What I Am

As readers of this blog know, I’ve had some health problems this year. I think what I’ve shared here is that my sinus issues and allergies have worsened since the first of the year; I’ve had two sinus infections and two cases of bronchitis (which grew out of the sinus infections) since January.

All of that is true, but it’s not the whole story of why I have felt so awful. Now that I have some answers, I am going to share the rest of it. I am a little nervous about doing so publicly, under my own name, because it isn’t the type of thing people usually talk about publicly. However, the primary goal I’ve had since I started blogging over six years ago has been to illustrate all facets of life in the academy, to show how I attempt to balance the many identities I have with my academic work. My health obviously has a huge impact on my work.

This week, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. As a few of you know–and I may have written about this when I was still blogging pseudonymously–I have been having issues with my cycle for a long time. I would say I first became aware of these issues shortly after M was born. However, I attributed the problems to having just had a baby, no longer using the Pill, and growing older. I didn’t think there was necessarily anything “wrong” with me; I thought these were just manifestations of the changes in my life and body.

Over the years, the issues worsened, and the past year has been the worst of all. Once again, it was easy for me to attribute the symptoms to stress, my age, and other factors. Within the past six months, however, I began to realize that these issues were not within the range of normal experience and couldn’t be explained away by the circumstances of my life. My symptoms have precipitously increased since December, to the point that I have been totally incapacitated for two or three days each month. While I am grateful that the pain is limited to particular times of the month and isn’t with me all the time, as it is for some women with endo, I still can’t afford to be flat on my back a couple of days each month. It has a detrimental effect on my family and my career, especially when I have been struggling with other illnesses as well. More importantly, enduring those symptoms–especially experiencing that level of pain– is just no way to live.

After two particularly bad episodes in June, I went to see my family doctor (who also provides my gynecological care) this week; given my symptoms, I suspected I either had a fibroid or endo. He was worried when I ran down the list of my symptoms, and I could tell from his facial expression that he didn’t like what he found in his exam. He told me, “I’d put your pain tolerance up against anybody’s; it’s higher than pretty much any of my other patients. So if you are in this amount of pain, something is wrong.” He sent me for an ultrasound that same day and gave me a prescription for birth control pills (the first line of treatment for endo and fibroids, which were the two mostly likely causes of my problems, in his opinion) and Vicodin. He admonished me to use the prescription and to take two pills when I am having an episode. I am reluctant to use those painkillers and never take more than one.

I received the results on Friday, and the diagnosis is endo. The gold standard for diagnosing endo is a laparoscopy, but I really don’t want to go through surgery just to confirm what Dr. K and I already know. Of course, this procedure may still be in my future, if taking the Pill doesn’t help relieve my symptoms. I have to go back for a re-check in August, and I know we’ll be discussing these issues then.

So, this is part of what has been going on with me over the past several months; it is a big part of the reason why my blogging frequency has decreased. I pretty much lose a week each month to pain, fatigue, and the other symptoms. During those times, it takes all I have just to make it through my usual teaching and parenting workload; “frills” like blogging just don’t happen. Exercise is another thing that has really suffered due to all of this. I have re-gained some of the weight I have lost and am trying to not beat myself up about it too much. I know that I am doing the best I can right now.

I am hoping that going back on birth control will help alleviate my symptoms, though I am very nervous. I never had a weight problem until I went on the pill in college, so I am scared that I am going to gain even more weight. However, I will gladly be a little heavier if it means I can feel a lot healthier.  I am hopeful that as my symptoms abate, exercise will become easier, which would obviously help with any potential weight gain.

I am optimistic that the Pill will help. I was on it throughout my twenties, and looking back, I suspect it helped keep these symptoms in check during that time. The other chronic condition I have is very prevalent among women with endo; in fact, some doctors seem to think many young women are misdiagnosed with IBS when, in fact, what they really have is endo. In my case, I began having symptoms a few months before I went on the Pill, and things improved after that. In my mid-late twenties, my symptoms again worsened, always in conjunction with my cycle, at which point I started using the Pill continuously. That basically eliminated the problems, so it makes me wonder if some of these issues were related to endo. On the other hand, I haven’t been on the Pill since I was 29, and my IBS has not worsened over the past nine years. Granted, during that time I had two pregnancies, which might have helped protect me from some of these symptoms.

