(Picture stolen from Single Dad Laughing)So, I was blog hopping the other day to kill some time, and I landed on Single Dad Laughing. I always love his posts. I don't know why I haven't added him to my blogroll yet. I need to remedy that immediately.
Anyway, posts from his archives flash across the top of his main page. One popped up with a picture that reminded me so much of myself three years ago that I had to click on it (see above). I'm so glad I did. It was THIS. (Please click it and read. Please? It's totally clean and appropriate--no worries that I'm taking you to a profanity riddled porn fest or anything).
For those of you who are too lazy or stubborn to click, here's a very brief summary: Most of us--probably all of us--hide parts of ourselves because we feel the need to be perfect, and exposing that part would make us unbearably imperfect. He gives some real life examples of how sometimes this "disease called perfection" can be deadly. Really, I can't do the post justice. Please, just go read it.
Anyway, at the end of the post, he asks this:
Will you help me spread “Real”? Tell us below just how perfect you aren’t. You never know who might be alive tomorrow because you were real today. You never know who needs to feel like they aren’t alone in their inability to be perfect. Even if you comment as an anonymous guest, please comment. Tell us what you struggle with. Tell a sad or dark secret. Get vulnerable. Get real.
The post moved me so much that I'll accept the challenge. And I'm asking you to do the same. Here in the comments, or on your own blogs. If you post it on your blog, let me know and I'll link it here.
So, here's my dose of real.
I've been extremely open about being morbidly obese and documenting my weight loss through gastric bypass. I even showed you all the skin the weight loss left behind. But I've been a lot less real about my struggle with regain over the past 14 months.
I've gained 30-35 pounds (depending on when I step on the scale). I've gone from a size 4 to a size 10-12 (mostly 12). I feel like a failure. Those 35 pounds may as well be 135 pounds because that's how they make me feel.
I know that I'm not the only person who has regained after weight loss surgery, but I feel like I am. I feel extreme shame that I couldn't stay in those size fours. I'm embarrassed to have people who saw me as a size four see me now. I seriously considered skipping my annual get together in Las Vegas this year because all those people would see how fat I'd gotten. Logically, I know that's probably the last thing on their minds, but no one ever said shame was logical.
Adding to my sense of failure is that I really have been working hard to lose it. But it's not working. I even got so desperate that I tried weight loss pills. I know, I know. I would chastise any of you if you said you were taking them. But that's how desperate I got. 1200 calories a day and intense 90 minute workouts five days a week weren't doing anything, so maybe the pills would. Obviously they didn't. I just felt like a squirrel on crack. I got a lot done those few weeks, just didn't lose any weight.
So, that's my real for right now. I'm a big fat weight loss failure. I couldn't beat it. I want to hide everyday because of it.
I don't want you to tell me I'm not fat. That's not the point here. I'm not looking for people to tell me I'm wrong. I'm just putting it out there because I know that there are others out there in my shoes, and I want them to know they're not alone.
So, now it's your turn. Get real.
Here's a post from Crystal, who beat me to it this morning.
Here's a post from Tex.
Here's a post from Rena.
Here's a post from AngelButton.
Here's a post from BlueCodeRed.
Here's a post from Bennett.
Here's a post from Jen.
20 comments:
That extra weight was perfect in Vegas. I was considering not going because I didn't want to share a bed with someone skinnier than me.
FTR- You aren't big and fat. You are just right. You are one of my best friends and I love you just the way you are.
I'm bipolar. For the rest of my life, I will have to take several different meds in order to not be a raving lunatic. But with those meds, I'm stable and happy and generally a good mom. Here's where it gets iffy: those same meds make me tired. OH SO TIRED. No matter how much sleep I do or do not get, I feel exhausted much of the time. My house isn't filthy, but it's far from spotless because I just don't have the energy to keep it up as well as I should. And I'm often found napping or sleeping in when I really should be reading to my little ones or otherwise caring for them. That's not to say that they're going hungry or wearing dirty underwear or not getting to school on time. Just that I could be doing better, and I'm not. So there you go. Totally imperfect.
Thanks for this.
I have a blog. I have only told about 3 people.... I am very honest about my current struggles and though I would love people to read it and see their comments and know that we all struggle. I want to be a supporter of REAL. I am very afraid that I would just be seen as totally weak and incompetent in the path I have chosen.
When my husband tells me I'm sexy I have to scream at myself in my mind to believe him otherwise I dismiss it as false. I find it nearly impossible to believe that someone as fat and imperfect as me could ever be seen as sexy.
Jen--I've added your blog to my roll. But if you want me to take it off I will. Thanks for sharing it. And your last paragraph in your comment? I completely relate. Daily.
Pooh--Thank you. While I'm not glad that you struggle at times, I AM glad that you shared. You always appear put together and polished with perfectly behaved and well spoken children. I bet there are lots of people who look at you and your family and say you are perfect. It's a good reminder that even the most outwardly perfect people have their own struggles in private. And that struggles don't always mean unhappiness--just imperfection. :)
Tex--You and your size zeroes aren't fooling anybody. Skinnier than you...At least it made me laugh. :)
Brandi, the truly ironic thing about your response is that during the time we were in the same ward and you thought I was so perfect, I was going through my worst period ever. I had severe post-partum with Keaton, and I was struggling to get the right treatment. Being on the wrong drugs caused me to go into a mixed episode, and I was seriously thinking of checking myself into a hospital. And yet, even though I was literally falling apart at home, I felt the need to appear perfect AT CHURCH, of all places, where I should have felt I could go to find people to help me. I would go to Primary and do the singing time, and be silly and sing and dance around with the kids with a big smile on my face, and inside I was wondering how I could hold it together for another fifteen minutes. Joel Bush was trying to help me navigate the Tricare mental health system, and he would wait until the Primary room cleared out then ask me how I was doing that week. That's when I would lose it. My husband didn't know what to do and couldn't really help anyway, because he simply didn't have time due to the residency he was in. And yet, every Sunday, I would put on my fancy clothes, do my hair and makeup, dress my kids up, and head out the door so that no one would know something was wrong. I really get why that guy described "perfect" as a disease.
