Week 8, Day 5

I've spent several hours today trying to sort out my feelings and put together what I want to say. The past 24 hours have brought up some very painful memories and some very happy moments. And I'm having a hard time knowing what to do with it all. I wonder, too, if other people ever feel the way I do.

The honest truth is that I've spent most of my life feeling less than worthy to be here. I can pretty well pinpoint when it began. At seven years old, I was diagnosed with scoliosis and fitted for a huge, clumsy steel and leather back brace that made me look like Frankenstein's daughter and cost my parents a fortune. When I was nine years old my grandmother's husband, Dean, began to molest me. Somehow he convinced me I was a bad person and would be in trouble if anyone ever found out. When my dad walked in on what was happening, he spanked me. Dean was right. Clearly, I was a bad girl. When I was twelve, my brother Bill died. This was before things like grief counseling, so our family dealt with it by never talking about our feelings. Bill was elevated to a position in our collective memory--at least in my parent's memories-- as nearly a diety. And I could never measure up. Never smart enough. Never as pretty as my older sister. Never capable enough to help in the family business. Never well enough behaved to be any comfort. Handicapped and a molested bad girl, I wished to God I had been the one taken instead of Bill.

And those are the feelings that went with me into my adulthood. Treated badly by the men I loved, scared every day that what I was doing wasn't right enough or good enough, and certain that if my friends ever knew the true me, they would be disgusted. And the sad part is that a lot of that I still have inside me.

I don't know how much all this plays into my being fat. I feel ashamed that I let myself get this way. But I don't know which came first, the fat or the shame. Did I do this to myself on purpose but subconsciously? Perhaps. Being on prednisone for years certainly helped pack on the pounds, though. The intensity of raising two boys on my own, along with Adam's medical care, added to some stress-induced chocolate binges without having time or energy to work any of it off. But on the other hand, those were my strongest days. I was a warrior, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. It wasn't until I had no one to take care of but myself that I got really huge. I remember months of not being able to function. I've had days when I wanted to leave this earth. I've been in the hospital with health issues. I've lost two jobs since we moved to Omaha. And I haven't had a date in 14 years. Who wants to be around a fat, middle-aged, unemployed woman when there are pretty, skinny, capable women out there?

On the other hand, the response I've gotten since beginning this blog has been tremendous. Friends I went to high school with, friends I had in Maryland, friends I've met here in Omaha -- all of them have been so kind and encouraging. They see what I look like as a fat person. Many of them know the worst about me and have for years. And yet somehow they love me just the way I am today. They believe in me. They want me in their lives. Can you imagine that?

It was yesterday's overwhelming comments about November 6th Day that stopped me in my tracks and left me really thinking today. I don't deserve any of it. Really I don't. I look in the mirror and I still see an unworthy person. But I looked at my resume today, and I know I am a competent person. I've had two books published. I've written tons of articles. I get awesome results for my clients. I've been on boards of directors and have run a non-profit organization. I've spoken at National Children's Hospital and at press conferences for Senators Kennedy and Grassley. I am a competent, accomplished professional. But...at work no one has to see inside me. No one has to know the scared, handicapped, bad little girl who still lives inside.

So where does all this leave me with my weight loss hopes and goals? The bottom line is I think I might be okay. I think there are people who care about me so much that they would feel sad if I fatted myself to death. I think maybe it's okay for me to take care of me with the same fierceness I had when I took care of my kids. I think maybe I'm far from perfect, but I'm still worth the effort. I think I'm going to keep trying.

And I think I'm the most blessed person ever to have such wonderful people in my life.