Grace Homeschool Association

Last night we went to the fall kick-off picnic for the new homeschool group we joined. Lots of nice families and good food. Met a family we knew from Open Door and reconnected with several women I'd chatted with briefly at the Y. Anjali met Maggie and Tim and Mark played whiffle ball. I talked with several very friendly, kind ladies.

I've hesitated in joining a homeschool group, especially a Christian one. And yet, here I am. It wasn't so bad, really. For years and years very Christian people, especially conservative ones, made the hair stand up all over my body. But not yesterday. I knew what I wanted there and what I expected I got- polite, friendly, well-organized women and their grilling, involved, fun-loving husbands. I'm looking for no drama and no chaos with maybe some friendly chatting and safe play dates. I was especially struck by how each family went around to introduce themselves and in most of the cases the dad stepped out and pointed fondly to each person while saying their names and how many years they've been in co-op. It's been a long time, people, since I've heard that many men take the initiative and introduce their wife and all their kids. In fact, in our neighborhood, having biological dads who work attending with their wife and all their kids happily standing together- yeah, well, that's not a regular occurrence. Anjali brought her friend Maggie to our circle to sit and this 11-year old chatted away with Tim and I, answering questions with the great seriousness of pre-teens. Refreshing.

I find that knowing what is on my relational plate, what I want there, and why is a great liberation for me. I now have the best set of friends I have had in 20 years and I am capable of being a friend to myself and others in a totally new way than ever before. I'm delighted with my internal peace and find myself understanding women who talk about being comfortable in their own skin. I'm am so glad to be months from 40 I can hardly express my delight. For the first time in my life, I am not straining in relationships, trying to make them into something, but rather accepting what is and choosing what servings I'd like in my life. I am longer wanting these conservative Christian people to admire and accept me, to understand me, to agree with me. I admire and accept me from a place of true understanding. What can they add or subtract from that?

And in the process of embracing myself and my life, I am finding the ease to be able to relax, chat, eat the grilled burger, and clean up all without becoming driven. And surprisingly, at least to me, I find that when I least need them and their friendship, I am most able to be myself, receive who they really are, and enjoy without any aspirations of intimacy.

I never imagined that all along it wasn't those people I was trying to impress and gain acceptance from. It was me.

Coming together

I don't want to jinx it but I think things are actually coming together- church, homeschool, square dance lessons, possibilities for friendships. Our family's life is looking different than it ever has this fall and I think we're going to like it.
A lot.

Big Trouble

I'm reading a book by Dave Barry called Big Trouble. This quote made me laugh aloud and I wanted to share it with you. To set the scene, two robbers prepare.

"I can't see out this thing," said Eddie.

"Well, try," said Snake.

They were standing at the entrance to the Jolly Jackal, wearing panty hose on their heads. Snake had pulled the left leg of his panty hose over his face; the right leg was dangling down his chest. Eddie had pulled the pelvic region of his panty hose over his face, so that both of the legs were hanging down his back, making him look like a large, frightened rabbit.

"I'm just saying," said Eddie, "we should of got a lighter shade."

"We got what we got," said Snake.

They had obtained the panty hose from the five-and-dime in Coconut Grove. They had not had time to examine their selections carefully, because Snake had shoplifted them while Eddie had distracted the store employees by pretending to have a seizure. Snake had grabbed the first panty hose he saw. They had turned out to be Hanes Control Top, for the full-figured women, in jet black.



Having worn full-figured hose, I could just picture this in my mind's eye and I laughed and laughed.
Enjoy

True kindness

I discussed recently that I was taught as a child the forms of courtesy but didn't have its heart which is respect for one's own honor and therefore for others'. I behaved politely and agonized over my lapses because it was about my performance. Now I am more respectful of myself and able to be genuinely respectful and focused on others. What made the change and why? What changes self-absorbed people who are all about themselves into kind people whose life is for them but not all about them? Suffering under God's kind hand.

"Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore...
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say,
"It is I you have been looking for."
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.


Here is God's kindness to us in a poem by Mpho and Desmond Tutu from the book Made for Goodness.

"Do you think I don't know the demands of your life?...
Do you imagine that I did not know who you were when I made you,
when I knit you together in your mother's womb?
Do you think I planted a fig tree and expected roses to bloom?
No, child, I sowed what I wanted to reap."


