Craving More Than Food

Truth

2010-10-12T10:25:00.000-07:00

Here's the raw truth: I'm not taking a blogging break to pursue any other projects other than myself.

If you read my other blog, you're well aware of the laundry list of things that need to get done around here but none are more important than job of "cleaning up my act" and taking some much-needed time to fully absorb what that means.

And here's where it starts.

I'm seeing a phenomenal therapist who has encouraged (mandated?) that I spend one hour each day with a journal and a pen. And a whole lot of quiet. Journaling is not the same as blogging and that's why I have to step back from the blogs for awhile.

I found this out the hard way. On my first night of the "journaling job," I dimmed the lights, lit a candle, opened my new and beautiful journal and stared at it. For about 30 minutes. Then I wrote:

I don't want to fucking do this.

But I did and I am and what's coming forth is gut-wrenching and it's insightful and it's powerful and it scares me and it makes me believe that I can be a better, more kinder person - to myself - first, and to my child, my family and my friends.

I have about three weeks into the journal. I write a lot. Some times, I sit for hours on end with the journal and the black pen I've come to love. I've cried a lot. I've dug deep into the corners of my heart and into the dark spaces of my memory to find remnants, pieces of what I believe to be true, to be relevant, to be helpful in this process.

There are so many events that have occurred over this last year that have made me pause and think, even plead, "I need help!"

No one ever taught me how to deal with rejection. Especially with men. No one could tell me what to do when my ex showed up so many times with promises, only to circle around mere weeks, days later with a "serious" girlfriend. Someone who will likely move in with my ex and my son. Soon.

No one ever suggested how I might feel with another maternal figure in Ben's life.

No one ever told me how to handle my father. I never knew how to be his daughter and as the years have gone by, we've gotten better - he and I - but I still feel like I walk a football field of eggshells - always - and I'll never understand why a daughter must have zero expectations of her father so as not to be disappointed.

No one ever said to me that my own mother may never relate to me. That despite living together for nearly a year and a half, we would be complete strangers.

No one thought Florida was a good idea. No one ever encouraged me to date as much as I do. No one ever said to me, "You don't need validation from men. You will always have validation from the one boy who means the most: Ben, and that is all that matters. At least for now."

No one promised that a career would be easy or that faith in God would not waver.

No one showed me a healthy way to eat, without the influences of emotions, guilt and torture.

No one gently hugged me and said, "Your family history is so warped. No wonder you can't sleep. It's not your fault."

No one gave me an identity other than, "single mom" and sometimes, "struggling, sleep-deprived single mom."

And I never had a reason to believe that I was much more than that.

Until now.

I'm investing a good deal of my free time into this process and there are days that I feel so much more free and days that I wonder why I waited 39 years to begin and days that I think that there is such an enormous elephant in front of me and how will I ever even begin to move this giant and stinky creature out of my space?

One inch, one word, one breath, one promise at a time.

That's all I have. For now.

And I have a journal full of amazing thoughts - my very first journal - something that has become my lifeline, my anchor, my home. (Michelle M, are you reading this???)

"Home to me is reality and all I need is something real."
O.A.R.

Reconciled

2010-09-21T19:57:00.000-07:00

I'm still not feeling inspired to write. But I want to get this out so that I can move on; literally, figuratively, emotionally and any other way possible.

Chris, my own version of "Big", is a world class asshole. A fake, a fraud, an egomaniac.

Everyone keeps asking me, "How was your weekend?"

My weekend was fabulous. I stayed at the Ritz and ate amazing food and drank lots of great wine and vodka and I saw a fantastic city (St Augustine) and I loved every moment of my beloved band, OAR.

But I didn't have such a great time to be incapable of ignoring the gigantic red flags that were popping up so quickly and with such frequency, that I knew that the Universe and God were sending me giant messages and I would be a complete and total idiot to ignore even one of these signs.

Starting with no return text the night before my trip, no return text on my layover in Vegas and no sign of Chris at the airport.

But then, a text - of course - "Grab your bag and meet me at the curb."

Now if that isn't being a total gentleman, I don't know what is.

Oh, but wait, we're going to the Ritz - after all - in time to see the sunset and have lots of cocktails and go to an expensive restaurant so really, do the little things matter all that much?

Why yes, they do.

My first revelation of the trip was that I'd rather be greeted when I emerge from the gate area and taken to the Marriott, or even the Hilton - than to be ignored for a day prior to the trip and then have to drag my bag to the curb and look feverishly for my weekend date and be whisked off to the Ritz.

Here's another thing. I think it's weird for PhDs to make reservations at restaurants and hotels as Dr So and So. Medical doctors, I can see, but PhDs? I don't get it.

Case in point. Chris ordered room service four times. In one evening. For eight cocktails. And two shrimp cocktails. Every time, it was the same thing: "What else can we get for you, Dr and Mrs Cale?" He thought that was great; I thought it was completely absurd.

I got sick on Friday. I don't know why. Chris went to work and I think that the travel and my strong dose of anti-anxiety meds that I administered on Thursday might have turned my stomach a bit. I was on the hotel veranda - having eggs as "Mrs Cale" - when my stomach completely heaved and I had to dash for the restroom and totally toss my cookies (which were eggs). Then, I was fine.

Not knowing what else to do, I took the shuttle to the Ritz Pool Club, which is across town and only accessible via shuttle. Chris was to meet me there. My cell phone battery was dying, I forgot my book and all I had was sunscreen and a hat. So I sat with my thoughts for about seven hours and wondered why the sweet guy I met in June was - by all accounts - a complete slimeball?

A slimeball who didn't show up to get me from the pool club. He was "tied up" at work, but I later found out that "work" ended at 3pm and then began again at about 3:15pm at the hotel bar. I finally got a shuttle.

Through a series of "snoopy" events that I thought were absolutely justified, I found out that Chris had planned a date with another girl after he dropped me at the airport on Sunday. I really wasn't surprised; we had "the talk" on the way to St Augustine and he told me - with a lot of conviction - that he could not do a monogamous long distance relationship. With me. This wasn't exactly the impression I've been under for the last three months; I thought we were planning to see each other when we could and potentially developing a long distance relationship if things were proceeding in that direction. I guess I was wrong.

But that's OK, because we still had St Augustine, the concert and more time as "Dr and Mrs Cale" at the beautiful B & B that he chose. I was really excited for the concert; I was pretty much done with being Mrs Cale.

Apparently, Chris was not done with that whole charade though and he went on and on to talk about how he can't wait to visit Sacramento and see my real life. The he got smashingly drunk and told the cab driver that I was going to move to San Francisco with him when he got a teaching position at Stanford or Berkeley.

Oh. My. God.

Smashingly drunk for him = a late night for me on the B & B porch, texting and talking to my friends. (Read: the pressure was definitely OFF.)

At 6am, he woke up and dashed to the bathroom. He emerged looking panicked. "I need a plunger!" Despite my sleepiness, I dissolved into laughter and he looked completely mortified. As he ran to find the innkeeper in the adjoining building, I called across the courtyard, "Can you grab a cup of coffee for me when you get the plunger? With a lot of cream?"

Dr. Cale at his finest. You had to be there.

The coup de gras event happened a mere five minutes from the airport. Chris had his GPS on his phone, which was wedged into his steering wheel. I glanced at it, in time to see the GPS image go away and as an incoming text alert sounded.

He clicked on the text.

It was from the girl he was meeting.

There was verbiage about "boobs falling out" and "can't wait to see you."

Mere minutes later, we arrived at the airport. "Bye, babe," he said with a hug and a kiss that was meant to be longer. I pulled away and I walked through the glass doors and I never looked back.

Then I stewed all the way to Phoenix.

I sent a simple note from Phoenix: "I saw the text come in from the girl you were going to meet. I saw what it said. I'm disappointed in you."

SEND.

Silence.

It all crystallized in Phoenix as I waited on my late flight. Any guy who was remotely interested in keeping this thing going would have been right on the phone. Making up excuses, lies or apologizing profusely. None of that happened.

I did get a text a day and a half later that said, "That was from my friend. Her boob popped out at the beach."

My only thought is that I think I am worthy of someone who doesn't check their text messages in the last five minutes of our time together. And also, I'm absolutely certain that the whole thing borders on trashy and slimy and generally, gross.

I'm not sad. I'm relieved.

There is the small matter of the upcoming San Francisco trip but I know that I am incredibly justified in telling Chris to find his own fun that weekend.

This girl is staying put.

I still wonder what I saw on June 21st when our paths first crossed. I guess you can see anything you like if you look hard enough.

Abandonment

2010-09-06T21:07:00.000-07:00

I've been abandoned and betrayed by who and what really matters and what I've got left is food. Here is where the link between food and God exists. In that isolated place, it is a short step to the conclusion that God - where goodness and healing and love exist - abandoned us, betrayed us.

This passage, from Geneen Roth's book, really struck a chord with me.

I often wonder why I seek God in so many places - in church, in nature, in my child's eyes, in yoga, in prayer - only to find that He's not really there. At least, not for me.

In truth, I've struggled with this notion of an elusive God for quite some time. I even stopped going to church for a while because I was angry with God's passiveness.

The most critical time of abandonment - by God - came when, in the midst of my separation, I fell down onto my knees and begged for Him to soften my ex's heart and to take me back, lovingly and unconditionally. It didn't happen. And when it did, it wasn't loving and there were tons of conditions.

I continue to look for God in dark corners and during the dark nights, I eat because I can't feel Him; I can't sense His presence. I feel very, very alone.

God is goodness and healing and love. I know that. I've felt it at many different times in my life and for many different reasons.

It's just that I lose sight so easily of my own faith and I doubt my worthiness of having goodness and healing and love all the time.

And I slip into the space of abandonment and betrayal.

Where it all goes downhill.

Goodness.

Healing.

Love.

Faith that it can all be mine. Not just during the daytime hours but any time I like.

Geneen

2010-09-05T14:50:00.000-07:00

I originally created this blog to acknowledge and work through the issues I've had with emotional eating over the last twenty-something years. Somewhere on the path, I lost touch with the purpose of this particular blog and began using it to vent about all the "stuff" in my life.

And somewhere on the path, my struggles with food re-surfaced, significantly, and began to overflow into other areas of my life.

One of my favorite authors on the subject of emotional eating is Geneen Roth. She's written several books, all of which I've read, and I went to see her speak back in 2001, when I first moved to Sacramento.

Recently, she published a new book, entitled, "Women, Food and God."

The book made a media splash. A big one. Oprah had Geneen on her show and also featured her in O Magazine. Big authors, many of my favorites - Ann Lamott, Annie Dillard and Christiane Northrup - spoke out on the significance of addressing spirituality and food together.

I'll spare you the details but I needed to get my hands on this book last month. I should have bought it much earlier. A downward spiral that only accelerates with the passing days is not a good place to be in. Thankfully, Target had lots of copies and I had some time each night to read.

There's so much to this 198 page book. I read it and I re-read it. Now, I'm going through with my highlighter. Eventually, I should probably get my journal out.

Right off the bat - on page 2 - Geneen drives it home. Here is what she writes:

Our relationship to food is an exact microcosm of our relationship to life itself. I believe that we are walking, talking expressions of our deepest convictions; everything we believe about love, fear, transformation and God is revealed in how, when and what we eat. When we inhale Reese's peanut butter cups when we are not hungry, we are acting out an entire world of hopelessness, of faith or doubt of love or fear. If we are interested in finding out what we actually believe - not what we think, not what we say, but what our souls are convinced is the bottom-line truth about life and afterlife - we need to go no further than the food on our plates. God is not just in the details; God is also in the muffins, the fried sweet potatoes, and the tomato vegetable soup. God - however we define him or her - is on our plates.

This passage made me cry. It made me realize how my eating directly affects my spirituality and ultimately, my connection to God. It made me see that every time I eat when the last thing I need is food, I am expressing hopelessness and loss of faith. I am doubting love; and I am in constant fear. And when I really stepped back and looked hard at those areas, I could acknowledge that yes, indeed, these are incredibly painful topics and that yes, indeed, I need better coping strategies.

So I'm going through the book for a third time. And using this blog as it was intended. At least for now.

More to come.

Help.

2010-08-31T12:47:00.000-07:00

My favorite band is touring this fall.

The only guy I've had even a remotely great connection with since my ex (that's four years, in case you're wondering) is offering to fly me back east and take me to see my beloved OAR.

Press "Replay."

Florida.

St. Augustine, this time.

The timing is great and it's horrible.

I'm excited and I'm terrified.

I can't commit and I can't see myself not going.

I've always wanted to see OAR with someone who loves their music as much as I do and I've never wanted to be this vulnerable.

I know and I don't know.

I have objectivity and I have no sense, whatsoever.

I want to run into this opportunity like I did the last time; and I want to run away.

I got quiet yesterday; so quiet. I prayed, meditated - told God to please help me to surrender this situation; take this man who I'm so captivated with and let him float away in a bubble or just vanish to his own corner of the world - and I waited, and I listened, with every sense of my being.

And I played 37 tracks of OAR.

And I cried.

And I wondered why I couldn't just still be married.

As I acknowledged this enormous responsibility of always making good choices for myself; because good choices for me, are great choices for Ben. Like dominoes - I fall and he falls. I stand strong and he stands stronger.

And everyone wonders why a long weekend in Florida with my favorite band is such a gut-wrenching decision. The consequences, always the consequences. No one understands consequences like a parent and no one deals with stark contrasts of consequences like a single parent.

And I didn't have any more direction; no more of a sense of what to do.

And he waits for my answer.

As I wait on God.

And a strong hand to guide me or at least, a gentle nudge.

A good friend of mine sent an article sometime ago about the deteriorating moral compass of our nation. The author had an incredible point: too many people listen to their heart, rather than their head.

The heart lies. The heart cheats. The heart strays. The heart, unlike the head, is untrained, it lacks intelligence, it falters and blames.

"The head, " I keep telling myself. "Your head will not steer you wrong, it will not leave you, it will provide the right answers to the hard questions.

Sometimes my head hurts from all the decisions. And I want to turn to other instincts.

But I don't trust my heart.

Big

2010-08-27T20:29:00.001-07:00

I've decided that I have my own Mr. Big. He's Chris from Florida and I don't know what to do with him.

Chris and Mr. Big share a lot of the same characteristics: they're funny, charming, smart, great-looking. They are also both a bit squirelly. I don't know how Carrie's fate turns out with the second SATC, but I wasn't so convinced the first time around that Mr. Big, or "John" as we find out in the end, was really going to deliver in the long run.

Kinda sounds familiar.

After my emotional tryst in Florida, I came home with too many tears and a raw sense of being way too vulnerable. Can you really ever be too vulnerable? You can if you're me and I certainly was.

I didn't know what to do with Chris so I composed a letter in my head, which eventually became a draft in my Inbox, and the was finally sent as a lengthy message at 4am on a morning when I knew that it was perfectly composed in a way that closed the door, sealed the deal, cleared the space and would allow me to move on. I held my breath, and pressed "Send." Then, I exhaled.

At 5am, I felt my shoulders start to relax a little.

At 6am, like a bird perched on a ledge, I spread my wings and I flew. Away from the situation, away, away, away. I walked away from East Coast time and any expectation of getting a response. I took a long, hot shower and breathed into the space that seemed to be wide open; the space of peace and surrender.

This lasted for about an hour. And then I began to obsessively look for my message indicator light to blink on my phone. I looked for the light, the blink, for two days.

Then I got my response.

What I honestly wanted Chris to say was: "I understand, good luck, it was great in Florida, you're a good person, blah-blah-blah."

What he actually wrote was: "I like you so much. You're such a good person. We're so compatible. I'll be in SF next summer for good. I want to see more of you. I want to see you soon. Thank you for being so honest and candid. I won't play games with you."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

No, no, no.

It wasn't supposed to go like that. He was supposed to be scared off by all my expectations, by everything that I want. He was supposed to freak out by my reference to OAR's "Hey Girl" song. He was supposed to bow out.

So I sat for a few days and meditated. Well, actually, I didn't really meditate but I ruminated and that's a lot like meditation, yet far less relaxing.

Then, two days ago, a"Chris" text at 4am:

"I just bought a ticket to CA!"

Me: "When?"

C: "Halloween weekend."

Me: "What are your plans?" (I'm thinking that he should have contacted me prior since he knows that I do not vacation when on "Ben time" unless absolutely necessary and even then, I keep it to a minimum of one or two days away.)

C: "No plans! Just coming out West. Flying into SF."

Me: Silence.

More silence.

C: "I want to see YOU!"

At that point, I wrote back and laid it out in the briefest of texts:

"I have Ben. You need to tell me when you want to see me and I'll see if I can swap days."

C: Silence.

He must have gotten the point because he called me that night - at midnight his time - and talked about how excited he was to come out and see me. And then, the clincher:

"I want to meet Ben."

I swear to God, I thought the phone had cut out, the reception had gotten bad, that my hearing was finally compromised from all that loud MP3 use.

"You want to do WHAT?"

"Meet Ben."

"My son, Ben? Benjamin?"

He started to find humor in my reaction: "Yes, Ben! I want to meet him, why are you so shocked?"

"Because I don't introduce Ben to men that I date."

OK, that last sentence wasn't exactly what I said but it's what I was thinking because I momentarily lost all my brain cells and what I actually said was something like this:

"Ummmmm. Gosh. That's, ummmmmm, really nice. Really. Sweet, ummmm, yeah. Right. Well, anyway, it's a holiday weekend and Halloween is kind of a big one for kids, at least for mine, you know he loves trick or treating and getting all the candy that he can and I let him have all he wants and it's pretty much a given that he'll have a big stomachache and then I pick out all the junk that I don't want him to have, while he's sleeping of course, and I get all the dark chocolate out; oh, and the Twix too, sometimes Kit-Kat, although I'm really much more about the Hershey kisses these days and gosh, I wonder what he'll be this year; he really hasn't indicated what might be interesting, in terms of a costume, and anyway, I hide the candy that I pull out of his bucket and it's funny, he never seems to notice that there's less in the morning, then as the days go by, I start to throw out more and more, and wow, gosh, you want to meet him, well, gee, did I mention that we alternate holidays and it's his dad's turn this year for Halloween so I really don't think that the whole meet and greet is the best idea because it's a pretty short weekend and it's not like I can get Ben to San Francisco and I don't even know if I can get child care for one day and..."

Yeah, you get the point.

Talk about getting caught off guard.

I know a few things right now:

1. I may or may not see him in October. I'm not in the mood for my emotions to get all fucked up.

2. There is also no way in fuck that he's meeting Ben.

3. I don't know what this guy has over me, but whatever it is, it's not strong enough for me to do any of the following:
a.) cancel my eharmony membership
b.) stop going out on lunch and coffee dates with interesting guys
c.) hold out hope for one single minute that he might actually re-locate here

So, I feel a little better about the framework and about my own expectations, which are, basically, zero.

The thing with Chris is that he could be so much more than Mr. Big. He really could. Whether he will be, remains to be seen.

Perhaps not be me.

And that's okay.

