The Wynonna Judd Way (Weigh)

Queen Me shares ...

I was reading a magazine yesterday—Good Housekeeping—and it featured an interview with Wynonna Judd. Seeing the feature, I purchased the magazine at the grocery store. You see I happened to see the Oprah show where Wynonna shared her agony, shame, and frustration over her weight. And then (sorry Oprah), I missed the follow-up show. So, I never KNEW what happened. Did she lose weight? What?

Oh joy! This magazine had the answers. Yes, she lost weight. She claims about 20 pounds. Wynonna wants to lose more, but isn't stressing about it (she swears). Instead she's attempting to live a healthy life—by making better choices and getting to the bottom of her 'emotional' eating habits. So, good for Wynonna. You go girl! I wish you the best.

Now, what about me? Wah! This excess weight issue has plagued me since 8th grade. Sad, huh? And just like Caroline Knapp (remember last week’s blog?)—until nine years ago—my views were warped! In 2005, my views are no longer warped. It’s reality. I need to shed some weight.

So what happened nine years ago? Yep, I got pregnant. Pre-pregnancy, I worked out regularly. Although not completely happy with my physical appearance at the time, for the most part, I felt comfortable in my own skin.

Now, I don’t. Yuck. It all started because I found this book titled: Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy. Darn it! I believed the author when she said, “Girlfriend. Stop exercising! Don’t worry about it. Hey, I’m your girlfriend and I’ve had five babies. I know what I’m talking about. As soon as you get that little baby out of you, you can return to exercise. Really. I mean it.” That day I stopped. And I never “returned to it” like she promised I would. Sorry, girlfriend, but buying your book destroyed my life. Well, okay, so I’m exaggerating a little.

After dropping my fifteen-year-old exercise habit, I couldn’t find my way back to it. Oh, not too long ago I picked up tennis again. And, well, that most certainly helped a little. But playing tennis two to three times a week (or less) will not do anything for weight loss or maintenance efforts. I know. I’ve tried it for five years!

Did I tell you I threw out my scales last month? I decided ... NO MORE. Actually, my dearly departed scales stopped working. Don't laugh; I never owned the digital kind. Ha! It had actually reached the point where I could trick myself and adjust the setting a little. “See, I still weigh what I did last week. See?”

But at the moment I stepped on my broken-down scales, I had an epiphany. And girlfriend here’s what You should have been telling me nine years ago. Why weigh? Who cares what you weigh? Weighing makes NO sense. None.

Let’s get real. When you try on your clothes in the morning, aren’t you more concerned with how they fit? Weight is such an arbitrary thing. Line up three women weighing 165 pounds and you’ll have a range of sizes (height, width, muscle mass). It makes much more sense to focus on the size you are comfortable wearing. Doesn’t it?

So when did I most enjoyed wearing clothes? Yep, that would be nine years ago—and two sizes smaller than I am now. My scale had no way of telling me what size I felt comfortable wearing. So, I chunked it and swore NOT to replace it. And I haven't. The only obstacle left to face is at the doctor's office! Well, look out Doc! I'm going to throw a fit if you insist that I weigh. I started playing tough about three years ago (at the doctor’s office). But it was all talk. Never have I refused to weigh even though I practiced refusing all the way to the weigh-in checkpoint. Why did a doctor’s scale bother me more than my own scale? Are you kidding me? The doctor’s scale lies! Always! The doctor’s scale added five to seven pounds to my frame. Well, I’m not playing anymore—not this time sisters. I don’t do scales anymore. And Doc, if you want to know how I’m doing weight wise, then ask what size clothes I wear—see if I’m wearing the same size I did last year. Heck, check the label when I’m not looking if you have to.

Now, just so you know, this tale does have a happy ending. Well, at least I’m heading towards one. Obviously, I still wear a size I don’t like. So, what am I doing about it? Besides playing tennis one to three times weekly, I’ve added walking to my routine. Lordy, why didn’t I think of this sooner? It’s so easy to do. Cheap too. I can’t tell you why I suddenly decided to do something more, but I did. I’m ready to take charge and make changes. Those changes involve regular exercise and attention to what I’m eating. Dieting doesn’t work for me. It makes me mad and angry. I feel deprived and frustrated. Funny, that I did something on and off for nine years that made me feel bad. Anyway, I’m not dieting. Instead I’m focusing on making healthier choices—like Wynonna. There is nothing off limits—just a time and a place and a portion.