This is my why.

Compliments

Accepting or not accepting compliments is another thing I'm reflecting on as I lose weight.

I've received some very sincere and meaningful praise from other people in my Weight Watchers group for helping my family to eat healthier and for sticking with the process of change. That means something to me both because of who is doing the complimenting and what they are complimenting me about. My kids tell me to "Be the big loser, Mom!" Tim says, "Good work." All that works for me.

And yet, sometimes I find that compliments people give me aren't really about celebrating me and my life but are rather an evaluation of how well I've met their standards. I feel like I'm being praised for how well I look like someone's preference. It reminds me, now looking back, on how I feel about always being graded as a kid in school. I did not receive compliments or praise when I pursued the learning I was interested in or wrote out what I was grappling with or chose not to read the assigned text because it didn't suit me. No, I only got the A when I did what the teacher wanted, when the teacher wanted, how the teacher wanted. It's not about how well I learn but about how well I comply. And so it is now with compliments about my body. It is not about how well I feel or how happy I am, but about how well I conform to that person's standards.

I remember being asked to be matron of honor for a friend in her wedding. I was honored and set aside funds. She came to me later and told me she wanted me to wear make-up for her wedding. I replied, "But I don't wear make-up. Heck, I didn't even wear make-up to my own wedding." Nevertheless, she insisted that she wanted me to wear make-up, blush and lip stick at an absolute minimum. And she told me to get my hair done professionally with hairspray. I didn't argue the point but rather said, "This is your wedding; I will do it your way. I've set aside money as a gift for you and whatever I spend will come out of that. Whatever is left, you can have." She agreed and insisted on the make-up and hair. So, on her big day, my hair was sticky and stinky, my face felt heavy and stiff, I couldn't lift or cross my arms, and I was supposed to stand before the masses tranquil and lovely while I was completely uncomfortable. She loved my look. My dad took photos. I got compliments. Oh, yes, I got compliments for feeling ridiculous, uncomfortable, false, and distracted. It rained on my hair on my way to the car and the product dried like a helmet. I got in the car and as I was wiping off the make-up I told Tim to drive fast because I couldn't stand the outfit one minute more. I gave the dress away because I knew I would never wear it again.

As I look back, I am struck by how her insistence on my appearance despite my discomfort makes me feel disrespected, as if my body were a prop in her show. And I remember those compliments and how I swallowed them all politely, feeling slammed and false while trying to tell myself I liked the attention and praise. I didn't like being complimented on feeling lousy and un-Amy-like. It was like a sweet, heady drink with an acid chaser, corroding all the way down.

Which leads me to this question: How am I going to respond when someone inevitably says something like:

"You've lost weight. You look really good." [You looked lousy before. I get to grade how you look and tell you because my opinion about your body counts.]

"I'm glad you've finally taken your health seriously and lost 40 pounds. Only 100 to go." [You as a fat person couldn't possibly have respected yourself. And I'm going to tell you how much more you have to do to really meet standards.]

My body is mine. I am my own. I am not some exhibit to be critiqued or some commodity to be graded.

Maybe I'll say something sassy like, "Really, I look different? (gasp and look down) Darn it, where did I leave that roll of fat?" Or something disingenuous like, "Gee, really, I hadn't noticed." Or something deflecting like "Thanks. Isn't the weather so..." Or something honest like, "That comment hurt my feelings." Or something confrontational like, "What gives you the right to critique my appearance and then presume that I want to hear it?" Or something demanding like, "How about complimenting a character quality I have rather than stating your opinion about my body?" Or something pointed like,"I didn't ask for your opinion."

I'm tired of buying into the belief that "they" have the prerogative to evaluate me and that I should feel awkward in receiving a pseudo-compliment and then thank them for it. I feel that in taking their judgments in silence or in vague politeness or in feigned gratitude, I not only support their conclusions but I also support their unquestioned feeling of rightness in making and speaking them.

Will anyone ever say things that would really mean something to me like:

"Wow, you look happy. Have you been having fun?"
"You've persevered and gone for what you've wanted. I'm hope you get a lot of satisfaction."
"I experience how much kinder you are to yourself and I'm really drawn to that."
"I see how well your kids look. You've done a great job helping them listen to their bodies and respect their limits."