Closure

2010-08-22T20:03:00.000-07:00

How do you take a person, an experience, a feeling, a weekend's worth of memories and set it all free?

Apparently, Chris had no problem doing just that, yet I can't seem to follow suit.

So I decided to tie the proverbial bow on the situation and set it free, at least in my mind.

Florida was too good. The time was so easy. The laughs were frequent; the conversation unending. There was instantaneous chemistry; there was talk of deeper things. There was a kayak, vodka, a boat, sushi, hidden bars that offered gorgeous views, warm pools that were so shallow that you could lay on your belly, nose-to-nose, and kiss the other person. There were late nights at the gulf where the moon couldn't have shone any brighter. There was a dinner where we sat so close and ate so much. There was his hand, always around mine or encircling my waist. There was so much, yet so little.

And I can't do that "so little" part anymore. I'm too old for that. I'm too responsible for that. If I had known that Florida would have literally fucked me up for days, I wouldn't have gone.

Last week, I decided that it was time to get on. To stop ruminating, brooding, what-if-ing the whole damn thing. In my heart, I knew that if I could write an honest letter, that I could close the space, answer the lingering questions and push ahead with the clarity and focus I need to get my son into First grade this week and to start soccer and to volunteer in the classroom and to start up our new fall schedule with clear energy and emotional stamina.

I wrote the letter at 4am on Friday. I just go up and did it. What better time to get something off your chest and out of your heart when the airplane awaits for the next adventure? When the house is quiet, when my mind is quiet, when my heart is oh so ready to talk and talk.

And it did. I think the letter to Chris was potentially the most candid letter I've ever written to any male (other than Kevin). I poured out the contents of my heart and I held firm in my stance of not wanting to be "the girl who flies off for fun weekends here and there." I gave him the option to reply. Or not. I promised him no judgment, no hurt feelings.

Not surprisingly, there has been zero reply. Kathie - my best friend who came with me to Malibu this weekend - joked that he "had to send it to his Landmark people for review and input." I kind of wonder if I completely brought too much truth and reality into his "Ritzy" world and maybe, yes, he is shoring up his Landmark folks for a good "Landmarky" reply.

The thing is, I feel a lot better. Almost like I can say, "thank you for the beautiful experience, now let me throw it back at the universe, at God, maybe into the past; some place where I don't have to see it, to feel it, to remember it."

I so desperately needed some closure. A letter may not close the chapter for good but it's a damn good start. Hitting "Send" was time enough to get my shoulders to drop two inches, my eyes to close for the briefest of seconds in relief and my heart to soften, just a bit.

There are a lot of other things that I need to focus on. Chris simply doesn't deserve all that space. And energy. And time.

Closure. It's a good thing.

SPF

2010-08-05T20:54:00.000-07:00

There should be a SPF for love.

Being the SPF Nazi that I am, I slathered myself in 100+ Coppertone while in Florida. Didn't even go for the organic stuff. I wanted full protection.

And damn it, I still got burned.

Granted, I have a golden tan that is lovely - far prettier than the brown skin I see here in Sacramento all summer - but I also have one scorched heart.

The thing of it is, there's no reason to have a burned heart. I knew the complications going in. I knew the risks. I knew of the possible outcomes. I took the chance.

Yes, I did: I TOOK THE BLOODY CHANCE.

And it's not his fault, it's really not.

He wants what I want and I do believe that he will get there.

But he also has a mistress. I met her a few times while we were there and I didn't much care for her. Had I known she would be around on the trip, I would have known more about my seemingly wonderful guy's personality.

Yes, his mistress is with him a lot. She announces herself on his ever present Blackberry. She pushes herself into our conversations and makes it known that she needs him in other conversations. She is controversial. She is loved by many, feared by some, hated by others.

Her name is Landmark.

My guy didn't tell me that he's a "big gun" leader for Landmark. Which explains how outgoing he is, how confident he is, how communicative he is, how present he proclaims to be.

Except that he wasn't all that present when things went downhill small bar we were in and he proceeded to pass out in the bathroom. On the toilet. Then the bartender carried him to a bench where he slept for two hours while I smoked cigarettes (that's our secret, please) and drank beer.

I wonder what Miss Landmark would have said about THAT.

To be fair, I don't mind Landmark. I briefly considered enrolling in a course at one time. I know a lot of people who have thrived with Landmark. I know it also to be a bit of a cult; a place that "feeds" information, validates like crazy and allows its followers to hide behind its well-polished fascade.

I'm picking on Landmark because "she's" an easy scapegoat. I believe that if Chris pulled back from Landmark and truly pursued the things that he wants:

1. Move to the Bay Area
2. Find principal position
3. Marry
4. Have a child
5. Play music

...that he may have an actual shot at one or all of the above.

But until he cuts the Landmark umbilical cord that is feeding him, I don't think that there's much of a shot.

Chris captivates me with his brains. I love how he thinks. I'm amazed by his schooling. His ideas are groundbreaking.

Chris makes me feel amazingly sexy in a school-boy way. He leads me by the hand, he kisses me so gently, he tells me I'm pretty.

Chris takes care of details. He gets me another glass of wine, encourages me to eat the last prawn, makes sure I'm comfortable and happy.

Chris dials it down. We sit by the pool and he digs into my US and OK magazine stash. He doesn't rush. He's content to rest his hand on my knee and stay a long, long while.

Chris tells me stories of his family; of his traditional parents who are Methodists, married forever; of his brothers, of his wonderful nephews and two nieces who are soon to be born. The pride in his face - when he speaks of his family - makes me want to know them.

Chris and music are mesmerizing together. His band's "Final Approach" becomes our tag line for the countdown of our days together.

Chris confuses me. He wants me to stay. He wants to me go. He asks fact-finding questions but leaves the biggest one out: "Will we see one another again?"

Chris goes to work on Monday. I should be long gone. But I'm not. I'm in his old Miata, in his town, finding my place on the shore of the Gulf. Warm salty tears mix with warm Gulf-y waves. What does he want? Why am I here? The answers scare me.

Chris takes me to Tampa late Monday night, while simultaneously facilitating a Landmark call. He wants one more dinner with me. The call is put on hold and resumes when the entrees are served. I wait. I get up, make my way to the restroom. My flip flop breaks. My expectations break, too.

The call is completed. Chris chastises himself for not being more present. He takes me to my airport hotel. He asks to stay; he's tired and it's a long drive home. Of course I agree.

At 5am, I rise and dress. He helps me with my bags and to the shuttle. I don't remember how we say goodbye.

The tears start in the shuttle.

They continue into the Tampa airport.

I ease into my aisle seat and the flight attendant's gaze meets mine. She approaches. "Are you OK, honey?"

I am OK, yes, that I am. But...

I'm not a playmate. I'm a mom.

I'm not a date to look forward to in six months. I'm living now.

I'm not certain that the real Janeen went to Florida. That girl took a rockin' body, small bikinis, teeny dresses, gold flip-flops, big eyelashes, sparkly lip gloss and a huge tolerance for wine and vodka.

Maybe we were both playing the parts of two very, very different people.

I get off the plane in Houston, find my gate, find a Starbucks, dig for Ativan. Nerves calm. Momentarily. Then the flight is called and the tears start again as we are lining up to board.

Once again, I find my seat, bury my head this time and turn on my MP3 player. The songs that I loaded for the trip are haunting: OAR's "That Girl" and Lili Haydyn's, "Saddest Sunset." And then "Final Approach" breaks in just as we begin to take-off.

Finally, the Ativan settles me and song by song is played in a surreal and dreamy haze.

In Sacramento, only 11am and the day is beautiful, my mother pulls up. I push my suitcase in her trunk and then slide into the passenger side of her car. It is then that I cry the hardest. I don't believe that she knows what to do. How could she? She's never been in this position before

I just want to be comfortable. To call the trip what it was and leave it there. For good.

But, I can't seem to get my bearings and I need to get them damn quick because we are leaving for LegoLand in one day. Meanwhile, Chris is on the coast- in a rented house - with 70 of his closest family and friends, celebrating his latest degree and his upcoming birthday.

Where does the truth lie? Is it in the Gulf, where I found so much peace and where I left so many tears?

Maybe there is no truth at all. Maybe it's just my latest lesson. Maybe it's my "Final Approach" to something really, really big. Maybe the game of love takes a wild detour when there is so little information, so much distance and so much glamour when it's finally right there to look at. Maybe I just don't want any of that at all.

Florid-aaaaaaggggghhhhhh!

2010-07-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

In 23 days, I'm jetting across the country to meet up with a man I randomly met in Sacramento last month.

Yes, it is pure craziness.

No, I do not know what the hell I am doing.

Yes, I am freaking out.

No, I don't know about the long-term potential.

Yes, I am terribly excited.

So, the scoop. Here it is:

Chris and I met four weeks ago on a Friday night, downtown. I was with a girlfriend; he was with a couple (a guy and a girl).

I didn't plan on going to the pub that he was in with his friends. My friend and I were headed to the Mix to dance. We only ended up in the pub to kill time.

I didn't plan to sit across from him. I wanted to stay at the bar. My friend pulled me to where Chris and his friends were because she wanted to sit, rather than stand.

I didn't plan on locking eyes with Chris. I didn't plan on catching him looking at me, and stealing glances at him.

I didn't plan for my girlfriend to whip out her camera, hand it to him and say, "Please, will you take our picture?"

I didn't plan for him to start talking with us and for his friends to jump in.

I didn't plan for his friends to go back to their hotel room and for Chris to join us at the Mix.

I didn't plan on sitting with him for hours and talking about everything.

And I especially didn't plan to become totally captivated with a great guy who lives in 'effing Florida!

Chris is 42. He's a high school principal in Sarasota. He grew up in the Bay Area. He received his first degree at Sac State, then went on to just finish his PhD this week. He plays in a popular Florida indie rock band. He's divorced. He laughs when he talks and he is warm and engaging. He exudes kindness. He loves his family. He's solid.

I think.

I spent several fleeting hours with him but I knew I wanted more.

Apparently, he did too, because the next day his text said: "You are amazing. Can I see you again?"

Problem was, he was headed out of town to a memorial service and then would be flying back to Florida immediately.

We've kept in touch over the past month, mainly via text and email. He defends his dissertation on Wednesday. His family is flying in to celebrate. His band is playing a big gig. He is busy.

He called me last week, though, and we talked non-stop. At the end of the conversation, he asked if we could get together this summer. My only time without Ben is at the end of July, right in the middle of the time when he has a commitment with the high school. He offered to come here, but for once, I have the more flexible schedule.

So, I am going there. He made the arrangements this weekend. Four nights at the Ritz Carlton in Sarasota.

I googled the Rtiz.

HOLY SHIT.

He has to work part of the time so I'll have to entertain myself at the beach/pool club.

WOW.

He emailed me tonight to find out what I like to eat, what I like to drink, what music I like.

He said he would take care of everything, all the details, so that I could have fun and relax.

I am reminding myself to exhale.

I am also under no grand illusion that this could have a story book ending. Knowing me, the ending will be something like a long, tearful plane ride home. With a layover in Denver, where I cry my eyes out in the bathroom.

Or as my best friend said, "You'll start crying two days in when you realize how terrific this guy is and how logistically impossible it all is."

Of course she's right.

But I have to go.

I have to.

I never know what the right answers are, in terms of dating. And as far-fetched as this trip is, in some ways, it's comforting.

I have a place to stay, in his hometown. He has work to do, so I don't have to be on 'high alert' the whole time. The hotel and the beach are totally conducive to distraction-free, 'getting to know you' kind of activities. We can swim and have fruity cocktails. He can show me Sarasota. I can bring my computer, a stack of books and my MP3 player.

So, it's the big countdown.

I'm trying to use this time to prepare emotionally for any outcome. It's the only way that I can go in with a clear heart. And no expectations.

Expect to maybe have even more fun with the sweet guy who loves what he does and who has a soft way about him; a way that drew me in from the moment I sat down on the bar stool.

It's a long way to Florida. It's a long way to go meet someone I've known for all of a few hours. It's a long shot.

I know.

Intention

2010-06-25T20:55:00.000-07:00

I'm all about intentions at this point in my life. I have a lot of them.

The thing about intentions is that you can't let them swirl about. A good intention should have a place, a home, some careful consideration. Maybe some nurturing, too.

Lately, I'm finding that I'm looking at my intentions ever so carefully. And when I put them "out there" - as it's so popular to say - I'm scrutinizing what comes back to me.

It's been a little weird. I can't possibly ignore this: I'm bombarded in one area.

There's a trip to New York - all expenses paid - in an amazing, 3 bedroom TriBeca loft.

There's an adorable guy in Southern California. All I know is that his name is Ray and he's probably going to be my Facebook friend soon. No, he's not an online hook-up.

There's a Midwest rendezvous with someone I hardly know, but he's someone I'd very much like to know better.

Curious?

ME TOO.

I spent the day mulling over these possibilities in my head. And meanwhile:

Text notification beeped: "Please come to NY! I'll pay for you to fly home early. Please just say you'll come!"

My client arrived: "Look at these pictures! He's the nicest guy ever! And he wants to meet you."

I sent an email: "Rendezvous? Really? Is this a good idea?"

So while the details of all the above take flight in their ever-constant dance of "yes, no, maybe, i-don't-know," I've found it best to leave that situation alone (and it is only a situation right now; absolutely no intent has been formed) and move on to something I can really wrap my heart around.

Work.
Passion.
Writing.

It's been on my brain for way too long. This writing life that I have is superb, but it needs to be more. There's a voice, there's a beckoning: "Janeen, wake up and write." And I can't ignore it any longer.

So I chased down the intention this week. I grabbed it by its unruly neck and I pulled it in. I held it close and I asked it for clarity. I asked it for feedback. I asked if for manifestation.

And it appeared.

Freelance.

I put out some calls, sent off an email. Asked God, the Universe, the Intention Master to speak. Guide me. Direct me. Show me.

Tonight, in my Inbox, there it was. A reply email from the owner of a freelance journalism firm.

He asked: "Fitness, travel, food, wellness?"

YES, YES, YES, and YES!

He went on: "Long features or short?"

YES and YES, PLEASE!

We are going to talk next week.

I'm learning how to play the game of Intentions. I'm learning more every day. I'm starting to think that I might even play so well that I may begin to win. Somehow, keeping that mindset helps me to believe that as exciting as NYC might be, as nice as a new Facebook friend could be, or as amazing as a Midwest meet-up would be, none may even occur.

It's all about intention, right? And maybe, just maybe, none of those are intended for me.

But the phone interview next week? That's all mine!

Really?

2010-06-19T23:11:00.000-07:00

I just got home. Saturday night, 11:00om. I need to sleep. My thyroid meds have me all hopped up, at all the wrong hours. But I'm not at peace; not even in the least bit and the unsettled emotions that are with me now are huge; bigger than normal, larger than life.

Against my better judgment, I went to my client's "Divorce Party" tonight. After several hours of revelry, I slipped out at 10:15pm and cried all the way back to my house.

When did I turn the corner and become an adult? A complicated, layered adult with much regard for consequences?

I think it may have happened right in the middle of that tiny, cramped Midtown apartment.

About 25 people gathered tonight to toast and celebrate my client's boyfriend. He is divorced. Officially. Per the State of California, Family Law Court.

Hear, hear. Clink, clink.

I am so happy for you?

I didn't know that such a thing existed: a divorce party. I didn't know that friends would gather and say things like, "I'm gonna get married and divorced just so I can have a party like this!" I didn't know that party go-ers would sneak downstairs and decorate the newly divorcee's car just as they would a newlywed's car. Can you picture it? "Just divorced!"

I didn't go downstairs to see it so I can't write about the details of the car. I was finding my way toward the exit, at that point.

Did I mention that there is a 5-year-old child involved?

Yeah, that brings it a whole lot closer to home. Doesn't it?

Divorce isn't happy; it's tragic. I don't care what the circumstances are, who is at fault. It' devastating. It's not a reason to celebrate.

Children of divorce KNOW that something is different about their situation. They start school. They see nuclear, traditional families. They ask questions. You can't celebrate their uncertainties, their insecurities, their wishes for things to be different.

Friends and family members suffer in divorces. Friendships are severed, family traditions are discarded, in-laws who were once treasured as "real" moms, sisters, brothers, dads are cut out. You can't celebrate the sadness of losing important people.

I could say so much more right now, but I can't.

I can't because I stood in a room full of 30-somethings and I raised a glass of nice champagne after the divorcee made his speech. I forced a wide smile. I clinked the glasses of those around me. I made the appearance that I was happy for my friend, who now joins the horrific divorce statistic.

And then I quietly went to the kitchen, poured my drink out, found my keys, made up excuses, said my goodbyes, walked the long blocks to my car and promptly fell apart.

When the State of California stamped my divorce decree, I cried for days. I cried for Ben, I cried for Kevin, I cried for my parents, I cried for myself.

I still cry.

Before God, I took a vow to love Kevin and to be with him "until death do us part." Kevin couldn't do that part, but I could. I fought for it. I believed in it. I prayed for it.

But it wasn't enough.

Gathering my friends together, pouring champagne and celebrating the demise of my marriage was something I could never fathom.

Ever.

How could I explain such an event to Ben someday? Or to my mother, now?

I will always grieve the loss of my marriage, even if I am lucky enough to be happily married again one day. People were hurt, relationships were destroyed, trust was sabotaged. I don't know how you raise a glass and make those things go away. I don't think those things can ever go away. There is forgiveness, yes. But it is so very hard to forget.

Especially when you have the sweet face of a child looking up at you for answers.

When I came in the door earlier, I put down my keys, stripped off my clothes and went to the shower as quickly as I could. I scrubbed off all the physical remnants of the party: spilled drinks, cigarette smoke, marijuana. And I tried to get the emotional yuck off too: the tasteless comments, the nasty remarks about an ex I never knew, the dismay that anyone could ever be so fucking happy about the demise of a marriage.

For someone who sincerely wants to be married again, I don't think that this was a good place to be on a Saturday night. Or any other night, for that matter.

But I learned so much in such a short time.

I am reminded that marriage is sacred. I am committed to honoring the act of marriage and not ever cheapening it with lewd remarks and inappropriate decisions. I am more of a believer in marriage than I ever was before. I have more faith in good marriages, and more hope for those marriages that need it.

I am in celebration of marriage.

And I am really, really sad for the room of people tonight who just don't get it.

Rollercoaster

2010-06-14T20:37:00.001-07:00

I am feeling immensely grateful for better physical health. There, I said it. Now I can write about the state of my heart without feeling like I'm being ungrateful for the great improvements that I've made physically.

This weekend, I "graduated" my son from Kindergarten. I developed a major crush on a guy; let's call it unrequited love for now. I had a fall-out with a female friend. I went to a party at my ex-husband's house and despite his girlfriend being in attendance, was accosted by several friends and ex in-laws who felt the overwhelming need to convince me that we (the ex and I) should get back together. I cut my carb intake to just a couple lettuce leaves, a few tomatoes, some avocado and straight Vodka. I said goodbye to Ben for a week.

Can you say "train wreck?"

