Progress Inside Out

Remember when I said last week that I wouldn’t be commenting on anything political? Well, I will stay true to my word. For now, at least. This week I’m going to talk about something even worse than politics. Something that is perhaps even more divisive than a bunch of charming-trump-chit-chat. This something is riddled with tension, judgement, frustration and sometimes even hopelessness.

Let’s talk about our bodies.

So, all the stories I tell in my blog are True, but this one is particularly difficult to be Honest about. Primarily because I don’t know what in the actual fuck is going on with my body. So it’s kinda hard to be totally transparent. But my promise to myself and to you is to Be Here. And because my body is on my mind a lot lately, and because I’m trying to remind myself that I’m not alone here on planet earth, I’m going to try to untangle some stuff about my body today.

Let’s explore, shall we?

A little background first.

Here is the honest truth: I’m heavier right now than I have been since I was pregnant with Lydia, over 14 years ago. That was my heaviest to date. So let’s face facts: this is absolutely bonkers. And hand across my heart, it happened in, like, a nanosecond. I woke up one morning a few months ago and looked in the mirror after I got dressed and was like, “Oh, this shirt is funny! Why is is all bunchy around my…holy shit, that’s not my shirt! That’s my actual stomach!!!”

No lie. I tiptoed onto the scale for the first time in months and I weighed over 200 pounds. wtf!

Now please, don’t panic. I know that I’m beautiful. I know that my husband loves me and my body. I know that we have incredible sex. I know that physically speaking (blood work, stomach and colon checks, EKG and heart ultrasound, vitamin and hormone levels, etc) I am in good health. I’m completely in love with the Body Positivity Movement and support the notion that no one should ever be able to comment on another person’s body. This comes up in our household quite a bit with teenage swimmers. Each of our kids has had to deal with body judgements themselves. It’s tricky out there in the big wide world.

Oh, and lastly, this is not a plea for tips or tricks or compliments on how “You always look great, Gretchen!” Not my point. When I need your encouragement in the form of “You’re one sexy mama,” or “I’d kill for your hot bod,” you guys will be the first to know.

I swear to God, I gained at least 30 pounds this year. And that is on top of the 30 or so pounds I was up from my low around 145, back in 2015, after Cleansing myself nearly to death. Do the freaking math people! That is a 60+ pound weight gain in less than 3 years. NOT an achievement to brag about.

The reason I know it has been exactly one year and 30 pounds? Because of Lake Superior.

Last July, John and I booked the Honeymoon Suite at a resort way up on the North Shore of Lake Superior. We’ve stayed at this resort many times in the past and we were able to schedule our romantic get-away while our kids were in Duluth, MN on their annual Youth Group trip with our church.

Bonus!!

Except.

At the last minute, John needed to travel for work. (Remember waaaaaay back when…when he was working for IBM?!)

Anyway, I was so sad. John was so, SO sad. And as I went to cancel our reservation, I hesitated. “What’s that thing people, like fancy, self-confident people, do?” I thought. “They go on like personal spiritual quiet meditative retreat things, like….all by themselves, for like, self-care?”

It always sounded wacko to me. But you’ll recall that at that point last year, I was just catching my breath from the previous year where Everything Broke. John and I had been seeing our therapist for about 9 months or so by then, so the Can Of Worms was officially opened. Maybe it was a good idea for me to go up North by myself.

So, I drove four hours up to the Honeymoon Suite, along with Bree, our dog, while John slaved away in Austin. Or maybe it was Raleigh. I can’t remember.

Crazy Dr. K, our therapist, coached me on how to prepare for my retreat so that I didn’t completely freak out when I got there. She knows me. Being Alone is not a happy place for me. The whole thing felt at once indulgent and nuts, and I was taking it pretty seriously. I packed my sketch books, pencils, at least 2 dozen books, my yoga mat, 6 bottles of wine and a pile of paper.

I was determined to connect with myself. With My-Me.