But, to get back to the point: my prior experience leads me to think going back on birth control will help improve my health and my life. It’s not a cure, but it could be an effective treatment. I certainly hope so, because I can’t take much more of what I’ve experienced lately. The pain is comparable to anything I experienced in drug-free labor and is, in some ways, worse. At least when I was in labor, the pain wasn’t constant, and I knew I’d get to meet my baby at the end of it. With this, it’s constant; I never know when it will end, and I’m not getting a cute baby out of it.

The other symtpoms aren’t fun, either, and the whole thing is stressful. I worry a great deal about having a sudden onset of symptoms in public, or worse yet, while teaching. Last month, I had some symptoms develop suddenly while I was at the vet’s office with the dog; I nearly passed out from it all right there. I’ve had close calls in class before, but this most recent incident at the vet really scared me. I don’t know what I’d do if I had this type of episode in class. That was another reason why I finally realized this whole thing couldn’t be explained away as a normal part of a woman’s aging process.

I am still questioning my decision to put all this out there under my name. This is a subject that is highly personal for any woman, and my symptoms include things that are socially taboo to talk about. Of course, that is one reason why having a condition like endo can feel very isolating–the topic is something we are socialized to believe is “TMI,” not fit for polite conversation.

But I know there are many women, including academics, who have these issues; there are academics–male and female–living with chronic physical and mental health conditions that impact every aspect of their lives, including their careers. I wrote about this today because I felt like I had to give voice to that experience. While my diagnosis is new, the condition isn’t; I’ve been coping with it for many years. It might help someone else to know she’s not the only one. I would also like to hear from others who have similar health challenges. I would be greatly interested in any advice for dealing with a chronic health condition while managing one’s career.

Weight Loss Update

It’s been a very long time since I gave an update on my weight loss efforts, so here goes.

I did well with getting through the holidays, but after the first of the year, things stalled out. Throughout January and February, I kept losing and re-gaining the same two-three pounds over and over, which put me between 58 and 60 total pounds lost.

The problem was basically centered on the fact that I was not working out very much during this time; in fact, I think I went almost the whole two months without getting to the gym. I was sick a lot, which left me unable to work out much, plus it was so damn cold that I lost all motivation to go out unless I absolutely had to.

When March rolled around, I said, “Enough.” I decided to kick-start myself by setting a spring break goal (working out three times) and a weight-loss goal: losing five pounds by the Cs. I have simply come too far to get complacent now.

The plan worked! As of today, I have lost seven pounds since the first week of March, for a total of 65 pounds.  It’s hard to believe I am this close to reaching numbers that once seemed completely unattainable.

When I started this process, I was so overwhelmed by all I needed to lose that I simply set the goal of losing 10% of my body weight, then 10% more. My big goal was to lose 60 pounds, which seemed completely impossible, and my “beyond my wildest dreams” goal was to lose 70-80 pounds. Now, I’m only five pounds away from that. Unreal.

It feels great to be at this point. Of course there will always be things about my body I don’t like, such as my stomach–between two huge babies and this weight loss, my skin is so stretched out. But I feel much better, physically and mentally. I’m strong; I have endurance. I like what I see when I look in the mirror. I may never again get down to the single digits, size-wise, but I have worked hard for the body I have now. It’s healthy, and I’m proud of it.

Bottom line: I feel good about myself. My therapist has said to me, “You have your mojo back,” and I feel that I do. It’s great to have this confidence.

The Lives of Others

As you all know, this semester has been a tough one for me.  Hell, this year has been awful, but that’s not really the point of this post.