I held it back until yesterday - Sunday - afternoon, then the dam of emotions broke and the river of tears hasn't stopped.

It started with Ben's little footsteps on the wood floors on Friday morning. Tears before breakfast. Yay. Graduation itself wasn't so bad, but he was getting sick and Kevin wasn't being attentive and I wanted to just wrap Ben up in all my motherly compassion and take care of him.

But I couldn't because it was Kevin's damn day.

Going out on Friday night seemed to be the perfect solution especially since I haven't been out in so long. But it wasn't because I found a guy, in a bar, or rather, he found me. Actually, we just found each other. I liked him. A lot. I got to know him and then he went home. To fucking Florida. Just my luck.

The girlfriend and I had a difference in opinion over said guy. Why can't female friends just be supportive? Why is male attention a bad thing when you're a single mom? It's not like Ben was sitting on the bar stool next to us. And he bought her drinks. I don't understand.

My ex's party was a mess. From my perspective, at least. Kevin so wanted my mom and me there. We went, even though it was a party with his people: his girlfriend, her friends, my ex in-laws, etc. I got there and my mother-in-law (ex, that is) barrels into me, sloshed, and says, "I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! I MISS YOU SO MUCH! EVERYONE MISSES YOU! DON'T YOU STILL LOVE KEVIN???"

Hello to you too.

Same conversation occurs over and over among friends and family members. "We know he left you, Janeen, but he would do anything to get you back."

At one point, I had to say, "Lower your damn voice. His girlfriend is RIGHT THERE, for God's sake!"

Such a heavy heart that night. As if "getting back together" was so easy. AS. IF.

Then, a text from my bar friend: "Fly out for some Florida fun!"

What is wrong with men today??? Pick up the damn phone and invite me to your state properly. Not that I'd go, mind you, I'm not exactly looking for a Florida "hook-up."

Lastly, the diet. Adjusting to 20 net carbs a day is hard work. There are 20 carbs in an apple. A big apple!

I did my first kytone test this morning and results were right on. Which means my body is where it's supposed to be except that the major dip in serotonin is probably contributing to the waterworks event here.

And finally, because I forgot this little tidbit, I got invited to a Divorce Party. Yes, you read that correctly: A DIVORCE PARTY. So-and-so is splitting from so-and-so and the invitation read: "Let's fucking celebrate!!"

To which I can only say, "What-the-fuck-over?"

The saving grace was a phone call to my sister and the text that she sent after we hung up. I have to write this so that I can come back and read it and read it and read it and read it...

I'm so glad that you called me today and that you share your life with me in vulnerable ways. I will keep your secrets for you. You are dazzlingly beautiful inside and out. You are of infinite worth. I see you as a light that fills every space you are and lingers long after you are gone. I look forward to your visits like you're somebody famous I've won a lunch date with, and I don't want to live in a world without you. I love you, Jan and you'll always be my hero, no matter what.

After a weekend like this, I feel so very compartmentalized and even marginalized as this life that I live dips and soars and crashes and glides. But to have my sister on my side, to know that she holds the big net for when I tumble, to have the assurance that compassion will always win over judgment in her book is so priceless in my world of unknowns.

Thank you, Alisa. I love you too.

And the house is officially out of klee-nex.

Crack

2010-06-02T10:44:00.000-07:00

I think I've gone beyond the energy surge to "just straight up mania."

Welcome to life on thyroxine.

One day you're lower than low, the next, you're higher than a kite.

The club manager took me aside yesterday. "Are you ok?" she asked. I guess my barrage of chitchat and shaky hands were a dead giveaway to the fact that I was flying high.

That, and the fact that I can't sleep.

My doctor called late last night (BLESS HER A MILLION TIMES OVER!).

Turns out, I can't back off the medication until my lab work is completed. The doctor doesn't want to give up the progress we've made and said that a therapeutic dose can take awhile for the body to get used to.

Maybe now is a good time to take up marathon training.

The energy is great. But feeling like I'm going to have a heart attack? Not so much.

Nevertheless, I'm glad to be venturing back to my old self. I've definitely had glimpses of that life in the last couple of days and I like it. A lot.

And like every well traveled road, the journey back will inevitably involve a lot of twists, turns and detours. Would I have it any other way? I don't think so.

Revised

2010-05-31T13:15:00.001-07:00

Let's change the date on the last post to read: 5/29/10.

Yep, that's the official day that I climbed out of the pituitary/thyroid/endocrine hole. And I didn't just climb, I pretty much leaped out of the hole, true to form of my "old self."

It started with 45 minutes of cardio on Saturday morning. Early Saturday morning. Continuing on to supervising a mini golf play date with Ben and his favorite girl from class. Then on to the back yard and a major planting project. I pretty much fell into bed on Saturday night, but not before I realized that I gone a whole day without my heating pad and without having dizzy spells.

Then Sunday put Saturday to shame. 90 minutes of exercise. An hour of house cleaning. A drive to my sister's. Another drive to the South Bay for a dinner date. A late dinner date.

I thought I'd be trashed by this morning. I had about four hours of sleep last night. But I had it in my mind that I needed to quantify how much better I was and there was only one way to do it: get my butt to the nearest yoga class.

My beloved yoga has taken such a backseat to this whole endocrine mess. "You can't do yoga until your blood pressure comes up." Every doctor has told me this.

I don't know where my blood pressure was this morning, but after a double dose of Peet's, I was feeling optimistic. And more than a little hyped up.

So I found a class near my sister's. A 90 minute class. 90 minutes turned into 120 and as luck would have it, it was an arm balance practice! While the rest of the class practiced hand stands, forearm balances and side crows, I let myself sink into child's pose.

It was great. Not the class, itself. Unremarkable, at best, from an instructional standpoint, but it was just what I needed to convince myself that I am officially on the road back.

Several people have asked me this weekend, "Is it the medication? Or the diet? Or the supplements?" I wish I knew. But I'm not questioning any of it.

A little Western medicine, a few Eastern tweaks and a whole lot of flax = the prescription to ending my 30s on a healthy and high note. Did I mention how grateful I am?

7/4/10

2010-05-18T19:32:00.001-07:00

Doctor appointment this morning. Blood pressure down. Weight up. Major frustration.

"WHEN AM I GOING TO FEEL BETTER???"

"Fourth of July," the doctor said. "Plan to put everything on hold until then."

How do you put parenting on hold? Clients certainly don't go on hold. Life - as it is in my world - does not just go "on hold."

So I booked a week long trip to Lego Land with Ben. In August.

And an appointment with a nutritionist. Tomorrow.

Little League and school both wrap up in the next month with all the requisite fanfare.

On hold? Not while I'm living this life.

Awgock

2010-05-10T19:48:00.000-07:00

When Ben was a baby, he used to say "awgock" for "all gone" or "all done." We still say it.

The MRI is awgok.

Sunday came with high anxiety in the house. I lashed out at my mother. Several times. I hauled Ben off to a friend's house because it was raining and I didn't know what else to do. I took my low octane Valium and waited. Nothing happened. My mom and Ben waited with me at the MRI center. The technician was running 30 minutes late. I asked the receptionist if I had time to get a drink. Ben, my mom and I ran down J Street, looking for an open restaurant. Nada. I ended up in AM/PM, with a six-pack of wine coolers, a large Slurpee cup and a long straw.

Two wine coolers later, I was calm enough to slide into the teeny tiny MRI space. I emerged thirty minutes later for a quick sip of wine cooler and a quick injection of iodine. Then back in for another thirty.

I quizzed the technician when she brought me out. I worked every possible angle. She gave away nothing, except for a huge envelope of slides - dozens of pictures of my brain.

There is a certain sense of peace and calm once every test has been completed. Now it's up to the specialists. My role is in this is awgock.

MRIday

2010-05-08T09:00:00.000-07:00

Ben has a cute book that goes something like this:

Sunday, Funday
Monday, Runday

...and I can't remember the rest.

Anyway, around here this Sunday is being called "MRIday," even though it's Mother's Day.

I actually don't mind a bit. I celebrated Mother's Day with Ben in his classroom on Friday and I couldn't have asked for a sweeter experience. After several years of skipping Mother's Day activities in the classroom due to my busy work mornings, I decided that this was the year to go. After all, I justified, Mother's Day brunches in the classroom won't happen every school year. And I'm so glad that I went.

I'm relieved that the in depth look at my pituitary gland is finally happening, especially after taking more and more medication over the last couple of weeks, which clearly isn't making the symptoms any better.

My health insurance plan is a very pricey PPO. I cringe every month when I pay the premium and I cringe again when I deposit an ungodly amount of money into my Health Savings Account for the yearly deductible. Lately, though, I've been feeling pretty content with the decision I made a couple of years ago to spend a little extra on the comprehensive and self-directed plan that I have. My doctor said it best: "There are a lot of MRI machines in this town. Getting the approval to go into a machine is the biggest challenge." My nurse clients are still amazed that I'm not in an insurance queue, waiting even longer.

So, finally, Sunday - "MRIday" - will be here and I'll have the answers that I need to move forward and re-capture some semblance of life. Life as I used to know it.

Sleepless

2010-04-28T05:46:00.000-07:00

one hour until i meet with my endocrinologist. if i'm not nervous (and i truly don't feel like i am), then why have i been up all night? and who schedules patients at 6:45am? i guess i'm relieved that my doctor is a workaholic.

today has the potential for being a really sleepy day. i can already tell.

Traumatized

2010-04-24T20:49:00.000-07:00

There are things that you don't want to do in front of your 6-year-old child OR your 66-year-old mother. Things that might be embarrassing or inappropriate or anything that might be in the least bit frightening. Needless to say, after this morning's incident, both of my roommates - my young son and my mature mother - are both keenly aware that something is not quite right with me. And perhaps a bit scared, too.

I was in the kitchen, drinking coffee when it hit. "It" is a sharp pain, almost a spasm in my low abdominal area. "It" feels like childbirth. Times twenty. "It" strikes without warning. "It" takes my breathe away; makes me see stars. "It" is unlike anything I've ever felt before. "It" brings me to my knees. Today "It" brought me to the floor. With a blood-curdling scream.

Ben looked up from Tom and Jerrry. My mom rushed in from the front room.

I tried to speak - to say anything - that would articulate what "It" was doing to me. But there were no words.

There was one thing I knew to do and that was to push back into Child's Pose and breathe like I teach: sloooowwwwwlllllllyyyyyy.

"It" started to go away. I got up off the floor. I think that the impact of the event hit my mother harder than it hit Ben. He eventually went back to Tom and Jerry but she didn't go anywhere.

I explained to her - as best that I could - that T3 and T4 hormones are your "fire" or your "agni," as we call it in yoga. T3 and T4 get you out of bed in the morning, they tell your metabolism to start its daily burn, these are the hormones that prompt your body to digest each meal, each snack, each stolen piece of chocolate and to move fluids through, as well. This power of this dynamic duo cannot be under-estimated. I read that when low levels of T3 and T4 go untreated, that major feelings of apathy, depression and even psychosis start to emerge.

"It" is one of the really ugly parts of having no digestion to speak of. The littlest thing can set my system off and "It" comes out, showing his ugly, demonic self. I'm lucky that so far, each episode has occurred in my own home.

Lest you think that I am shedding pounds and pounds of weight with all this going on, let me say that I could go on a water only diet and still gain several pounds a week, at this point. I went through the disappointment and the being so-pissed-that-I-threw-a-few-things-at-my-bedroom-wall-while-trying-to-get-dressed-phase and now I'm much more at peace with it. I'm even pretty zen. I have a ton of clothes a la Crossroads and my friend, Michelle's Swap event, that I could care less about what's fitting and what isn't. Seems there are bigger things to worry about.

Like not letting "It" come around when Ben and my mom are here. No doubt, I've totally freaked my mom out but I think I've saved Ben. For the moment.

Stay the fuck away, "It." Or at least don't come back until Ben is in school and preferably when my mother is out shopping. That's all I ask.

Curveball

2010-04-17T20:51:00.000-07:00

I am convinced that God is intent on priming me, in this year - the last year of my 30th decade - to be fully self-actualized for my 40s. Why else would there be so many damn challenges thrown my way in such a short amount of time?

I take such enormous pride in my health, I really do. Some people might call it a compulsion, I call it a passion. Simply put, being healthy is the biggest priority for me. Because if I'm not healthy, then how can I take care of my son? How can I make money to sustain our home and our basic needs? How can I be a caring daughter? A reliable friend? A loving sister? A consistent mentor? I can't do any of these; not without my health.

So it was very disappointing to watch - almost like an observer outside of my body - my entire sense of being go through a major shut down in the month of March. It was actually a slow descent; one that I didn't fully realize until I noticed that my clothes weren't fitting, that my legs appeared puffy and bloated, that I couldn't warm up even despite having a heavy down jacket on all the time, that my nose kept draining this funny clear fluid, that I wanted to lie on my bed for absurd amounts of time during daytime hours, that a stroll on the treadmill felt like a death march up Half Dome, that my life seemed to be slipping by in a hazy, hazy fog.

On March 1st, I started a daily preventative medicine for my migraines. By the end of March, I had convinced myself that the meds were to blame and I tossed the bottle. But I didn't feel any better. If it all possible, I felt worse.

I called up my doctor. "You need to do some blood work," I told her. "NOW." Then I took five days off. I figured that I needed a little rest; some downtime.

My doctor is so great; she called me at 8:30pm the night that I had done my labs. I was in the middle of TJ Maxx, looking for yoga pants, size Large, thankyouverymuch. Sigh.

"Well, dear, I think I see the problem but I don't know what to do so you need to see a specialist." The "problem" was my thyroid. Sort of. On paper, my thyroid looks great. Perfectly normal. The issue lies in the hormones that the thyroid produces: T3 and T4. Those levels were (are) not good. In fact, that lab flagged each because they were so low. "I can't treat you for low thyroid," she said, "because your thyroid is fine. But your levels aren't. And that concerns me."

It concerned me too. So much, in fact, that I pulled up the online database of endocrinologists in my network and started to make phone calls. Do you know how hard it is to see an endocrinologist without a referral? Extremely. Fortunately, as my doctor would later put it: "I had an angel on my shoulder that day."

Indeed I did, because not only did I get in to see one of the most reputable endocrinologists in town, he agreed to see me the very next morning at 7:30am.

Dr. C looked at my labs and spent an hour examining me. He spent very little time on my thyroid and more time on my head and vision. He asked a lot of questions about my headaches. He promised to tell me what he was thinking at the end of the exam. I tried not to freak out.

At the end, he told me that he believed that I have a pituitary tumor. I didn't freak out. He told me about the surgery. About the treatment. I still didn't freak out. We agreed that I would have the lab work completely re-done, that an ultrasound of the thyroid would rule out its role in this whole situation and that a MRI would show exactly what is happening in the pituitary gland.

Because something is, happening, that is. According to Dr. C, when the thyroid numbers are inconsistent like mine, then it is likely that the pituitary gland and the thyroid aren't communicating. They're not even on speaking terms. The body can't regulate digestion, temperature - but it can produce a whole of ambivalence and fatigue.

So I haven't freaked out but I have done a lot of reading. And I have been more than a little frustrated with my lack of energy, my fatigue, my clothes that are all too small. More than that, I have shed quite a few tears over the pervasive feeling of my body feeling as if it has checked out of the building. No amount of caffeine could motivate me this week. Even after taking a few days off.

I know that God is in my court and that the Universe is holding me up, even though I feel so deflated. I know this because I'm seeking the answers, I'm turning over every stone, and the resources are coming to me. Quickly. The call back from my initial doctor. The next day appointment with Dr. C. The ultrasound that is happening on Monday. Either the big dollars that I pay for my PPO plan are finally paying off, or the Big Guy above is carefully guiding me to the answers that I'm so desperately looking for.

Today I had lunch with my ex. "Do you think I have a tumor?" I asked him. As if on cue, he reached over and wiped my wet and draining nose. "You have the symptoms," he said. "I feel horrible," I told him. "You look great," he replied. Then he gave me two enormous containers of MiraLax, saying, "I know you need this." Indeed I do - I'm cutting through that stuff like it's candy.

I truly don't have any plans to freak out anytime soon. What I'd like is to feel a little bit better. I know I'm not going to get to the "feeling better" point by freaking out. If I've learned anything in my 39 years on Earth, it's that the more you seek, the more you will (likely) find. Clearly, I have a lot of discovery work to do before I turn 40. I'm not afraid.

Gem

2010-04-08T11:32:00.000-07:00

I have a friend whose friendship is like a beautiful spiritual gift. She's the reason I fell in love with yoga and her radiance as a yogi is awe-inspiring. I can never get enough of her...her teaching, her time, her wisdom, her light, her warmth, her energy.

What I adore most about my friend is that she challenges me to be a better person. She takes the simplest question or thought and turns it into a heart crushing inquiry that echoes into the deepest part of my soul. It's incredible, really it is. This gift that she has.

This latest idea that she imparted last night in her class is a keeper; a beautiful gem of honesty, raw truth and limitless potential:

"See what needs to go in order for you to really feel alive in your life. What can you metaphorically set on fire?"

Who doesn't want to feel more alive? I know I do.

My friend is a gift from God. My heart expands when I'm around her. She taught me how to yoga nine years ago. Now she teaches me how to reach into my spirit. I love her for it.

April

2010-04-04T20:39:00.001-07:00

March Madness. That's what it's going down as. The most maddening month of my adult life, thus far.

Glad it's over. Bring in April.

I should probably just call it "Medicated March" since that's what it essentially was. Thirty-one days of haze.

I have a new sense of respect and empathy for people who have to take medications that fuck with their whole lives, their whole sense of being, their role in civilization.

Last March, incidentally, I had a client who was going through the ringer with her emotions. Post-hysterectomy, she was an absolute mess. Her doctor had her on several drugs to resolve the fluctuating hormones. Her thyroid was whacked, her anxiety was high, yet she was so depressed that she walked into every session with me in complete tears. I didn't understand - I couldn't understand - I thought that much of her misery was psychological. Now I know better.

The meds took four days to clear my own system and I'm just now starting to feel like I'm a bit more connected, more aware, more motivated, more of a person who can handle life's responsibilities in a way that is focused and centered.

Thank you, God.

Now, on to the hard part. Tackling the nine pounds (as of this morning's weigh in) that showed up in March. Removing all migraine "trigger" foods (goodbye, afternoon caffeine and chocolate and evening wine). And, most importantly, reducing the stress that I carry in my head, neck and shoulders (hello, more massages and yoga!).

One of the reasons that I love Easter is because of the symbolism of the resurrection. Not that I'm entirely sure that it happened or at least not in a way that was so grandiose as told by the Bible - but to me, it's all in the message. We are resurrected every day. It's the essence of spring with new life and fresh starts. We can birth a new beginning any way we like; and at any time. Spring isn't my favorite season but it is a time that I always carefully contemplate what needs to be cultivated and re-birthed in my own life.