I have no idea if I’ll ever return to my previous size. This time I’m not making myself empty promises. What I am promising myself is that I’ll be in better shape and health. And that’s a promise I’m planning to keep.

While reading the article about Wynonna, I had to laugh. Turns out Wynonna chunked her scale too. She wants to start a scale-chunking movement. I like this woman. Mine is already gone. What about yours? Join me! We are sisters. We are Queens! We are scale-less. Come on. Why wait? Throw that sucker away.
It feels too good!

www.queenpower.com

Beyond Bad Hair

Queen Me shares ...

I love to walk into a bookstore and then wait for a book to find me. And you know, 'it' always does.

On this particular trip with hubby and daughter in tow, a book titled The Merry Recluse caught my attention. The book is a compilation of mostly reprints from a weekly column written by the late Carolyn Knapp in the Boston Phoenix. I first experienced Caroline's work when I read Appetites: Why Women Want. Caroline, like Anne Lamont of Traveling Mercies (another favorite author) shares openly the chapters of her life. I mean, she tells it all—good, bad and the ugly, and everything in-between. Caroline had so many demons, but the ones that tormented her the most were food and alcohol. Eventually, Caroline died of cancer in 2002. She was only 42 years old.

The other day, one essay grabbed my attention. Actually, she intended to make us laugh with this one. But as I read it, I wasn't laughing because I could see pain in those words—for me, for her, and for so many women. In “Beyond Bad Hair: Thin Lips, Square Breasts, and Other Horrors” Caroline shares the things that plague most women. She claims having a bad hair day is the least of our worries.

The introduction to this article centers on her weight. On this day, she felt LARGE. Although I certainly can sympathize with her ramblings—heck, I've had plenty of LARGE days myself (as recent as this week)—I can't take her views on weight seriously. This woman weighed less than 110 pounds at her heaviest and thought people who ate corn on the cob were gross. What’s the matter with corn on the cob? I love corn on the cob! And as I muttered under my breath about Caroline's perception of her weight, I knew that I owned her problem (even if in a smaller way). Oh, I have sooooo many feeling LARGE days and even though I could be thinner (YES!), they are mostly unjustified.

She shared plenty of other examples with us:

*Why-are-these-pants-pinching-me-around-the-waist Day. (Been there, done that.)
*My-lips-are-too-thin Day. (Can’t say that I own that one.)
*Since-when-have-my-pores-been-so-cavernous Day. (Oh, yes … definitely been there.)

Although I don't have all the same thoughts or moments, I do understand what she's saying. And I bet that most women reading her book, or this blog, do too.

My recent beyond-bad-hair-day moments go something like this...

*Oh-no-this-is-a-face-swollen-eyes-puffy-morning Day
*My-shorts-fit-tighter-today-than-yesterday Day
*Where-did-those-new-wrinkles-come-from Day
*Oh-my-I-now-have-gray-hair-growing-on-my-arms Day (That happened yesterday.)

Probably the one that did make me laugh was Caroline’s mention of the: Oh-no-I-missed-a-patch-of-hair-on-my-knee Day. Okay, so I seem to have more of those days than I care to mention. Yikes!

And then it slaps me right in the face ... and Caroline has the perfect ending to it all. "God, it's hard to be a girl!" Amen, Caroline. Amen.

It is hard to be a girl. I'm ready to play another game now. So here's to trying especially hard to put this beyond-bad-hair thinking to rest. Really, I'm not listening anymore. Of course, as I process this and think about it all, I realize that all these thoughts go back to the lesson I’m still obviously working on—ditching my attachment to the opinion of others. Reading about Caroline’s addictions, I realize that in some shape or form my inability to not care what others think is also debilitating. It’s an emotional addiction and one I am determined to break.