What has kept me going this semester has been my teaching. Even though there have been many days when all I’ve wanted to do is stay in bed and pull the covers over my head, once I made it to campus and started my day, I felt better. The hours in the classroom were a welcome respite from all of the emotional and mental turmoil I’ve been experiencing.  During those hours, I was able to block all of that from my mind and focus only on something that gives me a lot of joy–teaching writing.

While all of the classes I’ve taught this term gave me that release, one of my basic writing classes was particularly special. Honestly, I think this might have been the best group of basic writing students I’ve ever had, and by “best” I don’t mean the best writers (though they are pretty good).  I mean the best students–the most engaged, the most responsible, the most hard-working, the most respectful. I frequently tell students that I would rather teach 100 students who struggle with writing but who work hard than 1 student who is a gifted but lazy writer, and this particular group of students proved why I say that. No, they’re probably not among the best writers at my university–not yet!–but they were truly a pleasure to teach.

On the last day we met together, I wanted to express to them what they have meant to me this semester. While most of them will be continuing on to my first-year writing class next term, not all of them will, so I wanted to take the opportunity while I had it and tell them how much I enjoyed our learning together.

I opened my mouth, started to talk, and promptly burst into tears.

I don’t think I’ve ever lost my composure like that in front of students; I’ve teared up, sure, but this time I was flat-out sobbing. The students were stunned, and I was mortified. I managed to get myself under control just enough to say what I wanted to say to them; I also added that I had had a tough semester personally and that their class always gave me something to look forward to on what were otherwise tough days. Given my apparent emotional distress, I felt like I had to explain. I quickly gathered my things and got out of there so they could complete their student evaluations and so I could recover my composure.

Although I was embarrassed at the time, I feel better about it now. I’ve been conferencing with these students since then, and several of them have told me that they were touched that I cared about them enough to become emotional. One student even added a P.S. to her final assignment, in which she told me not to feel bad about crying in front of them and added, “Every other teacher I have never shows that they care that much about their students, which leads me to believe that they don’t really like being there. The fact the you did shows you really like helping us, and you care about us, and you really want us to succeed.” I’m glad the students recognize that I truly do care about them and want them to succeed on their own terms, and I’m glad they see me as a multi-faceted person, not just a talking head on a stick. I think it’s important that we recognize the affective nature of teaching in general, as well as our own particular pedagogical strategies. The role of emotion is an important one in a writing classroom (or any classroom, for that matter, though I do think it’s especially important in a writing course).

But something that a couple of students have said has also been interesting to me; their comments have indicated that they picked up on my emotional state this term, even though I thought I hid it very well. When I teach, I usually feel that I get to know my students better than they know me; after all, I read their writing, which is often an intensely personal act. Because I read so much of their writing, observe them in class, listen to their discussions, etc., I believe that I usually get a pretty good read on the students, can predict how they’ll react to certain situations, and the like.

However, I also feel that students don’t usually get that same kind of “read” on me. Of course, that’s not their job–they don’t have to  think about ways to motivate their professors to do their work, for example (though wouldn’t it be funny if they did?).  I think some of that feeling is also due to the lore we professors have about our students. I remember being told as a brand-new TA not to worry too much about what students thought of us if we had an off day in class, for example; the exact words were, “We spend way more time thinking about them than they ever do about us.” I do still believe that to be true.

However, that doesn’t mean that they don’t spend any time thinking about us. I’ve been thinking more this semester about how students perceive me, and this most recent episode, which confirmed my private turmoil has not been hidden from students as much as I had thought, triggered these thoughts again.  Partly, I suppose it’s because I’ve been concerned about keeping up my usual teaching persona (enthusiastic, extroverted, optimistic, energetic) during a time when I am even more withdrawn, introverted, pessimistic, and exhausted than usual.  My hyper-awareness of the performative aspect of my teaching has had me thinking about students’ awareness of it, I guess.