Last year, it was a relationship. One that was troubling me. I spent Easter Sunday with this person. In fact, we spent the entire weekend together. In honor of our time together, I planted flowers that Easter morning; and I planted the vegetable garden, too. I also planted the seeds for a relationship that could have lasted months beyond that weekend. But it didn't. I remember feeling, at the time, a sense of relief the week after Easter, when it became apparent that this person and I weren't meant to be together into the spring. My tomato plants died. So did my cucumber plants. But the flowers went crazy. The lesson was so simple, yet so beautiful: not everything we tend to will blossom into something new and full of life. Despite our best efforts (and a whole lot of fertilizer and manure!).

So here we go into April. 9 months until my birthday. Enough to literally birth a brand new life. March feels so far behind me now, yet it's only been three days. As I let go of all of the darkness of those thirty-one days, I'm inspired by the light that is beckoning me to move forward into Spring.

Resurrections are my own personal testament in sweet divinity. I love watching them, being a part of them and learning from them. As I dig through my own life and gently cultivate the areas that need to be loved, I wait in quiet anticipation of the flowers that will spring forth.

Happy Easter.

Transitioning

2010-04-02T20:43:00.001-07:00

I'm having to make some decisions regarding my business. Difficult decision that are tearing at my heart, at my spirit and surprisingly, at my ego.

I started teaching yoga as a way to make money. I never thought I'd build a business around this; it was simply a way to make enough money to sustain my son and myself. But now it's become much more. The way I see it, I have two businesses: the business of delicately offering hand-on-hand wellness through my personal studio and the business of traveling around to local gyms to teach to larger groups.

The financial demands have become increasingly more significant as well. It has become all to apparent, recently, that if I want to have an independent life (separate from my live-in mother) and continue to be a homeowner, I have to do something different. It's time to let these jobs morph into a career.

Which is what I've been trying to do for months now. But the late nights are still there, the fatigued days, the added stress of running from this gym to that client to another gym and oh, right, I have to get Ben from school and somehow squeeze in homework and maybe some down time with him before running off to the next gym and client.

It's too much. I feel like I'm holding myself back from moving forward because I'm just simply moving around too much every day.

On a profitability level, this became extremely obvious when my dad and I laid out my W-2s. "Tell me again why you have so many of these," he said. So I did. And next to my own studio income, the earnings from teaching at the clubs seemed paltry. Because they were. And are.

The answer was as clear as day: let the group work go. Concentrate on the profitable side. Save energy for the clients who are paying for it. Save myself before I burn out so much that I can't come back.

Gut-wrenching, this decision has been. Yoga instructors, or any fitness instructors, for that matter, thrive on numbers. A class of 20 is rewarding, a class of 30 is the pinnacle of your yoga teaching career. At least in a city like Sacramento. See, we don't get much in the way of career feedback in this business. I know I'm doing well when people show up; when they keep coming.

So much of my ego is tied to this decision and if I tell my ego to shut the hell up - just for a second - then I can see so much more clearly. Which is what I'm trying to do. Until...

I realized one evening this week, as I reflected on my day, that I had taught yoga to 55 people that day. 55 people.

I made a deal with myself. I'm keeping my biggest class. My favorite class. The class that gathers together early, the same class where it's a huge chat-fest and I can hardly get everyone's attention to get going because of all the talking. The class where I get at least a couple of hugs. The place where I started: three years ago with just nine people. Now we're up to 25.

That feels like a good compromise for now. Maybe someday there will be an opportunity to bring yoga to people in a way that is profitable for me but for now, I'm re-tooling my entire studio business and that's where my energy needs to be going.

As I make yet another transition here, I'm feeling settled. Every decision I've made this year - this pivotal year of being on the cusp of a new decade - has felt spot-on. No regrets. No looking back. Just moving forward on a path that seems to be leading me right where I need to go.

Countdown

2010-03-23T12:30:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be 40 this year. I'm going to be 40 in 40 weeks.

I keep talking about my plans for the end of the year (my birthday is December 27th) and how there will be "40 days of transformation." A lot of yoga. Reading. Meditating. Levitating. Time with friends. Time with family. More yoga.

But what I really want to do is get this whole business of transformation going right now. And it occurred to me yesterday, why can't I? I glanced at the calendar and counted out 40 weeks, which put my little finger just days of ahead of my 40th. It's perfect.

To be clear, I'm not looking for perfection. There are some areas in my life; some very dusty and dark corners that I want to poke into. With some gentle curiosity perhaps. Blow the dirt off, look carefully and find the gleam that I know was once there.

And yes, I could do this at any time in my life. But why not now? Doesn't it make sense to enter a new decade with a cleaner slate? A whiter canvas in which to take all my new-found colors and whirl them wildly and with complete certainty, at a surface that I know is ready for big and bold changes?

I definitely know that I don't want to be this person when I'm 40. The last five years have been my time to react, adapt, push back. I kind of think of my life since 35 as being in the spin cycle of the laundry. You know how a large sweater can twist everything up and cause the whole washer to basically turn inside out on itself? That's how I've felt much of the time.

Just because I'm turning 40 and I'm willing to do a little work in the soul department, I know I'm not entitled to a free ride into the next decade. I know what I have to do is very, very hard. I know that I've made decisions that I'm still feeling the aftereffects from. I know that my biggest challenge, going forward, will be to make decisions that create balance and harmony in my life and to avoid outcomes that make things so off-kilter that I can hardly stand to be in my own skin.

I know. Harsh. Difficult. Not at all appealing.

But so necessary right now. I feel it in my bones. I feel it in my heart. The time is so right; so right now.

Week 1 of 40. Here I am. 40...here I come!

Real

2010-03-19T21:10:00.000-07:00

Mr. Great is not real.

Oh, he's real in the sense that he's a guy with a lot of yucky history who likes to escape his day-to-day world with a nice girl who will indulge his plans for the very very very very short-term future ("Let's meet for dive bar drinks...in 30 minutes...at 11pm!") and ("Napa this weekend, perhaps?") only to toss out Napa for dinner in Sacramento at said girl's favorite restaurant.

But wait, that didn't happen either.

However, there still are the U2 tickets that he promised...

Yeah, right. Who am I kidding?

Bottom line is this is one guy who can't touch into reality for one single second. At least not from what I've seen. And here's how I know.

All week long, I've waited for Mr. Great to step his yogi self up to the plate and say something to the effect of, "Work's a killer. It's busy with the kids. I'm overwhelmed. I'm sorry to keep flaking on you. I'm sorry I haven't called you." Gosh, I would have even taken a measly, little, impersonal text."

Silence. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Meanwhile, my friend who introduced us sent me a message: "How's it going with Mr. Great??" Insert smiley faces. "I haven't heard from either of you..." More smiley faces.

Back to my story.

So all week I'm waiting on Mr. Great to throw me the smallest of bones and to let me know that he's interested and a letter appears in my inbox, yesterday, from a guy that I went on a date with earlier this year. I didn't think that we had any chemistry and I let the communication lapse. He called me on that. He also told me, the in the letter, that he was "real." He used the words "secure," "old fashioned," "values," "integrity." He definitely put himself out there in a way that was very, very real and very, very admirable.

It was a long message and I won't go into the detail but what occurred to me was: I've been waiting for this from Mr. Great. Even some semblance of this. I NEED REAL.

I love a good lesson and I got one this week. Mr. Great can have all the adversity in the world and believe me, he has his share, but it doesn't make him any more real and authentic and honest and forthright than anyone else.

As for my candid date who popped off on the email yesterday, I wrote a long thank-you to him today. I apologized for being less-than-real and for participating in communication that was "less than stellar" by his account.

Interestingly, my best friend and I have almost the same heart-to-heart conversation each day; our constant mantra being "keep it real." She pulls me in when I start to veer from reality; I give her glimpses of what escaping will be like some day for her. We are a wonderful balance that way. I'm grateful for that accountability. I definitely want to be someone who is real especially when it comes to relationships and this week's events were a good reminder of being real and being, for lack of a better word, a coward.

IDK

2010-03-14T20:13:00.000-07:00

How much slack do you give to a guy who keeps flaking? How much slack to you give to a guy who has a late wife, a blind daughter, a pre-teen daughter, a time-consuming job and a life that looks its turning inside out on itself each day?

I want to give Mr. Great the benefit of the doubt; I really, really do. But he's making it so damn hard.

He never showed up for yoga this week. Too tired from work. He checked in at the end of the week to see if we could get together on Saturday. I got ready on Saturday night, only to get a call at the VERY last minute. He carried on two conversations: one with me, one with his younger daughter. He'd been working all day, despite the fact that it was Saturday, and his daughter had just arrived at home, obviously very much in need of some attention from her dad. I told him to go give her that; that we could connect another time. Not a big deal.

Except that it is. A big deal. And I'm tired of waiting on him to throw me just the teeniest little bone.

His friend, our friend, the woman who introduced us, sent me a text this weekend: "He genuinely likes you..."

I don't feel liked right now. I don't know how much benefit of the doubt you should extend to someone - regardless of their circumstances - but I do know that when it starts to feel like you're the only one holding the space, maintaining the hope and generally keeping the interest alive, it's probably time to cut your losses (which, thankfully, are very few) and move the hell on!

Un-stuck

2010-03-10T12:37:00.000-08:00

I'm stuck. In several different ways. So I'm going to use this post, today, to try and un-stick, unravel, and generally undo the some of the not-so-great patterns that I've found myself falling into as of late.

To start with, I'm not sleeping. At all and despite enough medication to knock out all of Carmichael and parts of Fair Oaks. Last night, I never fell asleep. Not for one minute. I watched the clock with every passing hour, knowing full well that I was going to be a really unhappy camper today. Which I was. Am. I gotta get some good rest. SOON. I "SOS-ed" my sleep doctor for help. But I really think that I need to "SOS" something on my cognitive level that's keeping me from getting decent rest.

I might not be sleeping well because I've developed some bad habits around my bedtime which is not good for someone with a delicate sleep constitution like mine. But I wrestle with this one because how can I have a fun, healthy social life when I have to be in bed at 9pm taking deep, full breaths and letting go of the day? Twice this week, I went out for drinks instead. And dearly paid the price.

I was doing SOOOOO well on curbing the emotional eating. Then I had a little backslide. Then a bigger one. And a couple more. But I'm trying to cut myself a little slack on this one because overall, it's much better and I know that this will be my torch to carry for the rest of my life. There has to be some forgiveness in the accountability. Otherwise, I'd be miserable all the time. I'm working on that. It's a definite work in progress.

My Mr. Great caused some serious cuticle chewing on my part this week. So I decided to set him free. On our fifth date last night, as he was telling me about how he's "scared" because he "likes me a lot" (I'm using quotes here because aren't these such typical sentences for a male???), I surprised myself by saying, "Well, that's YOUR issue. I can't help you with that one. I guess you have your own choices to make relative to this." That was that. I didn't tell him why he should like me. I also didn't go home with him when he asked. Why would I? I know I like him. I know I like him a lot. But I'm not going to invest any more energy and subject my cuticles to more chewing until there is a little more assurance from him. I don't think that's too much to ask for.

I've hit the highlights of this mountain of stuff that seems to be sitting directly on my shoulders right now. It's kind of amazing how when I write it out like this, I can start to feel - and to see - that it's quite possible to find a little peace even in the midst of fatigue and uncertainty. I'm already feeling the lessening of the physical effects of a sleepless night and the boost of a day with purpose and I know I can shore up what I need to - in terms of energy - to see myself and my family through to the end of today. For now, that's all I need.

WTF

2010-03-08T19:27:00.000-08:00

I can't think of a better title for this post.

Dating after the age of 35. Dating as a single parent. Dating single guys with kids. It can all spell disaster, despite how you add it up.

I'm about to drag out my old copy of "The Rules" for a quick refresher on how to do this. Or add "He's Just Not That Into You" to my Netflix queue so that I can give myself a painful reality check. Or swear off dating for good. Wait, I already did the third and it didn't do me any good because so-and-so thought that I'd be great with Mr. Great even though I was in dating exile. That's how she and every other person I talked with describe him, "Oh, Janeen. He's SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO great!"

Really? Because this, this moment, as in, RIGHT NOW doesn't feel so great. I mean, there's been a glimpse of greatness - here and there - and those times are beyond great. But then I get pulled back and I have to be very honest and real with myself over whether or not Mr. Great is ready to be great with me.

My friend said today, "This isn't about you. You ARE great. If anything, most guys fall for you too quickly. They know the real deal when they see it. This is about HIM."

It felt better to look at it like that. In the meantime, can two canceled dates be salvaged by tomorrow? 7pm Tuesday. Third time is a charm. Or three strikes, you're out. Which way will it be, Mr. Great?

Admitting

2010-03-05T21:04:00.000-08:00

When Ben's gone, I miss him terribly. When he's here, there are times when I'm counting the minutes until his dad comes and gets him. Like now.

He has been with me since last Friday. Kevin's been in Maui. Ben came down with pneumonia last weekend and missed school for half of the week. His nights were filled with feverish discomfort and coughing fits that were so intense that he gagged. Good times.

The ER doctor suggested a new, more potent round of antibiotics this time around which I readily agreed to. The upside is that the bacteria was gone in record time, as was the temperature. The downside was that my son turned into Lucifer and has been a complete shit since the meds hit his system.

Once Ben began to feel better, he took full liberty to unleash his nasty, medication induced behavior on everyone. He pushed his pizza across the table and screamed for a full 30 minutes about how awful it was and that he would never touch it again. He called me in the bathroom to clean up and waited behind the door, only to slam it into me. He unbuckled his seatbelt in the car, while we were on the freeway, and then taunted me with how far he could pull the strap. He passed by the television that my mom was watching, backed up, paused and then slammed his fist into it.

What. The. Fuck. This is not my child.

Kevin finally crawled out from whatever pukka shell he's been hiding under to let me know that he's home from Maui and indeed, all ready for Ben on Sunday.

We have more one more day. Fortunately, we're going on a road trip to my dad's and there will be lots of Nintendo time, while Ben fantasizes about all the great toys that Grandpa will buy him. And by this time tomorrow, I'll be one day closer to my much anticipated and way overdue day of rest.

Steady

2010-03-02T13:33:00.000-08:00

Life has been anything but centered lately. Chalk it all up to lack of sleep and sheer exhaustion.

Ben's jet lag segued into a cold which escalated to pneumonia and landed us in Urgent Care on a beautiful Sunday morning. Last night was the first night that he's slept a full night with me since his return from Italy.

I had my own sick day on Monday. I was tired beyond belief and I think my body did the ultimate shut-down. I missed a day of work and a day of life in general, since I didn't leave my bedroom.

I'm really trying to stay peaceful and as balanced as I can, despite having a sick child and an absentee ex (he's in Maui).

It's interesting. I'm continuing to spend time in quiet reflection, letting the answers to my many questions come as they will. And they are; coming, that is. Such perfect clarity on so many things that I was so unclear about.

I can't say that my entire life is crystallizing before my eyes but there are parts that are becoming clearer every day and I love that my intuition and my willingness to surrender are finally serving me in ways that I never thought possible.

Impromptu

2010-02-25T23:38:00.000-08:00

I've been reclusive lately. Not my choice. Just listening to the Universe and trying to follow the 'master plan.'

Deepak Chopra and his words of wisdom regarding silence have been resonating strongly and I've been following the inner voice that's telling me to lay low, be quiet, wait for direction.

And now that I've gotten all zen here, let me break the spell by saying that I got up this morning expecting to work, grocery shop, clean house, write, meditate and kill a few brain cells on "Californication."

It didn't quite work out that way.

Because Nancy called and said she wanted to go to yoga. And a message popped up on Facebook from the studio owner saying that she had a guy she wanted me to meet. And then we all showed up to yoga and four of us went out after for dinner and two of us went out after that for drinks and now I'm attempting to log out my day - at nearly midnight - and I'm completely taken aback by life's opportunities and chance encounters.

I met someone really interesting tonight. A profoundly spiritual person who has suffered more loss than I could ever imagine. In the short course of just four hours, I learned a great deal. I gained a clearer appreciation of the situations in which we are presented and how each is a lesson. I laughed quite a lot. I made a new friend. One that I'm sure is worth more than just another "Wall" on Facebook.

Layers

2010-02-23T19:23:00.000-08:00

The thing with divorce is that it creates tangled, sticky messes of seemingly everyday life. For a long, long time.

My ex and I cannot cut the ties of our relationship. The main tie - being Ben - is almost the easiest to manage, at this point. I never thought I'd say that. Co-parenting with Kevin, regardless of trips to Italy during the school year and inconsistent bedtime routines, is much simpler than the financial and emotional ties that we share.

In the span of two short weeks, we have spiraled into yet another vortex of raw emotion, fueled by financial commitments to one another and unresolved sadness.

It would have been a much more successful divorce had we both absolved the other of financial responsibilities and waved a magic wand of forgiveness.

But we didn't do either and now we are stuck between between two layers of one messy cake.

And right in the middle is me watching Ben lunge for Kevin's girlfriend and want to cuddle with her, Kevin sending middle of the night emails from Italy with regrets and "what ifs", the prospect of Kevin's girlfriend moving in with him (and Ben), mortgages that are stuck because we're both still intertwined in the details, Ben asking why I can't go on vacations with him and Kevin when "there are three seats across in the airplane; one for you too, Mommy."

The situation at hand is immobilizing but I think that it's supposed to be. I've always thought that when you don't know what to do, making at least one decision can help you find your way. But not in this case. My heart, my gut, everything is telling me to pause. To sit still. To wait. Because something will unfold.

Homecoming

2010-02-19T20:59:00.001-08:00

Ben is home.

He was here when I got off work tonight, all plunked out on the couch looking hungover and sick. Of course he's NOT hungover (unless his dad's teaching him how to party like a rock star at age 6) and I highly doubt that he is sick (yet). The boy has a nasty case of jet lag.

He could barely raise his eyes to look at me when I walked in. Eyelids were half-mast and from what I could actually see of his eyes, they were mostly red.

"What did you do to him?" I asked Kevin.

"He's exhausted. He's been up since 4am and we ran around all day today."

Lovely.

Three guesses as to what I'll be doing in the 4am hour.

Nevertheless, I pried Ben off of Molly long enough to smother him in kisses and lock my arms around him, pausing just for a moment to open the gifts that he and Kevin brought for me (Italian beret style hat and olive oil and another TBA gift. hmmmmm.).

Ben was asleep within seconds of hitting the pillow and I can hear his rhythmic breaths from the kitchen now. That is one tired kid.

So glad he is home. I'm already feeling less displaced and more like my old "mom" self. It's a good feeling.

Thursday2

2010-02-18T20:29:00.000-08:00

Ben is en route home. I talked to him tonight after he cleared customs and picked up luggage. "Mommy, I miss Molly so much. I can't wait to see the girl. Do you think she missed me? Do you think she'll jump up and down when she sees me? Did she look for me when I was gone? Do you have any new Legos for me?"

And then:

"I didn't really miss you as much as I missed Molly. But Daddy says I get to spend NINE DAYS with you while he goes to Maui next week. NINE DAYS! I'm so excited to spend NINE DAYS with you and Molly!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Well, thank goodness for Molly.