Now, those would be some complements I could heartily receive.

Maybe I should give people a Compliment Cue Card like that sketch in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life when that couple order a conversation card about philosophy. [Remember that? If you don't, maybe that should be the next movie night.] Maybe I should give people who compliment poorly a card with clues like:

"You have received this card because you gave Amy a poor complement. Let's try that compliment again, people.

• Ask a question about what I've learned or how my life has changed or what I've most enjoyed in the process of losing weight and then express your happiness for me in that.
• Express admiration for a quality in my character which has enabled me to succeed like perseverance or determination or self-understanding or patience or creativity or flexibility.
• Ask me about how I've celebrated my success and express appreciation for that.
• If none of this makes sense to you, say nothing as this isn't about you or your approval at all anyway. It's about me."
  

I'm deciding that I don't have to gratefully accept all compliments because I am a good, polite girl. I can choose which compliments to accept and which to reject.

*********

Well, good people, I'm back. Not more than 8 hours after I wrote this, someone did compliment me. She said, "Wow, you've lost weight. (Looking me up and down) A lot of weight. You look great, really great."
My response was, "As opposed to how bad I looked before?"
She replied, "No really, you look great. You look great."

Yep, it's begun.
I went back later and explained that I felt judged when she said, "You look great." I'm comfortable with "You've lost weight." True. I'm even ok with "I like you better thin." At least that's honest. But I'm not ok with "You look great" as if the statement was really about me and not about her presuppositions about beauty. I told her I felt manipulated and graded. She tried and tried to explain. My kids waited impatiently in the car as I tried to differentiate between factual statements like "You've lost weight" and judgments like "You look so great." What I keep hearing is "You look so great now as opposed to before when you looked terrible." She totally could not hear me nor understand but kept on rationalizing.

Have these people called me pretty or beautiful in 40 years when I was plain Amy or only when I posed and played their game? So why would I want their words now?

Has any medical person had anything positive, anything at all, to say about my body? Not one thing, ever. So now I should go and let them pat me on the head and praise me? Yeah, right.

What could people possibly compliment my body about now that would mean anything to me except that they are fond of their opinions and hold me to their standards?

I feel as if I've been offered a treat only to find after eating it that it's been laced with poison.

Celebrating me, my journey, and my happinesses is an entirely different thing than most people's compliments deliver.

How am I going to stay true to myself?

Would you ponder this on my behalf? And the next time we talk, let me know if you've got any ideas for how I can stay true to myself in this. I could use the feedback.

Reflections on 40 pounds

In early April, I joined Weight Watchers. My friend Sheila recruited me by talking about her experience and so, despite the willies I felt just saying "Weight Watchers," I began. I have lost 38.2 pounds and hope to get to 40 in the next week or two. The first 30 pounds just seemed like getting back to my pre-pregnancy weight and somehow didn't seem like a big deal. For some reason, though, this 40 pound mark does.

I didn't tell anyone, except my health care people, about joining for at least the first 20 pounds just in case it didn't work. Then, I shared with my conversation circle friends. To date, Tim, Sheila, Joe, Ginger, Tara, Anjali, Mark, Emily, Megan, Angela, and Johanna know. Period. Somehow those first months and pounds seemed sacred. My weight has always been a topic of other people's conversation from my youth and this time, I didn't want anyone else slapping their stuff on my journey. So, I have remained silent. Joe told me nobody would notice and I didn't believe him. Everyone noticed that I was fat and felt free to comment- from family members to complete strangers on the street to medical people; so many had an opinion about my body and felt compelled to make me aware of my failure to meet their standards in glorious technicolor. How could they possibly not notice 40 pounds? I had my line ready to deflect unwanted interest. I mentally rehearsed denials. But, lo, Joe was right- not one person has commented. I've wondered if fat past a certain point is so fat that people stop paying attention. I've wondered if suddenly people who felt free to critique without offering any kind of aid have finally been struck dumb by kindness. I've wondered if because I still wear the same clothes I'm camouflaged. Why has the world which has been oh so very vocal about my "failures" become suddenly mute about my "success"? I have felt scrutinized for so long that I find their silence curious and welcome.