S0me of it is also connected to my weight loss.  While most of my students do not say anything to me about it directly, it’s pretty obvious that they have noticed the changes in my physicality. A colleague has mentioned to me that students have brought it up with her; I think she suspects a student or two might have a bit of a crush. I share that suspicion.  This doesn’t bother me, as I see that type of attraction as very normal, but it has surprised me. I’m not sure why; after all, I do think a student crush on a professor or teacher is a normal part of their maturation process and intellectual growth, so why wouldn’t it happen?

I guess I’m just surprised that I am the recipient of such a crush. I can totally understand it when it comes to some of my colleagues, but not me. I don’t see what about me would draw the students in, I guess.

It reminds me of a conversation I had with a former student a few years back; she was looking at Ohio State for grad school and wanted to visit, and I went with her. As we were driving over to Columbus, we talked about a good number of things, and I made some off-handed, derogatory comment about my weight or appearance (I can’t remember exactly what). She stopped me and said very seriously, “But you know you’re beautiful, right?”

I shrugged off her comment and reminded her that I was overweight, to which she responded, “But Sara, you are beautiful. And it’s not just me who thinks so! We all talk about it!” She then went on to name several former students of mine.

I was absolutely gobsmacked by this conversation. I changed the subject very quickly, partly because I was uncomfortable with the topic and felt like we were veering into, “So, tell me how wonderful you think I am” territory. But it was also astounding to me that students–even majors who had spent a lot of time with me, taken multiple classes with me, etc–would sit around discussing me on their personal time.  Well, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear they were talking about my grading, my reading load, or that sort of thing, but this topic of conversation definitely went against the whole “we think about them way more than think about us” mentality I’ve always had.

As I’ve thought about it more, it has started to make more sense.  I think some of our students, especially those we’ve had for multiple courses, develop a curiosity about our “other life,” aka our life outside the classroom. I’ve heard students talking about a colleague’s wardrobe (he is very fashionable); they wonder where he shops, what labels he buys, and the like, but most of them are too in awe to ask him. I’ve overhead other students talk about a faculty gathering and make comments like, “If only I had an invisibility cloak!” Twice now, I’ve invited upper-level or graduate courses to my home for an end-of-semester gathering, and the students get very excited about it; I think they’re intrigued to see where I live and how I interact with my family. I think they enjoy taking a peek into the lives of others, behind the curtain of the professional persona.

I don’t know why this is surprising to me, however. When I think back to my own undergrad days, I felt the same way about my professors. I remember being very excited to go to a professor’s home for the annual English department “welcome back” party. I also remember being enthralled by my Shakespeare professor; well, she taught every single one of my Brit lit courses, but her Shakespeare course was legendary. She has a larger-than-life presence, and her clothing reflects that. I loved going into class each day and seeing what she would wear, right down to her glasses; she had probably hundreds of pairs of glasses to coordinate with each outfit. My best friend–also an English major–and I would always talk about what she was wearing, what she said, etc. We were absolutely fascinated by her.

In retrospect, we both probably had a platonic crush on her, even though I am about as straight as can be and my best friend from those days is a gay man.  My former professor is extremely intelligent and charming, a gifted teacher, and has a plethora of interests (she’s a self-taught expert on art history, and I acted in campus plays with her as well).  To top it off, when she swept into class (and she always made an entrance), she was absolutely dressed to the nines. How could any student not adore such a professor? No wonder we were enamored.

While I certainly do not live up to her standard, my own experience reminds that yes, students do notice us more than we think.  They talk about us in ways that might surprise us. They care about us, too. My students have taught me that, especially this term.

I guess I shouldn’t be caught off-guard by students’ interest in my other life, the life they don’t see in the classroom–especially when, given the Google searches that lead to this blog, I suspect some of them are reading along (and hello if you’re here). This, too, seems to me to be part of their maturation process.

Loss

I’ve noticed that several folks have done posts that discuss the one word that summarizes their 2010; this topic was the first prompt for Reverb 2010. Clearly, I am not writing this post on December 1, and I simply can’t commit to blogging every day. However, I would like to write on this theme.

My word for 2010 will probably not be a surprise to many of you, given the topics I’ve regularly written about this year. My word is loss.