Yep, it’s hard to be a girl, but today it just got a whole lot easier. And I’ll be the first to admit I’m SO not there yet, but baby, I’m getting closer with each passing day. Now, that’s something to celebrate.

www.queenpower.com

Goodbye Old Tapes

Queen Me shares …

Okay, so I’ve pretty much given up worrying about the opinions of others. Right? Hmmmmm. Yes, last week I had a few tests and passed with flying colors. But then, I had a visitor. The visitor came to my house. The visitor was kind, loving, and warm. The visitor, I perceived, accepted me without judgment.

But still those old tapes played. And still, I attempted to interpret how she ‘thought’ of me. Oh my, that little voice spoke to me throughout the visit, continually reminding me that she might be judging me and it was my job to make sure she liked me. And darn it, I played along too. I didn’t realize what I had done until she left. Yikes! Ouch! And then it really hit me. Dang it. I’m not ‘over’ this. Who cares if she thought I took care of my dogs correctly? Or loved them enough? Who cares if she didn’t like that I drank diet coke? Who cares if she didn’t like that my daughter watched TV while we talked? Who cares? Who cares? At the moment, I did. Wah. And here’s what I must ask myself. Why?

Of course, I had to consider something else too. Who am I to presume that I could read her mind? Really? Who am I to believe that I could actually ‘perceive’ what she needed, wanted, or expected from me unless she expressed it? I bet if I asked this woman what she really thought, she’d give a completely different perspective. Hey, maybe she focused on the color of my walls. Hated them. Liked them. Or, maybe she thought my dogs were very lucky. Heck, maybe I even guessed right the first time. Maybe I really am psychic about these things? Or, maybe I’m lucky?

It doesn’t matter. It simply doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are all okay, as we are at the moment. Here’s my new announcement. Take me or leave me. This pleasant woman and I might continue to communicate and we might not. Who cares? If it serves us both, we will.

Now, I ‘see’ something. So I feel compelled to attempt another transformation. I will work to tune out the voice that harps in my ear about what someone likes or doesn’t like. I will make a concerted effort to create new tapes. I hereby pledge to trust that I am okay even if I’m second-guessing myself. I pledge to accept and believe that I am magnificent just as I am. Hmmmmm. I’m feeling the need to celebrate.

www.queenpower.com

What People Have Known Since Time Began

Queen Me shares ...

I’m not sure how many of you know this, but I’m researching another topic. Yep, there’s a second book in the making here. This book will be written for the parents of adolescent girls. So now I’m delving into all the books that will help me ‘come to grips’ with guiding a healthy adolescent to the best years of her life.

As I walked up and down the aisles at Hastings recently, a book grabbed my attention. The book, Letters to a Young Therapist, was written by Mary Pipher, author of the bestselling book Reviving Ophelia. Reviving Ophelia informed us about ‘American’s girl-poisoning culture’ and made a significant impact in the field.

Going along with my belief that our culture does more harm than good, I immediately found Mary’s words resonating:

“I have always viewed mental health problems as related to the broader environment. Depression, anxiety, domestic violence, and drug and alcohol abuse, not to mention hyperactive children and eating disorders, arise from our deeply dysfunctional culture.”

She continues along by adding, “How can we expect people to be happy when they don’t know their neighbors, see their extended families, or have time for naps on Sunday afternoons … Our culture makes us sick, physically and emotionally.”

She reasons that therapists and those in the helping fields have basically ignored how our culture impacts us negatively. Pipher mentions “meaningless jobs, long commutes, sterile suburbs and fears of poverty, war, violence and environmental catastrophes.” And she says we continue to overlook “what people have known since time began: Life makes most of us unhappy.”

Yikes!

So how do we fix it? Do we have answers? Too many of us struggle with one or more of the symptoms mentioned by Mary.

But as we seek and search, we begin to find answers to the mystery. We begin to unplug from our culture and create our own space to grow and prosper. There’s no magic pill or formula and it usually takes work—lessons to learn, life to live.

Maybe the most important thing to realize is that you are not alone in your struggles. If ‘life makes most of us unhappy,’ then you are in good company. Seek those who seem to be happy despite life and you’ll start finding your answers.

www.queenpower.com