Another oddity after everything and everything all these decades is that I haven't had to try very hard. I'd say that after the first week, I've been doing about a level 4 effort out of 10 and for the summer a 3. After all the angst and all the pain, I would have figured I'd be pedal to the metal all the way. But no. I've been surprised and for a change of pace, pleasantly so. I find myself thinking over lunch or dinner how I will reduce my points from the current 33 to the eventual 22 and if I feel stressed, I think of Ginger, a 120# foodie. She was right- the Izzy cone, 2 T of really good ice cream- is satisfying. I making a lifelong commitment to my satisfaction and to having a balance of pleasures in my life- food being one of many pleasures I enjoy.

As I thought about fall, I imagined giving away most of my fall wardrobe because it would be falling off. Surprisingly, though, all but one outfit was fine. Baggy, but certainly not falling off. As I need replacements-thus far 2 pairs of pants and underwear- I'm getting a size or two smaller. Seems incredibly anticlimactic for 40 pounds, doesn't it? I've lost the equivalent of my son and nothing much exterior has changed.

On the other hand, so many things within me have. My chronic pain level is 0-1 most days with the highest level for 3 months as a 3. My wrists don't hurt when I do yoga and I know more than 12 poses so far. I've ridden my bike more this summer than I have for the previous 20 years combined. I have more and better energy and stay satisfied when I eat. I've eradicated several long standing infections. We're square dancing and planning to take lessons this fall as a family. I am happier in my life and am experiencing more genuine pleasure than I ever have in my life. I'm finding a way to accept my family. I was able to vacation with my husband and kids with joy for the first time. Some of those are results of losing weight and some are causes and some are both or neither but cause and effect with something else altogether.

The season of my life has changed. Spring is here. Not that sloppy, gray spring of March but that glorious, bright, blooming spring of May.

In honor of my sprouting, I am releasing my unwillingness to talk about my weight. I will answer questions squarely if any ever come. I'm ready to put my process out there honestly and receive interest while respecting my limits.

I'm going square dancing tonight and although I'm not quite to 40 I've decided to celebrate myself tonight.

This one is yours

Megan, Angela, and Johanna-
I was listening to a CD, Fireflies and Songs by Sara Groves, today while washing dishes and I saw our conversation of yesterday in the songs.

This one's for me

This one's for Angela

This one's for Megan

This one's for Johanna.

You mean so much to me.

Lessons

In preparation for upcoming conversations, I am compiling a list of lessons I learned growing up which I don't want to pass on.


I will call for aid and no help will come. I must do it all myself.

Being loved hurts.

Church is all my social life, all the safe people in the world, and my entire pool of friends. A church circumscribes the boundaries of my life.

Family means loyalty at all costs and acceptance of all treatment from family members no matter how painful. Being with family is a duty. Without family there is only abandonment.

Parents, and sometimes other family members, know me better than I know myself. Therefore, in any disagreement, those who know better are always right.

There are consistent losers in the family structure. The losers should muster up their loyalty and duty because that's what others did when they were the losers.

Forgiveness means making peace without truth.

Conflict and anger means the end of relationship. Therefore, conflict must be avoided at all costs. This is as good as it gets so hang on to it.

The only people I can trust and count on are family and church. I must accept all treatment from those who love me.

I can't hear the sirens

I called 911 on Monday for an 11-year old neighbor. We had walked to the park, she had difficulty breathing, and the inhaler was 5 blocks too far away to walk in time. I blogged about this on my family blog and what stood out after writing it was how I felt when I was waiting for the ambulance to come after I'd called for help. I felt desperate and responsible and powerless and resolute. That paramedic on the borrowed cell phone kept me focused and stayed on the line with me as Hodan lay gasping, asking me to evaluate. Her fingernails are pink not blue. She hasn't spoken. She's conscious. Yes, that's her wheezing you hear. I told him I was shaking and scared and he told me I was doing fine and to stay with him.

Then I heard the sirens. I stroked Hodan's hair and said, "Sweetie, those sirens are for you. They're coming right now for you. I can hear them getting closer. Just a block or two now. Take deep breaths- they're almost here. Those are your sirens. Breathe."

And then they were there- lifting her, evaluating her, helping her, loading her into the ambulance. The paramedic on the phone said he would hang up and I thanked him profusely.