But it's easier now that I'm stable to show my imperfection. I'd been in my new house a full two weeks when I got myself done up to go meet the director of Keaton's new pre-school. My always-cute next-door neighbor saw us as we were heading out and said, "Wow! Your hair is really cute!" And then I realized that I hadn't actually fixed my hair even ONCE in the two weeks since I'd moved in, even though I'd been running all over town. It's been six weeks since we got here, and I still have boxes everywhere, and I let people into my house anyway. It's much easier to admit imperfection when you're already happy than when you're struggling so deeply.
Pooh -I love that last sentence, "It's much easier to admit imperfection when you're already happy than when you're struggling so deeply."
So so true.
Brandi -I loved SDL's post and yours and Crystal's. I think it's so important to be real and honest, even if it means allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Which is one reason I love blogs so much. Sometimes it's easier to be honest on a blog than in person.
All awesome comments. My imperfections are many, but my most obvious one would be my love of cussing. I cuss around my kids, though never AT my kids. The F word is probably my favorite word. Especially since I am married and can F my husband pretty much any time I want, :).
Also, I have 2 boys, am an active member in the LDS faith, and I plan on teaching my boys that it's ok if they masturbate, that the thing to focus on isn't NOT masturbating, but rather to focus on their relationship with their Heavenly Father--do they always have a prayer in their heart? Do they read the scriptures? Are they kind to other people? Because occasionally touching yourself isn't a bad thing (and it's NOT cheating on your spouse, future or current), but letting it overtake your life IS.
And I'm going to teach them when/where it's acceptable to do such things--ie in their bedrooms/bathrooms, NEVER in public.
And maybe it's an imperfection, but I don't think it is.
My real for today: I often feel like a joke as a mother/ wife. I know that really these insecurities are because my mom wasn't the world's most stellar mom (that's putting it mildly). I fell like (even though really I know I'm doing my best) that I'm not doing enough for my kids. Like I have check off all parenting blocks: volunteering in my kids' classrooms; doing (extra) after-school stuff for my kid- the list could go on and on honestly. Truth is there's only so many hours in the day. I only have so much energy (and motivation). So I'm okay w/ not being the perfect mom.
my real is that i have an eating disorder. and on most days of the week i want it, need it. i try every day to be good and eat and be healthy bleh bleh. but i just wish deep inside that i could just keep it. and not be ashamed of it.
my real is that Im scared if I were real my friends wouldnt like me anymore.
Wow. Thank you all for your comments. Thank you.
I have to be liked, unless I don't like the person or know that I can possibly never cross paths again, I want them to like me. And it's more then that too, I want to be popular, I want a ton of friends who look up to me, who always want to hang out with me, who invite me to all the events. I just need to be noticed and included. Whenever I find out people don't invite me to a BBQ or a Girl's night, I take it really personally. I know I shouldn't, but it stings. I'm so afraid of not having friends, of losing friends, I am often checking with the ones I do have to make sure I haven't offended them.
I'm not my real self because my real sarcastic, kinda crass self doesn't make friends out here, at least not many. I don't want anyone to be offended by me, or I want to not care, but I haven't mastered the second, so I just overly censor myself.
I'm just so afraid of being judged or ostracized. Even when I was a kid nothing got me attention, being good, being bad, no one but my family noticed or cared. I've never had a birthday party since I was 15 that more then 3 people actually showed up to, I've never had a friend throw me a baby shower (my mother-in-law did, but only 1 of my friends showed). I just want people to like me enough to want to spend EXTRA time with me, not just the bare minimum, it'd just be nice to have someone call me up for a playdate or want to come over to MY house for once. That's my real.
My real is that I spend almost zero time with my kids. I joke about it, but it's the truth. I hate making them do things, so I just let them do whatever as long as they don't interrupt what I've got going on...and I have a lot going on. Teaching piano lessons, my job at the gym, my bunco nights, my computer time, my reading time, etc. I never seem to make the time to spend with them, so they're all tv junkies and ds addicts. I don't cook for them. I don't clean for them. I don't bathe them. I barely take the time to tuck them in at night. I feel like the worst mom in the world. I love them, but taking even 10 minutes to focus on one child to find out how their day was takes a lot of effort for me. And what kills me the most...when I finally do find the time to talk, they blow me off. I deserve it. I'm working on it, but I'm not perfect.
I think I'd literally cut off a limb to be your size. That's where I started off, but a brain tumor got in my way and the aftermath of that has had me sick for the last 3.5 years. I was put on steroids and I have gained close to 70 lbs. I'm not a big fan of eating either. I can go all day without food.
I have been having body issues. I refuse to look in the mirror any longer. I sit in the house day after day just crying becaue my body transformed into something I don't reconize.
Although I do have my own set of "real", I have yet to voice or write them down. I have not even uttered them aloud to myself. Though they do occupy my thoughts, somehow not saying or writing them makes them seem less real and easier to ignore.
I realize this is not a healthy way to deal with problems. Bur sometimes I just feel so alone and trapped about them that ignoring their existence and forging forward is the path I choose.
I just read this. And I love these kinds of posts! (But I do HATE SDL more than anything in the whole wide world.)
Yeah. I took him off my blog roll after a week. I realized he's kind of a douche. But a douche who occasionally writes something great.
My online persona has me as being a successful journalist, author and illustrator, but every year for my kid's school I have to check the box "homeless/doubling up" because we live with family and can't afford our own place here in San Diego.
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