Today, I worked. I have a new, challenging client and an existing, challenging client. They are both on Thursdays. One is limited by her own self-imposed ideas of inflexibility; the other is limited by the fact that she is a total bitch. I came close, in that last sentence to using the "c" word but for now, let's just say that the only "c" word I'm going to use is this: "client."

Anyway.

I forgot to mention that another client - far from a bitch or "c" - came to see me yesterday and she made me cry with her sweetness. I have good people in my business. And in my life.

I had coffee when one of my peeps today. A former student turned friend. She's still a student but has moved in to my close emotional space to share secrets and advice and laughs. She also inspires me. With a serious autoimmune condition, she's followed a diligent eating plan that encompasses protein, vegetables and not a lot else. She has three boys and a rocking yoga body and the purest diet of anyone I know. Living large, in her world, is a teaspoon of agave in her coffee. As I dumped about a half a cup of half and half in my Americano...

After my crying incident yet again in church last week, I felt like I needed to write our Dean a note and tell him how much I appreciate his wisdom. The note turned into an outpouring of emotion and included regrets and sorrow about my failed marriage. Which fit into the context of his message last weekend. It felt good to get a lot of that "muck" out - and direct it toward someone who is way holier than I. Yet, here I am, nearly four years later, wondering about all the love that Kevin and I still hold for each other and how severely we let our marriage go off course and how in the world I can ever make peace with that. I'm glad, at the very least, to be dealing with it in a way that feels appropriate and healthy and even spiritual.

Since speed dating was canceled, I took my refund to Crossroads, which is like the mothership to me. It was fun to spend my last night of "motherhood hiatus" with no time constraints and a little cash to spend.

Ben comes home tomorrow night. I work until 8; my mom will have him ready to go to bed when I get off work. Who knows if he'll actually go down; it could be a long weekend of fighting of Amalfi Coast time. But I'm ready.

Wednesday2

2010-02-17T21:06:00.000-08:00

To mark the one week anniversary of Ben being away I:

Met a good looking guy for a blind lunch date.
Except that "good looking" is a real stretch. But that's what happens when you post a picture that's ten years old.
And "lunch" happened to be in a casino bar. Because he had clients who needed to be entertained. Asian clients who like to gamble.
And I realized that it's good to meet an executive who heads up 400 people at IBM in a large space. Because of his ego and all.

Lessons learned from today:
Do not drink wine at lunch.
Do not drink two glasses of wine at lunch.
Do not drink two glasses of wine at lunch on an empty stomach.
Do insist on a proper lunch before 3pm. Preferably at a restaurant that's NOT in the casino.
Do sub out a 4:30p cycle class.
Do re-schedule evening clients.
Do call in sick to late yoga class.

My speed dating event was canceled for tomorrow night. I'm kinda bummed. But there may be a lesson in that, as well.

Tuesday

2010-02-16T19:59:00.000-08:00

I got nothin' tonight.

Or maybe I do:

I took a new Reformer class.
and cleaned out my shoes.
and trained a new client.
and exercised extreme patience with an existing client.
and told another client, "this ain't no Simon sez game; I said, get into a Plank position now!" (she's a friend; I can talk to her that way and not have her walk out on me!).
and had a little mini photo shoot with another instructor (we're aspiring models for a talent scout looking for new "pilates" faces).
and sat through a parent meeting at Ben's school.
and had exactly six minutes to talk to Ben before the calling card ran out, learning that Ben steered the rental car out of a narrow road on the Amafi Coast. I am not kidding.
and scheduled a lunch date with a VERY HOT GUY for tomorrow.
and stressed about what to wear tomorrow.
and am about to kill off any brain cells I have remaining with the final two episodes of Californication.
and boycotted a shower. again. in honor of my friend, Michelle. and Mother Earth.
and that's it.

Monday

2010-02-15T20:13:00.000-08:00

I'm missing Ben. It's time for him to come home.

They called first thing this morning, having been to Pompei. Ben continued to rave about homemade ravioli and didn't have much to say about the most ancient site in Italy. Figures.

As for me, definite waves of loneliness were pushing and pulling at my emotions all day yesterday and today, as well. I had so much productive time this weekend, and some quiet, spiritual and reflective time, too. But not much in the way of physical interaction unless you count the debate my mom and I got into over green, leafy vegetables. She shuffles around the house so much - in slippers and all - and the energy becomes stagnant. And more stagnant.

Yesterday, I couldn't take it any longer. I texted three friends in desperation. "Please, I need to get O-U-T!" But everyone had plans so I made peace with being at home in the shadow of my mother's existence and that was that.

Today was different. After work, I cleaned another closet and became so disgusted with being at home - with her AND with myself - that I got in my car and drove to see a friend at her work. Which is also my work when I teach classes. Yes, sadly, my big escape was to the club. But she gave me tons of empathy over Ben being gone and a few laughs, too.

I attempted to do some secondhand shopping this afternoon but my heart wasn't in it. I wanted to buy my best friend a pair of boots so once I found those, my mission was completed. My final attempt at connecting was going to my favorite instructor's Reformer class tonight. She killed me.

As I look out to the final stretch of Ben being gone, I'm amazed at how busy my schedule is about to get. New clients, a parent meeting at school, a date, a dating event, coffee with another friend, classes to teach. Maybe it's good that I had this little slice of downtime.

Deepak Chopra writes that the only way we can tap into our inner strength is by being quiet. Very, very quiet. "Silence," he says, "is the best teacher."

Yes, indeed Deepak. That it is.

VDay

2010-02-14T19:34:00.000-08:00

I can now say the most of my home is clutter-free. I spent the better part of today organizing my studio closet, finishing my *new* filing system and finding permanent homes for Ben's projects from school and for all the items that seem to float around my home. I boxed up a ton of Ben's toys. Since he's officially "done" with cars, I had a lot of stuff to pass off. I even framed a few pictures.

It's a great feeling to have physical space cleared. I strongly believe that the state of your home is a metaphor for the state of your life and mine was feeling, well, a little too cluttered for my liking. That is, both my home AND my life. Now my space feels cleaner and my head feels clearer.

Since I was feeling so productive, I knocked out some other tasks too. I colored my hair. I downloaded new music for classes this week. I set up a date and a dating "event" (more on that later this week). I debated the merits of broccoli, spinach and red leaf lettuce with my mom. I watched some Californication (I figured I deserved a little levity...and a break!), I grocery shopped, I picked up more Californication (yes, it is like crack!). I went to yoga, too.

The fact that today was (is) Valentine's Day sort of slipped by me. I spent some time remembering the last two Valentine's Days that I celebrated: last year and the year before and how different they both were - both in the celebration and the men I actually shared the holiday with.

The highlight of my day was talking with Ben first thing this morning. He sounded so happy and almost effervescent with his news of what he had done that day. The call came almost at the same time as a sweet picture of Ben holding a card for me.

My heart ached a little today for Kevin. He's sent me some pretty deep and heavy email messages in the last couple of days. I can tell that he is contemplating regrets and his own disappointments relative to life and love. Maybe he is just now starting to peel back the layers of heartache from our divorce; I don't know.

What I do know is that working through heartbreak is like cleaning out a closet. You have to clear the space. Do the hard work. Tackle the tasks that you don't want to look at. Because sooner or later, it becomes unbearable. And you can't look at it, breathe with it, be with it. No one ever experiences an open heart without doing some work. It just can't happen.

In closing, my yoga instructor reminded me of something that I know to be oh-so-true. "Valentines' Day should be about cultivating relationships with ourselves," she said. "Because what good are we to anyone if we can't be good to ourselves? Go open your own heart before you try and work on someone else's."

Well put. Happy Valentine's Day!

Saturday

2010-02-13T21:18:00.001-08:00

I am surrounded by files. And paper.

When you run a household AND you run a small business, it becomes virtually impossible to maintain a system that works neatly and easily. I am on a mission to find such a system. And after three days of creating tabs and stickies and bundles of receipts, I think I'm closing in on the job.

This morning, I taught two back-to-back group Reformer classes. Gosh, those are hard to teach. Lifeguarding five bodies on five intricate machines, while keeping the energy and the momentum going is a challenge. I didn't exercise at all; yet I was spent when I left the gym.

I then went on a wild goose chase to find a specialized amino acid for myself and a specialized calling card for my ex. I can't sleep and he can't call. My chase took me on a huge loop of Arden Arcade, ending at a salon with the word "Charm" in the name (and full of blond Russian stylists!) to have a little talk therapy session with my BFF and her stylist.

From there, it was a mad dash home to get out of my workout clothes, contemplate a shower, veto the shower, and throw on nice jeans and a sweater for Saturday night services.

Is everyone trying to get me to cry this week?

I love the Dean of our church; he is so young, energetic and candid. He is holy. I bask in his spiritual presence. It is good stuff.

He opened his "message" tonight with a gut-wrenching story of a couple who were together for 25 years. They divorced and lived apart for another 20, then the husband got sick and moved back in with the wife so that she could care for him (neither had ever re-married) and before he died, they were married again by our Dean. I'm leaving out many more details of the story. Suffice to say, the tears were running down my face.

Meanwhile, my own ex is having his own trip down memory lane and I'm getting the all the sentiment via email. Because the calling card is out of minutes. Because he realized how much he screwed up and how good we could have been together. Because it's Valentine's Day tomorrow. Because he visited Capri today; a place that we longed to go to together - a place that was depicted in the first piece of art we purchased together. Because it's just that kind of week.

I killed a few brain cells by watching several episodes of "Californication." I could have killed more by going out with my friends who are out celebrating Second Saturday right now but I just didn't have the energy.

It's 6am in Italy and Ben is headed to Pompei with Kevin. Hopefully whatever glitch is connected with the transfer of my email messages will resolve overnight and Kevin will be able to retrieve the calling card info. I'd love to talk to Ben on Valentine's Day - that's all I need.

Friday

2010-02-12T20:30:00.000-08:00

Ben is safe in Italy. Kevin is sending me emails, saying how much he wants me to be in Capri with them. Ugh. I'm happy that Ben is having a good time, eating gelato and pizza and yelling, "Ciao!" to all the vendors on the street. But I don't wish that I was there.

After a bumpy first part of the day and with much support from my clients and my friends, I pulled it together and really attacked all those freakin' files. I stepped in - last minute - and subbed a class at Capital tonight. One of the 'regulars' there said, "You look like you've been crying, Janeen." And damn it if I didn't get weepy again!

The high point of the day was getting the Valentine from my dad. I was seriously shocked; never before have I received anything from my dad with such great sentiment. Normally, if he gets a card, there's some lewd joke or a funny reference to parenting. And I know that his wife didn't pick it out; she just doesn't do that. The cash was nice, too.

My dad and I talked early this morning - at about 6am - and he was attempting to help me through the uncertainty of not hearing from - as he calls them - "the boys." He touched in several times during the day and we talked one last time tonight. I don't remember a time when he sounded so sympathetic and real. As we hung up, he was talking about crafting a snarky reply to Kevin's email response to me...which Kevin had conveniently copied all of my family members on. Anyone feeling a bit 'o guilt???

So it was a bittersweet ending to a wild day.

And speaking of bittersweet, I (mostly) stayed out of the chocolate although there was an incident with the seasame sticks...

Tomorrow, I have double classes to teach and movies to watch and more files to organize. I'm taking to bed with me a vision of Ben - laid out in Heathrow on a bench - with a sleep mask covering his eyes, visions of gelato and pizza dancing in his head...

Thursday

2010-02-11T20:53:00.000-08:00

If you read my other blog, you'll know, by now, that I have not heard from Kevin and Ben. Not a word. Not an email. No messages. Nothing.

I am pissed. I am disappointed. I am really worried. I am totally preoccupied.

Nevertheless, I made some sweet and lovely connections today and found glimmers of light through the dark hours of wondering where my son is...

First thing this morning, I jumped in to my entire filing system, separating business, house and tax documents.

I trained five clients.

At lunch, I made a mad dash to Crossroads to help a friend find some skinny jeans. We found four pairs for her and one pair of secondhand Uggs for me. In 40 minutes. Mission well-accomplished!

I saw my neurologist. She had some great recommendations for my migraines.

A friend of mine who is in her 50s invited me to have coffee. She has suffered a lifetime of loss yet she is a brilliant survivor. We got to laughing so hard that the people near us in the coffeehouse looked up and smiled AT us. In my perfect world, I'd introduce my Sacramento 50-ish girlfriend to my Pasadena50-ish girlfriend and we'd all drink wine and I could soak in their wisdom. Someday.

Then I picked up my other mid-50s Sacramento girlfriend and we connected with a former employer of mine and took a really hard yoga class in a really beautiful new studio. I finally mastered side crow pose. It only took 9 years.

Now I'm home, watching the clock and praying.

Today was such a rich day of memorable human connections with people that I cherish.

Tomorrow, back to the filing and maybe the closets, too. And a much delayed yet very welcome check-in from Ben and his dad.

Please, tomorrow...

Wednesday

2010-02-10T20:34:00.000-08:00

Today my son went to Italy.

I trained a few clients. I organized a year and a half of photos into albums. I vacuumed and cleaned my car. I taught two classes. I bought a sweater from Nordstrom. I got a pedicure. I ate too much dark chocolate.

My heart was heavy all day, despite being busy. I called a friend on my break to say hello. I got her voice mail. My message came out like this:

"Um, hi. Hey. Ben left this morning (insert sob). He and Kevin left at 9am (start full-blown crying). So, um, I just called to say hi. I have to go now. I didn't think I'd cry this hard."

Then I hung up and I was OK.

Three friends sent me text messages. Two others called. 24 people in yoga class let out a collective, "Ohhhhhhhh" when I announced that Ben had left.

There's a whole lot of support and love in my world, even when Ben's not here. And a whole lot of stuff I still want to get done.

Re-Setting

2010-02-06T13:21:00.001-08:00

When my son was a baby, he would cry - inconsolably - like any other infant. If his dad was home during these crying episodes, he'd give Ben a little toss in the air and Ben would forget what he was upset over and award everyone around with a huge smile. My ex called the whole activity, "the re-set process." As in, "I'm hitting his re-set button."

At 39, I'm having to trigger my own re-set button more than I'd like. The thing with a food battle is this: you can claim you're done with the battle and then have a re-lapse. I've always said that food issues are harder to manage than drug or alcohol dependencies because we can give those up. We have to eat. Right?

Right. But not excessively and not inappropriately and that is where my learning is truly happening.

I have had set-backs since I declared that my life long struggle with food had ended. To err is to be human. Just today, coming off a wickedly busy week with work, I turned to several foods that I have on hand for Ben. Nothing unhealthy or junky, but the portions were large enough to feed Ben and a playgroup. Of five friends. Mommies, too.

I guess that the only thing I can do - and have been doing - is to re-set quickly before a backslide occurs. One sitting of inappropriate food portions does not equal a backslide to me. It's more like a reminder - of what I used to do - and why I don't want to do it anymore. In my mind, if I'm cognizant enough, the episodes will become fewer and my thought processes will actually override the desire to eat.

This is my hope.

In the meantime, I'm going to a birthday dinner tonight for an old, old friend at a super fancy restaurant in the Bay Area. We're all dressing up and while I'm not looking forward to the act of squeezing into a black skirt, I am looking forward to connecting with a group of old friends. Tonight is about the human connections and not so much the food. Which is good because I highly doubt I'll be hungry by dinner time.

Affirmation

2010-02-01T19:37:00.000-08:00

I had an "ah-ha" moment today.

An older woman came to see me for a free consultation and session. She was referred by an acquaintance of mine who is a chiropractor. The woman brought a host of physical challenges into our session: postural issues, osteopenia, and an out-of-whack sacroiliac joint. Not your average person looking for "Pilates abs." The word "frail" comes to mind.

We worked hard in the session: me, watching her form carefully and modifying exercises; her, trying to control the machine and use her own body awareness to avoid any injury.

At the end of the session, she walked over to my bookcase where I have several items on display, including Hindu deities, framed quotes, business cards and several pictures. She pointed to a quote. "I love this," she stated. I looked at what she was pointing at. It was one of my favorites, too:

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

I walked her out of the studio and she reached to hug me while saying, "Well, you seem to know what you're doing with your one precious life. What a gift you have and what a wonderful little business you've built."

She went on to book two sessions a week.

After she left, I thought to myself, what if I am doing something with my life? What if I don't always need to be looking for so much change? What if this is enough, at least for now? And then it hit: maybe it doesn't need to be so wild; maybe, just maybe, it's absolutely precious just the way it is.

Ending

2010-01-23T13:34:00.000-08:00

I originally started this blog as a way to journal about my lifelong battle with emotional eating. I've noticed that with time, I've careened off the path several times to divulge other personal issues and challenges. But in the end, most of my unhappiness stems from the struggles I've had with food.

In the interest of not sounding too egotistic or self-serving, I'm going to tell you this directly: that battle is ending for me. It hasn't been an abrupt ending or one that hasn't had its share of relapses. But is a solid ending. Closing the chapter of the book that wants to be re-written countless times. Shutting the door on all the demons and dragons that undermine my efforts to be a healthy person. Opening up to the possibility of change, acceptance, peace and self-love.

And it feels great.

Now I know what it's like to be in control, to have boundaries and to respond to my emotional needs with integrity and respect. I know what it's like to feel good in my skin and to look at food as a source of nourishment and enjoyment. I know how to exercise less and to live more. I know that lunch and dinner and all the time in between is like a big, huge "danger zone." I know that dark chocolate can always be in my kitchen and that ice cream cannot. I know that packaged food - crackers, pretzels, chips, cookies, bars - have no place in my world, not even for convenience purposes.

What I didn't expect is how much I would learn about myself. I didn't expect to have little break-throughs every day. I didn't expect to be this present, this aware.

I'm not out of the woods yet. In reality, I'll never be. But where I'm at now feels pretty damn good. Conscientious eating is perhaps one of the biggest roadblocks to "being in the moment." I may have missed my share of moments up until now, but I'm ready to be around for many, many more.

Three

2010-01-17T13:54:00.000-08:00

is the number of dates I've had in the new year. Three different guys. Three different days (still not courageous enough to try "back to back" dates!). Three pretty similar experiences. Sadly, the term "three strikes" comes to mind.

I decided to jump back into dating, wholeheartedly, because living with my mom has made me realize that I don't want to be alone. Bad things happen when you're alone too long. You get too comfortable with yourself. You have conversations with the dog. You start dragging the dog from room to room in the house, so that you NOR the dog, have to be "truly" alone for too long. You have a routine that involves eating early, on a TV tray, in front of the TV. You eat the same thing every night. You eat the same dessert. You retire to bed after dinner and of course, you take the dog. Your life involves so much routine that the thought of deviating from it, only for a day, is paralyzing. You require a menu before you'll eat at a restaurant (even a casual establishment which is inexpensive and fairly "mainstream."). You sometimes don't leave your bedroom for hours - in the afternoon - and you're NOT napping. Your life is the same. Day in. Day out. Change is terrifying.

After living with my mother for nearly a year, I've realized that I soooooooo don't want this. One of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, writes that you need to spend no more than 50% of your time alone. Otherwise, as she puts it, "You just go a little crazy." I'm not going to call my mom crazy but I am going to go out on a limb and say that she needs to get out more.