When I had called 911 I had demanded help saying, "I need help right now. My 11-year old neighbor can't breathe. She has asthma and her inhaler is at home. We on the corner of 34th and 4th. We need help right now!" The operator dispatched help and transferred me to this man who talked me through until help arrived, help I was unable to give.

Farhiya and Ayan and Hodan fought- yelling, punching, shoving- and it ended with Hodan on the ground not breathing. The other girls were panicked and guilt-ridden and worried when the police arrived. After everyone was home safe and sound, I found the girls sitting together and told them that there was a lot of anger there and they needed to work it out. Who could I call who could help them? And they all answered Phil from Youth Farm. So I immediately called Phil, who immediately came. I'm not sure anything has actually resolved despite our best efforts.

For 2 days, this whole situation has been on my heart, especially Farhiya who is so volatile. What's being done for her? What kind of trauma is she living to be like this? Is she going to counseling? Something needs to be done. What am I supposed to do?

Today I realized that I don't really believe help is coming. I've called for aid but I don't hear the sirens. And I don't really believe that help is on its way. I really believe that if I don't help, there will be no aid. No one will come. Not even God.

So this morning, I told God that. I prayed, yelling into the phone, "We need help and we need help now! Farhiya needs helps now. Ayan and Hodan need help now. I don't know whether the girls are calling for help, but I'm calling. I don't hear the sirens and I don't know what to do! The peace is failing. Trauma is birthing violence. Children I said I'd look out for assaulted one another. Hodan could have died. The police came and shook their heads that the girls were fighting over friendship bracelets. We're on 35th and 1st and we need help right now."

Don't leave me standing here desperate and powerless, God, watching these children fall apart.
I'm calling for your saving help in desperate times.
I can't hear the sirens.

Coming home again

This last Tuesday, Joe, my wise acupuncturist, listens to me and then reflects back- Sounds to me like you're struggling to embrace your wellness. You're like a soldier who's been at war for 20 years and then comes home. Now what? Go back to farming?

I felt that this precisely captured my current state and as I lay there, I asked, How does the soldier go home? How does the soldier become a farmer? I've been struggling to heal and live the truth for so long, I've fought so hard and endured, that now that the season is changing, I don't know how to embrace happiness. I don't know how to live well. How do I nurture and grow and relax and release the struggle? I'm afraid to believe in pleasure.

As I lay on the table, wondering, I got two answers. First, the soldier always was a farmer. I am in some sense becoming who I always was- a nurturer of life, my own Amy, strong and whole. Second, becoming a farmer again was what the soldier was fighting for all along. To stay a soldier, to live in constant conflict, would be to abandon that for which I fought.

I honestly wasn't anticipating that my fight would end. I was mostly hoping for a reduction of pain, for an easing of the terror, for a small plot of happiness. What I've got is victory.

And now what?

I've been drawn to the South African Truth and Reconciliation Committee's work, precisely because this question of peace and happiness and wholeness is at the heart of why they did it. I read The Country of My Skull- very, very powerful. Now I'm reading Made for Goodness by Desmond Tutu which I have to say is particularly poignant given all the previous reading.

Also, I've watched the entire extended version of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy this week, specifically to watch how Merry, Pippen, and Sam go home to the Shire at the end. And to watch how the heartbeat of home- of strawberries and cream and grass and the Forest of Buckland and Rosie Cotton, dancing with ribbons in her hair- how the good in their world was worth fighting for. And going home for. The fellowship, though bound forever in love and friendship, ended. The faithful companions of war disbanded, went home, and reengaged the good life.

That's were things get a little sketchy for me. After the Ewoks finish dancing on Endor, after Frodo sails into the West, after girl and boy say I do- then what do heroes do? Why do the stories fizzle out when it comes time to wash the dishes or change the buns? If I let go of the struggle, will it be boring, not even worth writing about?

Perhaps happiness and pleasure are boring to read about because they are so simple and personal and subtle to live. I'm ready to find out.

As a movement from soldier to farmer, this afternoon I canceled the last counseling appointment I have scheduled for 2010. I had scheduled this one back in like April as a chance to say goodbye. And just in case. But today I realized that for the first time in 8 1/2 years, I didn't need counseling and I'm going to say farewell in another way. I am so grateful for Shannon and her companionship in my suffering this last decade. I will always remember her.

My war is over and my fellowship of suffering is ending.
I'm back.