful. Validation that sexy comes in all shapes, sizes and ages, and is far more about attitude than genetics. Validation that, at some level, we all deal with self-doubt. Validation that I am OK fabulous, just as I am, imperfections and all!