And guess what! I think I did! Bree and I hiked. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. I watched that amazing lake change colors as the waves rolled gently onto the rocky shore. I even saw a freaking black bear saunter by, not 20 feet in front of me. (If you’re wondering, my heart did stop, yes.) And I set some Goals. Setting Goals is not a happy place for me either. But I was really, really committed to this personal spiritual retreat process. I was gonna do it right, goddammit.

One of the many enlightening thoughts I had was that I truly did want to re-connect with my body after our chaotic year. I wanted to lose a little weight and get back into shape. Not the weight and shape I had been in when I saw the 140’s and was able to box jump and bench press and tire throw. Because you know what? I wasn’t at all happy with my body back then either! I was still striving for that arbitrary “ideal weight” and there are always heavier weights and longer runs and higher reps.

That moment was incredibly sad for me. Last July I had to accept that even when I was 30 pounds lighter and demolish a bootcamp workout, I was still unhappy with where I was. So I practiced a little self-compassion and set a goal to just walk every day.

I love walking. It sounds super lame, but it never gets old. And I did walk everyday, for months! My creative self even started to take artsy pictures of awe-inspiring mini-moments on my walks. I had a special photo album for all the beauty I saw on my way. I listened to podcasts, walking meditations, books and music. It felt amazing.

But then…I guess…I forgot to walk one day? And then I didn’t walk the next day, either? And then I forgot that I was walking every day? I’m not even sure what happened. Maybe just winter happened? What most definitely happened was I gained another 30 pounds by this July.

So just this past week was the one-year anniversary of my first ever personal retreat. This July, John was able to join Bree and I in the Honeymoon Suite, because he is still blissfully unemployed.  And Mother Nature was certainly showing off up there this week. But as much fun as we had together, it was difficult for me not to remember the goals I had set last year and how not only had I failed to lose a pound, instead, I collected a bunch more!

It was shocking.

What had happened? I admit, the last day we were up there, yesterday in fact, I went into a deep shame spiral. If you’re not familiar with a shame spiral, here’s just a little taste of what goes on in my head:

“Listen, Gretchen. One year ago, you sat in this exact same spot, supposedly committing to health and wellness and you set a goal to lose a little weight and look at you now! Consider this your bitch-slap, Gretchen, because you’re an absolute failure. How did you not notice that it was getting so bad? How could you have thought you were overweight when you weighed 60 pounds less than you do right now! And so what’s your big fancy plan for this year then, Gretchen? Gain another 30? What is wrong with you!?”

Ouch. It hurts. But for some reason, I think that if I’m harsh with myself, things will get better? Does that ever work? No. Not at all, really.

I tried a new tactic instead, because the truth was, that while the shame stung me, I know that I worked really hard all year. So I decided to make a list of what I had accomplished.

Yes, I gained a thousand pounds, got it, thanks. But! I also took two writing classes and I sketched little pictures and I painted at least 20 large canvases and I read (and finished!) a ton of books and I wrote literally hundreds and hundreds of pages. I continued to go to our therapist, every single week, working hard on that fucking Can Of Worms. And I cooked and cleaned and shoveled and hung out with friends. I meditated and yoga-ed. I mothered our three children with my entire heart and I healed some of my relationship with my mother. I even managed to launch my dream blog and for crying out loud, I got badass dreadlocks. PLUS….I stayed married.

So, why was I being so hard on my heart? It didn’t feel very nice at all.

I sat there yesterday. Peacefully and fitfully. Watching Lake Superior. My face to the sun. Sitting with a new Truth: From July 2017 to July 2018, I made progress, some impressive progress, dare I say, Sacred Progress. And perhaps I forgot to work out or perhaps my physical body is really keeping the score of my emotional body and it’s slowly hashing things out. Maybe this is the process of getting my insides sorted out so that they match my outsides? Is this how this shit works? Who knows!

But here’s what I know today. For the first time in maybe forever, I am beginning to get a glimpse of My-Me. I’m learning to understand my value, and it lies inside my heart. And yeah, my size Larges are fitting me better than my size Mediums right now, and that happens. I’m human. But I promise you this. I would never, ever give up my progress this year, just to see a lower number on the scale.

Although, you should see my Goals for next year. xo