So in the interest of not turning into a woman who is terrified of what a man might bring into her life, I decided to pull the trigger - yet again - and give the dating world another try. I haven't met anyone horrible - so far - but I haven't made anyone remotely captivating, either.

Christmas and the entire month of December were really hard for me. So was the first week of January. I'm finally feeling now like I have more strength. December didn't kill me; and I do believe that it made me stronger. Christmas nearly killed me, but again, I'm so much stronger on the other side.

I certainly feel like my life is a big Pandora's box and with any decision I make right now, a slew of uncertainties could arise. It's going to be like that for awhile. I know that. I like the control that I have over dating right now. Pursuing, if I want; backing off, if that's appropriate and being aware, which is always the key to making good, sound decisions.

The funny thing about dating- online dating, in particular - is that as a female, I can pretty much date all I want. There's no shortage of men on the dating sites. It's unfair, I think - the ratio is truly not kind. Regardless, my activity can only be dictated by my energy and my schedule. No way am I going to go out on a first date on Ben's time. No f-cking way. No way am I going to tie up my three days without Ben, just for the purpose of having dates. I'm quickly learning that my emotional "tank", when it comes to dating, is quickly depleted and only really "full" when I'm feeling rested and focused. Knowing this keeps me reigned in. Which is where I need to be.

Wish me luck.

Deliberating

2010-01-11T13:43:00.000-08:00

I have some big decisions to make. And I need to make them soon. If I want this year to be different, there needs to be change. Change requires decisions and I'm in the middle of what feels like a great big pool of deliberation.

For starters, I have to change my living situation. Since B of A can't work with me on a new loan, the house has to go. But that's OK, really, because if I think long and hard about what this house means to me, I can't come up with much.

Also, my mother has lived here for 10 months, which is to say that she has lived with me 10 months longer than what is healthy for a 39-year-old female, a 66-year-old female and a 6-year-old male. She has to go, as well.

My head is spinning today from the enormous amount of information that I acquired about short sales in general, and mine, in particular. I'm also reeling from the shock of what my home will be listed for. I knew the market was bad, really bad, but I had no idea that the houses in my neighborhood are selling for next to nothing.

I'm also trying to embrace the fact that I'm going to have to go against my nature - and my policy - of paying everything a few days early so that I can qualify for a short sale. Basically, I have to "look like" I'm a deadbeat - or at least someone who can't pay her bills - so that the bank will consider a short sale. I'm having a hard time with this and might have to be physically retrained next month when it comes time to include the mortgage payment in my outgoing mail.

It's now a matter of me pulling the trigger and executing this process. But once I do, a whole new list of unknowns unfold, the biggest being: "where will we live?"

My mom said to me yesterday: "I don't know why you couldn't just get married and live happily ever after." As if it was so easy. I'm sure she didn't mean it to be condescending and I didn't take it as such. Yes, there are lots of things that would be much easier if I had stayed married. Without question. But there would be just as many challenges and I'm certain that would have been the easy way out for me.

Being unmarried and saddled to a house I can't afford means that I get to be strong and capable and decisive and responsible. It means that I have to surrender to a relatively large amount of uncertainty and hope that the choices I make are good for Ben, and for myself. That feels like an enormous burden to shoulder. I hope and pray that I can do this.

Empty

2009-12-25T15:40:00.000-08:00

I don't like spending Christmas without Ben. It doesn't matter where I'm off to tonight (that would be New York City, in case you didn't know). What matters is that my son is celebrating Christmas - possibly the most amazing day in a child's year (next to their birthday) with my ex and his girlfriend and I am feeling terribly lost without him.

Convincing myself that Christmas Eve day and Christmas eve would be just as good was the name of the game yesterday. I didn't play the game very well. Every time I talked about Christmas day, I teared up. "What's the deal?" my dad asked. "You're going to NEW YORK CITY! Your favorite place!" He didn't understand. I didn't expect him to.

Maybe only a mother can understand. A mother who walks the dog on this brilliantly sunny and clear day and watches other families enjoying the weather in the neighborhood. Kids rollerskating, biking, chasing dogs...all the things that Ben would be doing here with me today.

"I'll miss you," I told him this morning as I dropped him off with his dad. "I won't see you for a week, do you understand?" He gazed up with me with those big brown eyes and sad, "I get sad when I'm not with you Mommy. A week is a long time."

I had to get in the car quickly so that he wouldn't see my tears.

We all make choices in life and sometimes, life makes choices for us. We stay in marriages when we're not happy. We leave marriages when children are young. We leave when they are old. Children leave us. We compromise when we have to, especially where the holidays are concerned. We desperately wait for the light to shine through the darkness. And we wait. And it does.

But it's so fucking hard today.

December

2009-12-15T20:48:00.000-08:00

My grandma used to tell me, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Does that count for writing too?

I'm going to assume that it doesn't and say that if I make it through this month without completely melting down, it will be a huge miracle. There. That's a dose of optimism.

I think this is the hardest December I've ever had. On every level. Scratch that. This IS the hardest December ever. Ever. EVER.

I'm questioning everything from my health to my job to my role as a mother all the while putting on the happiest face that I can for Ben. Every day, it's something new for him: another item in the stocking, a present under the tree, cookies to be decorated, multiple visits to Santas, holiday crafts. Yet at the same time, I'm feeling like it's not enough; it's never enough.

Is it wrong, when you feel like this, to set aside time to cry? I have been, every day. It's the only way that I can really be OK with myself; to be authentic and real and have some reassurance that everyone goes through difficult times and it will all work out. Eventually.

I already know that major changes need to occur next year.

My mother needs to move out. Our "situation" has now moved into the "unhealthy" category and it's simply not bearable. At times, her world terrifies me. Mostly, it mystifies me but in all honesty, it completely devastates me. That means, that I have to move. Which means that I need to find a studio space. Or a new job. And that I need to convince the bank to move forward with a short sale. Or not.

No easy answers in the mortgage world, I'm finding, with my daily calls to B of A. How much can you plead with a lender? How long will you spend on hold? How many people can you talk with in one phone call? Come spend an afternoon here and you'll find out.

Back to my mother because it's so damn complicated that the topic deserves another paragraph and more words than I could ever articulate. She and I need to re-establish our relationship as mother-daughter, not as roommate vying for mother role. I've lost my sense of being a daughter and at the same time, I don't know where my alpha female role is either. It's all lost and murky.

My ex-husband needs to keep his place in the past and let go of the idealized future he has for me and for Ben and for our family. The guilt keeps me up at night as does the sadness and the confusion...he's pining for me yet he's completely immersed with his girlfriend? I don't understand. But, nor do I want to.

Something has to change with my career. We simply cannot sustain a household with me in this job. There are too many downsides. The heavy reality of absolutely needing to provide for my child is crushing at times.

I didn't like our Christmas card at all this year. I look stressed. And I've been stressed, for way too long. The biggest challenge for me right now is to take some little steps out of this storm of stress that I've been under. I wish I knew where - and how - to start.

Unleashed

2009-11-25T21:07:00.001-08:00

I always joke that I'm on a short leash. A very short leash.

Bedtime for me is around 9pm. I only drink alcohol once a week, more recently, it's been like once every couple of weeks. I avoid sugar. I read before bed. I take a long, hot shower. I don't dare turn on the television. All this to get a decent night's sleep. If I'm lucky.

My sister getting married was a major departure from my beloved and predictable leash. And I'm still paying the price of being "unleashed" for the long weekend. Here's how the leash came off, swiftly and without any regard to consequences:

Thursday night: Arrive Indy at 10:30pm. Gather bags and drive an hour to Columbus. Entire family congregates at midnight (my mom, my dad, stepmom, Alisa, Alec and mother-in-law) for a meal. At freakin' midnight! I go to bed with a stomachache.

Friday night: Dinner with friends and relatives. I have a glass of wine, some Chateaubriand (steak), lasagna, more Chateaubriand, and start to lap the dessert table. Have two of each of everything. There were four desserts. Yes, I indeed have eight desserts. And two cups of coffee. At 9pm, not decaf, because the bachelorette party is assembling and I need some pep.

Friday night, part 2: We're at the Columbus Bar. We order three rounds of kamicazes (I slip most of mine to a friend) and then order another two rounds of martinis. Then vodka shots. Again, I'm passing off most of my drinks. Then a platter of nachos. Loaded nachos. A plate of deep fried pickles. A basket of fried cheese balls. Two more platters of nachos. More pickles. Three more baskets of chesse balls. I'm right in the action, devouring the nachos like I hadn't just had steak, lasagna and eight desserts. EIGHT F-ING DESSERTS. We leave the bar at 2am and I'm doubled over in abdominal pain. I go to bed in fetal position, tossing and turning all night with nightmares of GI distress all through the wedding.

Saturday morning: Attempt a run in the park. Not happening.

Saturday night: Reception buffet. Who goes for seconds on the salmon? Who goes for seconds on the ice cream? Who has TWO pieces of cake? Who thinks that they are going to be admitted to the hospital at the end of the night? One redeeming fact: I didn't drink.

Sunday morning: We get up at 1am, Cali time, to make our 8am flight out of Indy. I am miserable. Jeans won't zip. Exhausted beyond belief. Snack all the way home since Delta no longer offers any kind of food service. Arrive home and finish up the weekend of gluttony by having three cookies and a chocolate bar.

Monday morning: Put my leash back on.

Tuesday morning: Took the leash back off to make cookies and eat four.

Wednesday morning: Leash stays off to eat cookies for breakfast and throughout the day. Sneak into the cornbread stuffing after class; oh yes, indeed, I am unleashed again.

Might as well keep it off now, seeing that Thanksgiving is tomorrow.

Neanderthal

2009-11-17T20:20:00.000-08:00

You would think I would know better. After 38, going on 39 years of being my dad's daughter. But no, I am an idiot.

Just one week before the big wedding in Indiana, I got all psyched up about our Presiding Bishop being in town (at my church!) and I sent off a message, with a link to the Sac Bee article which covered her visit, to some close friends and to my family members. The subject line read: "Our fabulous Bishop!"

And what was my dad's response? A scathing message back about how "scary" she is as a leader and "how could his own daughter's Christian faith have gone so awry?" Which was followed up by multiple phone calls today (he goes weeks without talking with me and THIS is the reason that he actually attempted to track me down?) and two more nasty emails which detailed what a *problem" she is as a leader and once again, how could I possibly call myself a Christian?

To that last question, my response was: "Oh, let me just count the ways. Let's start with communion. EVERY single Sunday. Liturgy. Prayer. Baptism. And lest we forget, that age old book that we ALL study: the Bible.

But beyond that, to me, Christianity carries a certain sense of responsibility to our community. Like feeding the hungry. Check. Housing the homeless. Check. Taking care of our neighbor. Check.

Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. CHECK.

I'm embarrassed to write the full scope of what my dad put in the email. It's intolerant, narrow-minded and downright wrong. It's nothing I would ever want Ben to know about. There wasn't a hint of compassion, love or understanding in his messages.

I don't know what I was thinking when I sent the link to him. Oh wait, yes I do. I was thinking, actually, I was reveling in the experience of being with our Bishop. I wanted to share the details with anyone, everyone. I wanted everyone I care about to be sitting with me in church during her message. It was that powerful.

Every child looks for validation from their parent/s. Even when the child is 38 years old. Of course I want my dad to approve of my choices - how I raise Ben, how I make money, whom I choose to date, how I experience faith and spirituality. But once again, he disappointed me. This time around though, I'm not taking that disappointment to heart. It's kinda helpful to look at him like a neanderthal; like someone who cannot even try to be evolved. And then it makes me feel that much MORE evolved.

He thinks we're going to have this great "sit down" in Indy; he's told me he'll pull out the book of John and show me the error of my ways. Good thing I have an ally in my lovely sis. Somehow, an incredibly big job involving tons of bows and candles and I-don't-know-what-else has materialized and my name is all over the task. I'm assured that it will take the better part of two days so any talk of religion will just have to wait until the next family get-together. Which happens to be next week: Thanksgiving. I don't care if I have to pluck the feathers off the turkey to keep busy, I am SO. NOT. HAVING. THIS. CONVERSATION. WITH. HIM.

Surreal

2009-11-14T19:42:00.000-08:00

My sister is getting married one week from today.

I'm trying to visualize my mother, my father, my stepmom, my brother and a church full of well-wishers, gazing at my only sister as she walks down the aisle and commits to sharing her life with Alec. The whole experience - all the family converging onto Columbus, Indiana for a weekend of festivities - feels so enchanting and so sweet - that I can't wrap my brain around the enormous amount of happiness that I'm feeling for her.

I was driving this afternoon and thinking of how much she means to me. My heart started to hurt, just a little, as I thought about how marriage can be so happy and a little sad, at the same time. My little sister, who is mostly wiser than me - her older sister - is about to be set free from the clutches of my parents, and me. She'll have a new family to blend into - which I'm sure she'll do quite well - and new traditions to start with Alec.

Misty-eyed, I pulled the car over to let the tears flow. Just for a few moments. And then I let myself feel the wonder of romantic love - and the joy of getting to fly across the country to see that love manifest before my eyes.

I was reminded of another life event; one that involved my sister, driving in HER car. When I found out I was pregnant, I called her first. She was driving and I told her my news. I heard the sob before I heard any words. She later told me that after we had finished our conversation, she pulled her own car over and cried.

My sister makes me feel tender-hearted in a way that no one else can. The connection, the bond that we have is unlike any that I have with anyone else. She shares my history, she shares my genetics, she shares a piece of my soul.

Even as I write this, I can feel the tears brimming. My sister is stronger than she'll ever know - she endured a career as a commercial airline pilot and spent long, dark days (and nights) wondering when things would shift in her life. I know that she questioned fate, on more than one instance, and the possibility of love in her life.

And now it's here. Everything that she waited for and so much more.

I might as well come to terms with the fact that I'm gonna spend the next six days in a heightened emotional state with a few unexpected tears here and there.

My sister's getting married.
My sister's getting married.
My sister's getting married.

She deserves happiness that can't be quantified, love that can't be measured and every single blessing in the world.

In the words of our beloved Dr. Seuss, whom I'll be quoting at the reception:

Today is your day!
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!
You can steer yourself, any direction you choose.
You're on your own and you know what to do.
(This is likely where the klee-nex will come out!)
And you are the couple who'll decide where to go
And when things start to happen, don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.
Oh! The places you'll go!
You'll be on your way up.
You'll be seeing great sights.
You'll join the high fliers
Who soar to great heights.
Wherever you fly, you'll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
So be sure when you step
Step with great care and great tact
And remember that Life's a great balancing act.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will indeed!
Kids, you'll move mountains.
You're off to great places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!!!

I love you, Alisa.

Progress

2009-11-06T22:11:00.000-08:00

Ben and I had a sweet visit with my dad yesterday. We've come a little ways since summer. It feels good.

Originally, I had planned to take Ben out of school an hour early and drive him down to Modesto to spend the late afternoon with my dad and his wife, and to have an early dinner with them. I was dreading the outing because it meant a later bed time for Ben (on a school night) and quite a lot of restless time in the car (at least 90 minutes each way).

I haven't seen my stepmom, Teresa since our fall-out in August so I was also a little apprehensive about how she and I would interact, although our recent phone conversations have been friendly and upbeat.

An hour before I was supposed to fetch Ben from school, my dad called and said that Teresa had been sick all day and could we meet in Stockton for some post-birthday shopping at Target and maybe a coffee after?

I was thrilled because it meant less driving for me and less whining and "are we there yet" from Ben. And for my dad to take the initiative and actually suggest an alternative, well, that's huge. Particularly when it comes to seeing his grandson.

Ben was so excited to be leaving school early. He knew that he would be shopping with Grandpa and in his mind, Grandpa has an endless amount of money (which he doesn't but he is very generous and takes great delight in giving Ben every type of remote controlled vehicle that he can find). Ben and I ran hand-in-hand to the car, all the while talking excitedly about what he might find at Target.

We went to a new Target in Stockton and as I pulled into the parking lot, I saw my dad waiting at the entrance. I pulled around and Ben flung open the door, without even unbuckling his car seat, shouting, "Grandpa! Let's go shopping!"

I gave my dad strict instructions on making Ben focus, not buying too much, making sure that the toys weren't too loud, too cheap, or too difficult to assemble, blah, blah, blah. My dad waved me off, grabbed Ben by the hand and off they went to toys as I set off to my favorite part of Target: the clothing department!

The Clearance section at the Stockton Target is unreal. Huge. Deeply discounted. I grabbed two shirts and could have easily filled a whole cart but my curiosity over what was happening in the toy aisle was piqued so I made a mental note to return to Stockton (that's a first!) and made my way to the toy department.

I found Ben and my dad puzzling over which Air Hogs to purchase. "They climb the walls," my dad announced. "Oh great," I said. "This one can go across the ceiling," Ben added. "Put it in the cart," my dad said. Surprisingly, the cart wasn't that full. Granted, it was a lot fuller than it would be if I took Ben shopping but it wasn't obscene. Yet. Ben vacillated over a Hot Wheels track versus a Tranformers RPM figure. I made him pick one although my dad wanted to get both. "Save one for Christmas, if you really want him to have it," I said.

Somehow we wrapped up the process and made our way to the check-out aisle where the sum of all Ben's toys, along with my two shirts, was actually less than my mortgage payment.

From there, we went across the parking lot to Panerra Bread where Ben wolfed down a grilled cheese, a yogurt and a juice box as my dad watched, wide-eyed. Ben then grabbed my hand, pulled me in close and whispered, "I need another grilled cheese, Mommy!" My dad, who is hard of hearing, said, "He didn't just ask for MORE food, did he?" Shaking his head, he and Ben returned to the counter and ordered an enormous scone for Ben. My dad came back to the table, which was around the corner. "Um, where's Ben?" I asked. "Paying for the scone," my dad answered. "This should be interesting," I said.

A couple of moments later, a confused Ben wandered back to the table, with change and no scone. My dad had a good laugh and walked BACK to the counter with him to retrieve a giant scone, covered in orange icing. Ben proceeded to eat only the icing and then handed the interior to my dad. More laughs.

We left right after the scone. My dad had to get back for a late meeting and I was all too happy to get Ben home for a decent bedtime. Big hugs all the way around and we were all on our way.

On the way home, Ben and I talked about how lucky he is to have such a nice and generous Grandpa. Ben insisted on having the toys piled up in the backseat so that he could look at them and the excitement over the stack of new purchases quickly turned into a huge whine session when he realized that we would be sitting in 5:00 commute traffic. And the whining turned into an all-out bathroom emergency when on I-5, in the middle of BFE, Ben decided that his bladder had reached capacity. Being the resourceful mom that I am, I had a remedy which involved a plastic cup and some backseat finagling, but Ben developed a case of stage fright and opted to wait until we could find a respectable restroom.

All in all, I'd say that the visit was a success. My dad seems to be relating much better to Ben these days and he seems less judgmental over my parenting style, as well. He actually looked happy during our brief time together. Of course, with my sister's wedding and Thanksgiving quickly approaching, he AND Teresa will be likely in high-stress mode and there will be tense moments. But I think we're on the upswing.

I'm feeling something new towards the two of them: a sense of tenderness and of compassion. It's a good feeling. I think I can make the space, carry the torch and continue on toward a relationship that is more loving, more accepting. For Ben's sake, I can.

Abyss

2009-10-04T19:59:00.001-07:00

Disregard my last post. I am sleeping horribly. HORRIBLY. I don't know what the meds are doing but I do know that I haven't slept since before Ben had pneumonia. I feel like I am in the darkest and deepest hole. My eyes are constantly burning, my head feels perpetually cloudy and I can't articulate anything clearly. I am exhausted.

I toyed with the idea today, briefly, of going into the ER with a migraine complaint just so I could get a shot of Demerol and sleep for 10 hours. I still may do it. I did talk with my doctor on Friday night. Or rather, she talked while I cried. The solution she gave me wasn't successful.

Something has shifted over the last two weeks. The pace of the thoughts that run through my head has quickened significantly. As bedtime draws closer, I feel more and more anxious. My body feels like it's in a constant flight or fight mode. I don't like it. Any of it.

This week, I'm giving a speech one evening on wellness. I have a full client load and an extra yoga class to teach. I have a date. I have an exclusive birthday event to attend. And I have an acute attack of tendonitis in my ankle again. I'm hoping and praying that my mind can find some peace soon. There has to be an answer to this sleep mystery. There just has to be.

Medicated

2009-09-21T13:48:00.001-07:00

I started a new medication for sleep. I can't disclose what it is because I don't want to be categorized into a certain type of person, but I can tell you that I AM SLEEPING!

I am sleeping so well that I'm becoming optimistic about the future! Before, I would always think, "How can I look forward to this event/activity when I don't know if I'll be dog tired or just a little tired." I was living a life of fear. Fear of being exhausted. I believe that this same fear was holding me back in relationships. In fact, I know it was.

But not any more. I went to the city yesterday and had a packed day of fighting traffic, navigating from the deepest part of the Mission to the outermost tip of North Beach, and expecting my body to cooperate through a two hour advanced yoga class and a three hour pilates intensive course. No problem. I knew that I was improved when I threw away my half consumed latte because I felt like I'd had enough. I was awake. And more important, I was present.

Yesterday was a shining example of how I can live my life. I feel like the biggest, wettest and darkest blanket has just been lifted off of every part of me and it feels terrific!

Concessions

2009-09-18T14:17:00.001-07:00

I sent my stepmom a card. I told her that she threw a beautiful party for my dad and that I didn't know what happened with the two of us. I told her that Ben started school and that his new teacher shares her name. I told her that he started soccer and that he loves it. I didn't tell her that I was sorry. Because I'm not.

But I do want to move past this feeling of unease; this feeling that the future with my dad and his wife is so uncertain. I knew one of us needed to make a move.

My dad called about a week after I sent the card and after a few moments of small talk, he said, "Here, Teresa wants to talk with you."

She got on the phone. "Hi honey. Thanks for the card. We've been really busy. How's Ben? I hope we can see him soon."

And that was that. Peace restored. At least for now.

Produce

2009-09-06T20:55:00.000-07:00

Given my new-found love of Latin men, I've begun to stalk the cute Hispanic guy who brings the great peaches, nectarines and grapes to our local farmer's markets. Anyone need any fresh fruit?

I think it started last year when I began to frequent his booth at our neighborhood farmer's market. He was always super friendly and sweet and I thought he was cute.

Now, after actually having some good Latino experience, I'm absolutely swooning over the produce guy.

Yesterday, after teaching yoga, I made a bee-line for our local market to seek out his juicy Latin-ness
fruit. The fruit was so good that I packed Ben up this morning and headed downtown to
flirt my ass off
pick up 3 pounds of grapes.

He mumbled something to me in Spanish. I can't be sure but I think it may have been along the lines of: "Lose the kid and meet me back here in 30 minutes when the market closes."

Thank God for year-round farmer's markets and abundant Central Valley crops

and hot Latin men who look every bit as delicious as the succulent peaches they are vending! Why do I have this sense that Shopping Shelley is reading this and calling me crazy, while planning a trip to the market next weekend just to see me in action?!

Tired

2009-09-04T12:28:00.001-07:00

I am beyond tired. I didn't think it was possible to be this exhausted.

What is with my mind waking up every single cell of my body at 2am just to inform every last piece of me, that yes, it is hard to be a single mother, pilates instructor, roommate to a 66-year-old, perpetual dater, unconditional friend, and daughter who alternates good sheep/bad sheep roles depending on which way the wind is blowing.

WTF?

Maybe it's the late working nights that are becoming more and more frequent, maybe it's the choppy part of our days since Ben's school is now further away, maybe it's the simple fact that things seems so damn unsettled.

At any rate, I'm waiting - quite impatiently, I might add - for some insights from my new doctor and for some really good pills that can knock me out until next Tuesday. At this point, I'd take just a simple and straight block of 7 hours. Please?

Retaliating

2009-09-02T21:18:00.000-07:00

The stepmonster strikes again. The mystery of the missing tribute has been solved. She took it.

My dad called this weekend, while she was away, and with some regret in his voice, told me that he had just found my tribute among HER things, and had just read it. "I loved it," he said. "Thank you."

He went on to try and explain her crazy behavior: "She has some issues, some deep seeded issues with you and your sister. I can't explain them."

Well, duh! She's had some issues since the minister pronounced her wife to my dad and she suddenly inherited two stepdaughters who wanted nothing more than to love her and to accept her (which we did, quite well, I might add). She, meanwhile, saw us as threats to her beloved husband, became insanely jealous and began a horrible cycle of triangulating, which works like this:

1. She talks to me about my sister.
2. She talks to my sister about me.
3. She talks to my dad about BOTH of us (not kindly)

I think she's at her happiest when there is more drama unfolding than what you'd find on any given episode of "Days of our Lives."

As for me, I'm glad that my dad broke his silence and circled back around. He also expressed some disappointment over not having opportunities to do regular family stuff with us, like impromptu family dinners and weekend BBQs.

I, in turn, feel sad about that too. But I can only make so many trips to see him. He's never even seen my remodeled yoga studio and the last celebration that he attended here was for Ben's first birthday.

At any rate, my heart is a little bit lighter, not quite as heavy as it was in August. I'll probably never know unconditional love from my dad and I've already written off that possibility with his wife but I'll take the little bits and pieces he throws my way. And I'll be grateful for those, however small they may be.

Bummed

2009-08-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

My dad never commented on the tributes that my sister and I wrote for him and then left for him at his birthday party (since we never actually had an opportunity to read them to him). In fact, he hasn't commented on much of anything lately since he won't return my calls. Or emails.

It's a very sad position to be in when you relentlessly call your parent for approval, love, whatever...and the parent can't reciprocate. Or at least return your phone calls. Or your emails.

So you decide to use your cute child as leverage and you email an update with pictures from the first day of school and news of soccer starting. Yet, nothing.

You wonder how long this is going to last. You start to think that therapy might be in your future. You lose some sleep. You just don't know what the fuck to think.

But what you do know is this: You won't be the kind of parent to Ben that your dad is to you. No matter what Ben might do to fail you or to disappoint you, you'll always be there for him. You'll call him back if he wants to talk. You'll read his emails and you'll also text him. You'll be there for him. And he'll never doubt that. Not for one single minute.

Cycle

2009-08-17T20:13:00.000-07:00

I posted this entry on the wrong 'effing blog initially. On my business blog, no less. This is the problem with maintaining more than one blog!

My ex-husband lives his life in a pattern. It goes something like this:

Meet a girl.
Get serious with said girl.
Circle back to me and announce that he wants to get back together.
Cause major insecurity on the part of the new girlfriend.

And so it goes. We've been doing this dance for the last three years. I've (almost) become used to it. It's the same cycle; as predictable as the German train.

So it should have been no surprise when our conversation, while doing a "Ben swap" took this turn:

Me: "I need to ask you something. But I can't remember what it is. Shoot, my memory is seriously going...what the heck did I need to ask you?"

Kevin: "That you want to know if I'll marry you again? I would, you know."

Then he gives me a long, deep look.

At which point I roll my eyes and tell him to take Ben and let me start my weekend.

I am always surprised when he drops this bomb. Admittedly, I do start thinking to myself, "What would that be like? Really?" And then I have to re-program my mind and my heart, once again.

Something tells me we'll be spiraling in this vortex of regrets and "what ifs" for a very, very long time.

Stepmonster

2009-08-09T04:20:00.000-07:00

It's 4:20am. I haven't been to sleep yet. No, not for one minute.

The reason? I have a stepmonster and thoughts of how to manage this familial situation are pounding my head.

I'm fairly certain that my dad will never find this blog so I'm going to share the details of my evening here in the hopes of clearing some space in my brain for some much-needed rest. Especially since Ben will be up in two (ouch!) hours.

My dad married the wicked witch of the west and that, to be sure, is putting it kindly. Now, to be fair, occasionally the witch (I better call her T just to be safe) does throw on her tiara and is the nicest, Glenda type fairy godmother that you could ever imagine. It just seems like recently, give or take 10 years, that the witch has been around much more than Glenda. And I've pretty much had it.

After forgetting my dad's birthday and attempting to make amends by finishing work, dashing home, packing up Ben and scurrying to to his house for what I hoped would be good family time before the big birthday bash, I quickly found T working in the backyard, feverishly preparing for the party. "Hi!" I said. "Everything looks great!" I added emphatically. "What can I do to help?" "Stay away from me," she replied. "I'm in a bad mood."

Well, hello to you too. And lovely to see you, I might add.

No sooner could I digest this greeting, when the gossipy aunt grabs me by the elbow and pulls me into the bathroom. "We need to talk," she says." "Your dad showed Teresa your blog. She is not happy."

I had recently posted a tongue-in-cheek re-cap of the notoriously HUGE event of me forgetting my dad's birthday.

I looked at my aunt. "So?" I said. "That's my dad's business, not mine. Teresa doesn't even know what a blog is."

My aunt goes on: "Well, you really hurt her feelings, blah blah blah blah blah blah..." At which point I cut her off: "She's hurt my feelings more than I've ever admitted in the last 10 years. This isn't about her. I could really care less."

I turned around, flung open the door and there was Teresa. Perfect timing. But the thing was, I really didn't care. How many times have I arrived at their house, only to have my dad tell me, "Teresa's in a really bad mood today. You need to be extra kind, extra helpful." Right, and when am I anything but all this? And more?

Ben wanted me to swim with him. So I stayed clear of the adults and enjoyed my time with him. The adults also steered clear of us and by the time we went in to dry off and get ready for the party, there was a chilly silence among the cousins who had come in for the night. I caught a few looks of disapproval and that was enough for me.

I got the hell out of the kitchen and found my brother and his kids. My sister showed up shortly thereafter and I felt much more protected, secure.

Teresa had another outburst about us not staying over.

My sister and I never did have an opportunity to present our respective tributes to our dad. It was pretty obvious that any kind of sentiment was not part of Teresa's agenda.

Then she and the cousins all sat on their butts, on the porch, while I took Ben on the rounds to say goodbye. No one spoke to me, no one made even the slightest attempt to touch my hand in a goodbye gesture, certainly no hugs were attempted. I couldn't wait to get the fuck out of there.

Ben cried for 40 minutes on the way home. Wailing about how tired he was. My head started to hurt. Then it began to throb. Then I thought I was going to throw up.

We finally arrived home at 11:30pm. I took two prescription strength pain killers and sobbed for hours. It did nothing for my head pain so I took two more. Obviously, I must have some type of great tolerance to meds because here I am, at 4:45am, still nursing the headache and not a bit tired.

I need a break from Teresa. I have absolutely had it with her back-stabbing ways. And most particularly, with her "triangulating", that is, bouncing from one daughter to the other, depending on whom is the greater threat to her at any given time.

It comes right down to being unhealthy and toxic. And a situation that I'd best avoid for a while. After all, she definitely took the lead on this one by saying: "Stay away from me." Okay, Teresa, that I will do. May I offer you some advice for the future: be careful of what you demand.

Me-oooooowwwwww

2009-08-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

I had a date last Friday night. With a 30-something cutie. Well, truth be told, drop the "something" and that's his actual age. Yep, that right. He's 30. Years. Old.

A baby, is what he is. And he looks 25. And he is darling.

We met a couple of weekends ago, casually on the street. I gave him my business card under the ruse of potentially teaching at his dance studio. Oh yeah, did I mention that he's a Latin guy? And a dancer? And a lawyer? And fluent in three languages with an accent to die for? He is a package of sweetness, that much I know.

Am I out of my element? Clearly. Am I having fun? Definitely.

My cute boy, R, apparently likes "older" women, in which case, I definitely qualify. He writes me long, sweet email messages and sends me several text messages a day. He drops a few Spanish and French lines in his notes and tells me everything I want to know about his past relationships.

I've never dated a 30-year-old. Or man in his 30s; at least, not in the last decade.

It's kinda fun, trying on this cougar role and being the older, wiser woman for once.

Although, he's about to find out that I am certainly on the old, old side of 30. Here it is 10pm and a text shows up: "Put on a dress and your salsa shoes. Pick you up in 15. We'll dance all night." HA! He's lucky that I even saw the text since the only things that I see at 10pm, generally, are the backs of my two eyelids.

Nevertheless, this could be a fun little adventure. The claws are out, my whiskers are twitching and I'm feeling like quite the cat on the prowl...

Downtown

2009-07-26T21:41:00.000-07:00

I went out with my friend, Sabrina last night. I love Sabrina. People often ask if we are sisters, although less so now that my hair isn't blonde anymore. Nevertheless, we have similar features and we're both tall and we laugh a lot when we're together. So we just say, "Yes, we are in fact sisters!"

Sabrina just went through a nasty break-up and I was on the verge of mine. So we dressed up, got my mom to drop us off downtown, and decided to turn it up a little. Or a lot. As things turned out.

We went to Sacramento's newest nightclub, Mix, where the clientele is certainly quite a mix. Mix is located on the rooftop of a downtown building. Part of the club is an outside terrace; the other part is indoors and includes a large dance floor and several bars.

The cocktails were flowing and the music was pumping. We drank, flirted, danced, and laughed until 2am.

I forgot how much fun a wild night with a girlfriend could be. Even despite a nasty hangover.

Withdrawal

2009-07-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I sometimes think that single moms with young kids should not attempt dating. It's too damn hard.

My current beau, K, gave me the "jump in or jump out" talk last weekend. Consequently, my stomach hurt and I couldn't sleep all week.

Some say that I might be developing a pattern here. But, I think that I'm trying to discover what I need in a partner and that the road is rocky and sometimes, very hurtful for both people involved. True, my last three relationships have petered out after a few months but isn't that really about the time when you get to know someone? And isn't it better to "call it" after a few months, rather than a year? Or two?

I went over to K's last night after work. Around 8pm. I was dreading it, in all honesty. Our conversations this week were difficult, from both sides. Our dialogue felt forced. I could tell that K wanted to be all over me, emotionally and physically, the moment I walked in the door.

Right after dinner, I called a time out and said we needed to talk. I attempted to tell him that my heart isn't in it. I said to him, point blank: "Look, on MOST days, I don't want to be in a relationship with anyone other than my son (friends and family excluded)." I couldn't have been more specific.

Trouble is, he's leaving for a cruise with his family today. He kept telling me that he didn't want to go with a heavy heart. So I took on the heavy heart and am feeling like crap for sending him off to the Caribbean under the false pretense that I would be here, missing him like crazy. But then again, maybe I will...miss him like crazy. I'm definitely open to that possibility. Wide open.

And just to be clear, I tried yet again this morning to help him understand. "I'm not moving at the same pace," I told him. "It's like you're in the carpool lane and I'm in the bicycle lane." How could I have been any clearer?

What I want right now, is some time for my belly to settle down and a little distance from romantic obligations. I want to hang out with Ben and not have to worry about integrating someone else into our days. I want to come home from work and watch a DVD. Alone. I want to learn how to peacefully co-exist with my mother. I want to figure out what I'm supposed to do, relative to work.

My friend Shelley tells me that when the right guy comes along, I'll WANT to spend time with him. I'll WANT to give up a spin class, an afternoon pedicure, a dinner out with a girlfriend. On the other hand, my friend Kathie thinks I should step out of the dating world completely. For several months to a year. Yet another opinion comes from my mother: "You should be doing a lot of dating. How can you figure out what you want if you're not out there?"

Withdrawing is my default plan. Always has been. Generally, my friends know that if the phone line is silent for a few days on end, something is wrong.

I figure I have eight days before K comes home to take a good, long look at the interior of my heart. If you don't hear from me this week, you'll know why.

Surprise

2009-07-11T13:50:00.001-07:00

As a follow-up to my last entry, here's a quick recap of what's transpired since the last post.

I made my way to Capital Athletic Club last night to teach my twice-a-month yoga class there. Traffic getting into downtown was horrible and I raced into the studio part of the gym with only moments to spare. Still in a rush, I grabbed my MP3 player and attempted to locate the connector for the stereo. Gone. A bit of panic set in since I never carry CDs anymore and I flipped the stereo around to see if the connector had somehow fallen behind the unit. Nope. Not in sight.

5:29pm. One minute to start time. No music and I hadn't even given the class a proper greeting. Footsteps behind me. I glance over my shoulder and then audibly gasp. Jay is standing right there. I think I threw myself at him in a big bear hug but am not exactly sure because I was so shocked in the moment that the details of what exactly transpired totally escape me now. I do know that he looked pretty much the same as in junior high and that the rush of emotion I felt over seeing a long-standing and intense crush was nothing short of extremely intense. I'm sure, that on the scale of emotions, his were much lower than mine. I am, after all, the one who carried the very silent torch for many years.

Anyway. Our exchange was such a flurry that I didn't have a chance to see if he was wearing a wedding ring or not. He left the studio as quickly as he had come in and I was left to teach my class. Without music. And completely distracted.

After driving home later in the evening, I logged on to Facebook and sent him a note, thanking him for stopping in to say hello and telling him that he looked great. He wrote back this morning and asked when we could have a drink.

I figure that it's been at least 24 years since we've had any kind of exchange at all. He mentioned, in his email this morning, that perhaps we had crossed paths at the mall during our high school years and I do remember those "chance" meetings, but to me, that's all they were since he really never had any idea that my crush had evolved past junior high.

Until now.

Scoop

2009-07-06T20:15:00.000-07:00

Facebook strikes again.

I can't blog about this topic over at my "public" blog, yet I have to write SOMETHING about it so for the few people who read this, you're about to be let in on a really big secret.

Everyone knows that I'm seriously addicted to Facebook. I think it has something to do with not being popular in high school and now trying to get all the validation I can, even if it's the virtual validation and only validating in the sense that I can get almost anyone to be my friend. Uh, yeah, you just read it "validate" three times. Issues, I know.

I'm checking every one's status yesterday and I get a little suggestion by Facebook to add someone that I went to junior high school with. My heart jumps into my throat and my knees get really weak when I see that the someone Facebook is trying to link me up with is none other than the crush that I had from Grade 7 to Grade 12. I think I even carried the torch for this guy into my college years because every time I would run into someone from his high school, I'd inquire as to what he was up to.

To make matters worse, his mother was my English teacher in junior high and I seriously loved her. She gave me so many great tips on writing and was a constant source of encouragement. I had junior high school daydreams of marrying the crush (let's call him Jay; no Kirsten, this is not your Jay, don't worry!) and having his mother for a mother-in-law. Living in my own little daydreamy world was my constant source of entertainment since I didn't have a lot of luck with breaking into the cliques that I thought were so cool.

After junior high, we went our separate ways to high school. I never did anything about the whole crush, other than to make sure that our daily routes to and from classes would cross as much as possible. I didn't even divulge much to my small circle of friends. I had it bad.

I'm not ashamed to admit that as recent as five or six years ago, I searched for Jay's name on Classmates.com. I didn't find it and I gave up. Then along came Facebook.

I decided to send a Friend Request to him. He confirmed the request a day later and then, presto, we were friends. As soon as I got the notification of his confirmation of our Facebook friend status, I hopped right on the computer to check out his profile. HOLY SHIT. He's in Sacramento?

Facebook should be called "Open Book" because if you want to know something about someone, it's probably right there on their Wall. Like the fact that Jay worked with a very good girlfriend of mine two years ago. Same company, same department very likely. Or the mere idea that Jay works out at the same club that I teach at. And eats at my favorite downtown restaurant.

Now the one pertinent fact, that I'm sure you're wondering about at this point, is his marital status which to me, is very unclear. I distinctly remember telling Facebook that I was "single" and I see friends who have relationship status updates all the time but I don't see anything on his profile that indicates his availability. There are some pictures, however, but again, unclear as to the status of the relationship.

After 23 freaking years, no way was I going to sit on this and just be a confirmed friend. So I sent him a note, telling him that he probably knows my girlfriend and I also told him that his mother was one of the best teachers I've ever had (which is absolutely true). I also mentioned, as a "hey, by the way" that I had a big crush on him and isn't it fun and flattering to find these things out later in life?

I got a pretty quick and detailed reply. With a suggestion to meet and catch up.

Sometimes I wonder about fate and serendipity and God and the master plan. Times like these, for sure. Here I am - a grown up 38-year-old, single mom - trying to responsibly navigate the planet and do the best work that I can while I'm here - and then one single click on Facebook sends me straight back into junior high, feeling distracted, immature and...excited?

As I see it, there are several things to consider here. One, I'm dating a very nice guy who is in love with me. I think I love him too and I don't want to do anything that would hurt his feelings. He just might be the sweetest man who has ever been in my life. Two, who knows what Jay is thinking? For all I know, he could be very happily married and is flattered by my attention and simply wants to catch up on some of the stuff we talked about in our emails...a lot of "who's doing what" type of conversation. Innocent enough, right?

Damn that Facebook and all the suggestions and innuendos it throws our way. All I can say is that yes, we are having a drink later this month and that I have no idea if it's a good idea or not.

I'm sitting back and letting this one unfold.

Struggling

2009-07-05T16:01:00.001-07:00

I'm definitely battling against myself lately. Even more than usual.

I went to the doctor on Friday morning for some kind of explanation as to why my low back is killing me, why my stomach is always twisted in knots and why I can't muster up enough energy to maintain any kind of work-out routine.

Nope, I'm not myself. Not in the least bit.

The doctor ruled out a kidney infection which is what I originally self-diagnosed and suggested something along the lines of an autoimmune condition...chronic fatigue, fibrmyalgia, or other type of inflammation. She sent me off with several lab slips and orders to get some rest.

But I'm getting frustrated with resting. I miss my power yoga classes, my reformer sessions and even my always-dreaded spinning classes. I'm starting to feel lethargic, even a bit depressed.
A thirty minute walk shouldn't make me want to go back to bed and sleep for several hours.

This week, I'm going to try my hardest to look at food as medicine and make appropriate choices for the state that I'm in right now. No bread, no wheat, no dairy, no refined sugar, no wine.

In all honesty, I didn't do myself any favors over the weekend. On Friday alone, I drank a Frappuccino that was sweetened with Splenda, and proceeded to chug down not one, not two, but THREE diet 7-ups after that. Throw in a box of macaroni and cheese and way too many handfuls of tortilla chips and there I was...mired in my own self-misery of artificial colors and sweeteners. Yeah, I really know better than that.

But perhaps I don't because here's what happened Saturday: Got up and ate a Zone bar (can you say processed, processed, processed), several slices of deli style ham (there's the P word again), a diet Coke, two glasses of wine, and a slab of Scharffenberger chocolate that was big enough to feed the entire town I grew up in and possibly the neighboring cities, as well. Then at dinner, the choices were halibut, salmon, and steak. I couldn't make up my mind so I had all three.

And I wondered why I didn't feel good this morning? Really?

The good news is that I'm on such a downward spiral right now that it won't take much, in the way of good choices, to see some improvement.

I think, that for my own moral, good food choices are a much better prescription than any that a doctor could write. I'll report in on my progress later this week. Wish me luck.

Perfect

2009-06-24T10:47:00.000-07:00

I had a two and a half hour session with a therapist this week. We focused directly on the triggers and the thoughts associated with my emotional eating. It was extremely insightful.

The therapist counsels from a Buddhist perspective. We talked at great length about the ego and how much the ego hates change. She stressed that it's important not to "freak the ego out" by introducing drastic change, such as, "I'm not going to eat unless I'm hungry, never again." Rather, she suggested adding TO my current thought patterns with such statements as, "It's OK to have this cookie, that cracker, whatever...but I'm going to pause for a moment, before eating the whole package, and check in to see what my ego really wants here." (By the way, she told me that I have a very "clever" ego which might seem like a compliment but in actuality, creates even more confusion between my thoughts and my actions.)

A huge "take away" for me was the notion that people can do whatever they want to soothe their ego. I'm quick to judge my mother, for instance, for watching too much television. But, as the therapist gently pointed out, "Who is doing a better job of self-soothing? Your mother? Watching television to self-soothe? Or you? Eating beyond what you need and feeling terrible about it?"

Hmmmmmmmm.

Lastly (and there were many points, but these were just what I had time to post now), I admitted to her that I sometimes, no, all the time, feel like I am unqualified to "teach" people about how to be healthy since I myself struggle so significantly with my own boundaries on eating. She reminded me, and this is something that I've always held near and dear to my heart, that I am indeed perfect as I am; that God does not create anything less than perfection.

It's very affirming to walk through the day thinking of yourself in the light of perfection. I've been trying "perfect" on all week and I kinda like how it makes me feel. Much less like eating, I can tell you that for sure.

Full

2009-06-19T08:49:00.000-07:00

I spent the last couple of days in Reno going through training sessions. It was brutally hard, on every level...physical, emotional, mental. Hard to go through five Pilates classes, nearly back-to-back. Hard to realize that I don't have nearly the training I need to move forward in this career in the way that I want to. Hard because I still don't "get" how the abdominal muscles are supposed to work in a true pilates sense. You get the point.

My lunch yesterday didn't occur until 1:30pm, hours after breakfast and several sessions already completed. I was starving.

I went to a deli and ordered a large salad. With extra chicken. And a cookie. The salad could have fed half of Sacramento and the cookie was big enough for three children and possibly two adults to share. I devoured the whole thing.

The drive home took too long, the errands I had to do when I came home were endless and it was hot. My belly wasn't happy and neither was I. I felt like all the energy that I needed to focus on the drive and the tasks at hand was being diverted to my stomach. Which I'm quite sure it was.

I think it says quite a lot that if you're still stuffed at 8:00pm from a 1:30pm lunch, regardless of how much you've exercised your ass off, you have eaten way way way way way too much.

Lesson learned.

Momentum

2009-06-14T14:29:00.000-07:00

It's been a good three days. I haven't had any paralyzing moments, where I find myself eating to fill a void that can't be filled by food. Instead, I've downloaded pictures, called friends, spent time with a guy I like, and I've even taken a nap. Or two.

Wednesday was my really, really horrific day. It was also the day that Ben graduated and left with his dad for a nine day stint. I felt like I was re-defining every level of sadness on that day. And by nighttime, it was all over...the full-blown binge was well underway.

I'm still sad that Ben is gone but the difference, I think, is that I'm letting myself feel the sadness without masking it with food.

The other major trigger, for me, is my mother. We've spent less time together and during the time we have been in the house at the same time, I've tried to take a deep breath, instead of a big bite, when she says or does something that annoys me.

Three days might not seem like much of a stretch but in my world, it's a very long time. What I find amazing is that in such a short amount of time, I can feel so much better...physically, emotionally, spiritually.

I don't know what my next trigger will be but it helps to know that my main two - Ben's absence and my mom's lack-of-absence, can be alive and well yet controlled in a way that is healthy and appropriate.

Three days. It's not three weeks, three months, or three years. But it will be. Someday.

Disgust

2009-06-12T13:36:00.000-07:00

I originally called this post "Self Loathing" but that seemed a little harsh and I think that the current title is a little more palatable. To be blunt, right now, I can't stand myself...my weight, my eating habits, even my hair. I feel like a stranger in my own skin.

I'm beginning to realize that when there are so many things that I dislike about myself, it's nearly impossible to accept people into my life unconditionally. I'm feeling like I'm missing out on times with my son, romantic opportunities, and situations where I can practice loving kindness toward others (particularly my mother) because I am so mired in taking apart my own self-worth.

A friend recently said to me, "Fear blocks love. And love blocks fear."

I am afraid of my weight. I am fearful of my own behavior and actions. I live in a constant state of anxiety over the next episode, and even, at times, the next calorie. So how can I expect to create space for any kind of love...parental, romantic, friendship, etc when there is so much fear that gets in the way?

Conversely, I want to love the way that I know that I can. And for me, that means removing the fear, the worry, the apprehension. At times, fear feels like a huge wedge against my heart, to the point where I can't let any love in. That, in itself, creates more anxiety for me.

This week, I'm trying to lessen the vice-grip that fear has on my life. And letting my heart crack open, one tiny crevasse at a time.

When

2009-06-10T15:59:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite quotes is: "If not now, when?"

I think it's great. Succinct. Thought-provoking. To the point.

So, why can't I get the message of my beloved quote? Why is it so easy for me to push my favorite saying onto others, then not hold myself to the same accountability?

Becoming aware of my "triggers" as they relate to eating, has brought up some yucky stuff this week. Like, how the fuck am I going to live with my mom indefinitely? Since she won't consider her anxiety as being an undercurrent of stress in our household, am I going to need medication to survive this living arrangement?

As the stress mounts, so does my food intake. Then the guilt and the shame.

The reality is, she's not going anywhere soon unless I plan to leave my home. Which I'm not, so that leaves me with one option: cope.

It has to be now. It can't be another day. "When" has been haunting me for days, months, years and I won't let it take another moment away from me. Wish me luck.

Displacing

2009-06-08T20:11:00.001-07:00

Why do we always need a scapegoat? Having someone, anyone, to blame our problems on makes it oh-so-easy to to hide from our deepest and darkest issues. I should know.

Last night I heard my mom on the phone with her brother. They hadn't talked in quite a while and she was bringing him up to speed on life in our household. I was folding laundry, trying not to eavesdrop, and genuinely out of earshot of what was being said. My mom could have told him anything. But what she said is this:

"I am so proud of Janeen. With work, with parenting, with everything...she always rises to the occasion.

My mom went on about how much I've grown spiritually, how I'm trying with all my sanity to do damage control on some of Ben's "spoilage" and generally, how great a daughter I've turned out to be.

And she kept using the word "proud."

I think all along I've known that she and I are way past the struggles we had when I was very overweight. So we're beyond all that, well into forgiving and forgetting, yet I am still eating.

What gives?

My best guess is that my eating is very closely tied to stress. Having my mom live with me IS stressful. A lot of the time. Being a single mom IS stressful. Having clients come in and out of my home IS stressful. Wondering if I'll ever be in a healthy romantic relationship again is BEYOND stressful. Hoping that Ben will grow up to be respectful and kind is brain-numbing. You get the point. But who isn't stressed?

I've got a girlfriend with three boys under the age of five and no help whatsoever. She says that her kids bring her no joy; they're too busy driving her crazy. Another friend is in an extremely unhappy marriage, with a husband who resents her, ironically, for being overweight. I know way too many moms who are juggling full-time careers, along with their mommy duties, and who are feeling the tugs of mounting responsibilities and increasing guilt. The point is, we're all stressed.

My mom and I will always have our issues but I know, deep in my heart, that this is my cross to bear. It's time to take on some accountability, to re-assign the blame and, as my mom said, "to rise to the occasion."

In Treatment

2009-06-06T20:31:00.000-07:00

So I'm at the "Treatment" part in the book I'm reading about emotional/binge eating. I say, Bring It!

Since I can't afford to check myself into an eating disorder clinic (nor do I want to), I am attempting to find my coping resources in the book.

One thing I did yesterday and today was to completely let go of my "structured" eating. I had a big piece of cake at a party last night (no way was I going to pass up a chocolate dessert from Sacramento's famed Ettore's) and I made homemade ice cream tonight, with yogurt, albeit a LOT of chocolate chips, followed by an avocado and some crackers. Strange snack for 8:30pm? Maybe, but at least I stopped with only TWO handfuls of crackers and HALF of the avocado (these being after dinner and dessert, of course). It could have been a lot worse. Is it my imagination or am I hungrier today? Now that nothing is off limits, everything is sounding pretty darn good.

Tomorrow, I'm watching for triggers. Generally, those start for me as early as 5:30am with the dog and the child, alternating turns out of bed.

I'm also observing this debate occur between my body and my mind, something like: "You need to go to spinning class tomorrow," says my mind. "No way," counters my body. "You've done that to me three times already this week. I'm tired. Let me rest. Put less food in me. I don't want to work so hard at burning calories and then at processing all the food you'll throw my way."

I'd love to go back to the kitchen now and finish off the ice cream but I would also love a good night's sleep which I know I have no chance of getting if I return to the kitchen. And as far as spin class goes, I don't know who will win tomorrow.

But I guess I don't need to know until then, anyway.

History Repeating

2009-06-04T17:40:00.000-07:00

I had huge issues with my mother while growing up. I was overweight, by about 40 or 50 pounds, and she told me, repeatedly, that she could not love an overweight daughter. Ouch. She put me on a diet early on. I can't remember a time when I wasn't dieting. So I snuck food. And therein lies the origin of my food struggles.

We've since made amends, my mother and I. She has apologized profusely for the way that she treated me when I was younger. She tells me all the time how good I look. I genuinely think that she is very, very regretful of her words and actions and I have tried to forgive her.

She's living with me now, my mother, and I'm amazed at what is re-surfacing. I don't feel like she respects my work. It's not so much of what she says, rather, it's what she doesn't say. I've tried, many times, to tell her that a small business can take several years to get off the ground and that I am so lucky to have quickly established myself in the fitness community and to actually be making money. I crave her approval and I don't feel like I have it at all.

I know that my mother empathizes with my struggles as a single mom and she often says to me, "Your life is SO HARD." And yes, it is, at times. But oftentimes, it isn't and those are the times that she doesn't talk about. Mostly, I feel like I'm her charity case...that without her, my mortgage wouldn't get paid, Ben wouldn't have a good sitter, the dog wouldn't be walked, the milk carton would always be nearly empty and so on.

Her energy in my home makes me restless. It makes me a little crazy, admittedly. She's here a lot. I don't have much quiet time in my house anymore.

So I eat. A lot.

She'll look at my food choices, as she did when I was a child, and often inquire as to what I am eating.

It's easier to eat away from her, at night, and that I do.

We had a nice moment, my mom and me, last weekend. I was trying on dresses for a big party and was borrowing the full length mirror in her room. I put on several dresses and she weighed in on my choices. She actually helped me to decide on the final cut...and told me that I looked "sexy." She even saved me a last minute run to Macys by providing some jewelry to wear with the dress.

I'd like to have some more of those moments with her. I didn't turn to the refrigerator, the freezer, or the cupboard that night.

Admitting

2009-06-04T17:03:00.000-07:00

I have a problem. I struggle with food and emotional eating. I might not present like I have a weight problem but I'm one cupcake away from an all-out eating binge. Because, with me, one cupcake can't just BE one cupcake. Oh no. It might be an organic and wheat-free cupcake, but you can be certain that there will be several to follow, and perhaps, or likely, a raid on anything and everything salty.

This admission is going to be a surprise to anyone who reads this.

The problem with working in the fitness industry is that people look at you, or in my case, they look at me, and naturally assume that I don't have any issues with food or weight. And much of that is my fault. I maintain a healthy living blog, I cram my cupboards with organic and pure groceries and I have a well-rounded and active lifestyle.

I've done a good job, possibly a great job, of fooling a lot of people.

The real deal is that I have big issues around food and emotional eating. There, I said it. It's something that I've struggled with for years, in fact, I don't remember a time when food wasn't an escape for me.

Certainly there have been times in my life when the situation is better, more under control, and I find that I feel lighter, not just from a physical standpoint...my spirit actually feels like less of a load.

Then there are the times like now when I feel like the cycle is viciously churning, way out of my control, and there is no possible way of stopping it.

Recently, I picked up a book from Borders, having just been on an emotional eating binge, and I found out that emotional eating is a direct cause of insomnia. I guess if you cram 1,000 or more calories into your belly late at night that the digestive tract is going to be a bit busy overnight, thus, sleep becomes interrupted in a major way. It actually makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Since I've struggled with sleep for so many years, this point definitely caused me to sit up and take notice. But it didn't make me stay out of the kitchen.

Someone told me this week, "You look really stressed." I thought to myself, "Why am I stressed? For the first time since my divorce, work is somewhat stable, Ben is growing up to be a (relatively) good kid, I am dating, I'm cultivating my spirituality, I think I'm gaining (some) respect as a single, working mom...WHAT GIVES?" But I knew the answer and I knew it well. I can't get off the emotional eating treadmill. After 20 some odd years. And it's tearing me up.

I know I can't go on like this. I have an example to set to my child and I want it to be a good one. I want that lighthearted spirit back. I want to sleep at night and wake up refreshed and not with an aching stomach and a hurting heart. I want to stop living in the past - beating myself up for eating to cope - and I want to stop living in the future - worrying about my next episode and what impact it will have. I want to be in the moment - enjoying the many blessings that I do have and letting food do its job of nourishing my body, one meal and snack at a time.

The author of the book suggests that writing is an incredibly effective tool in the fight to overcome emotional eating. In her book, she actually advocates maintaining a blog; in fact, a public blog, shared among friends can be beneficial on so many levels...accountability, empathy, sharing, etc. But we bloggers already know that, don't we?o

So here I am. Ready to write. I hope that by sharing this publicly, that someone can relate to, and possibly, become encouraged by the battle I'm waging against myself. Oprah did it. I know I can too.