The most obvious reason why loss encapsulates my past year–one that is immediately apparent by looking at me–is my weight.  As you well know, I’ve lost a heck of a lot of weight. Losing this weight, a project that is still ongoing, has been life-changing and has been in the forefront of my mind all year.  My blogging frequency on this topic is one indicator of its importance to me.

I’m proud of myself for losing this weight. I’m proud that I’ve gone from barely being able to last five minutes on the elliptical to doing forty minutes, followed by an hour-long strength workout. I’m proud that I can do three sets of 15 reps of nearly 400-lb. leg presses. I’m proud that when I walk, I can feel how strong my quads are. I’m proud that I can swing my 33 lb. son around like he’s nothing; after all, I’m doing three sets (15 reps) of overhead presses at 45 pounds.  When I started, I could barely lift 10 pounds over my head. Thinking back to where my physical condition was on January 1 and where it is now leaves me shaking my head. It is still hard for me to believe the progress I’ve made this year.

While much of my pride centers on the improvement in my physical condition, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m happy and proud of how I look. While I have not yet reached my ultimate goal, I am happy to be where I am. I feel good about myself when I look in the mirror. While I am not a particularly girly girl, I have always appreciated what clothes, make-up, and hair can do; I think it’s my theatre background at work here. I’ve always enjoyed cultivating a particular look to express a different persona or another element of my personality.

Anyway, as I gained weight, putting on my “costume” for the day was less fun for me, and I eventually stopped doing it. It was hard to find clothes I liked and that were flattering.  Because I didn’t feel good about my body or what I was wearing, playing around with my hair or make-up seemed kind of pointless.

The last few months have been fun for me as I’ve rediscovered how much I enjoy preparing for each day’s “performance.” I’m having a good time choosing who I want to be that day and putting together the look that goes with the particular part of my personality or which role in my life I’m emphasizing.

Loss is usually viewed as a negative; a simple look at a dictionary is illustrative in this regard:  ”detriment, disadvantage, or deprivation from failure to keep, have, or get”; “the state of being deprived of or of being without something that one has had”; etc. “Defeat” and “failure” pop up repeatedly. However, weight loss is one of the few losses in life that is almost always viewed as a positive, and in my case, there have been many positives.  This major loss has resulted in significant gains to my health, my physicality, and my self-image.

However, my weight loss has also included losses of the more conventional sort. As I worked through this process, I was forced to confront the reasons why I gained so much weight in the first place.  I had to ask myself why I was not making my health a priority by working out and making healthier choices with food. I had to examine why I was, in essence, self-medicating with food.

Coming to terms with the answers to these questions has led me to another kind of loss, one I’m not really sure how to identify.  One way to think of it could be that I’ve lost a sense of complacency; some might say I’ve lost my ability to live in denial. Whatever you want to call it, I realized this year that the status quo of my life had been failing me for years, and during that time my remedy for this problem had been to ignore it and stuff down my feelings.  All too often, that “stuffing” became literal, as I unthinkingly used food to soothe my hurts. No, I didn’t binge–I’ve never been a binge eater–but even the seemingly small choices I made (an extra candy bar here, another can of Pepsi there) added up in a hurry, especially since I exercised very little, if at all.

This realization probably strikes most of you as a significant gain, and in some ways, it has been powerful for me to see so clearly how this negative relationship with food and my body developed. But this realization has led to tangible losses. Being in a state of denial enabled me to function as an ostensibly happy person and to convince myself that certain relationships in my life were fine (or if they weren’t, it was my fault, which somehow was comforting? Don’t ask me why, but it’s true).

I’ve now lost the sense of  plausible deniability I lived in for so long, and it’s a scary place to be. I’ve allowed myself to feel anger and pain that I had not felt in years, because I was so very good at stuffing down those emotions. These emotions have been frightening and difficult to work through. I’ve been struggling with depression as I’ve come to terms with some of the issues I’d been trying so desperately (and pretty successfully) to avoid. I’ve come to unpleasant, painful realizations about relationships in my life.

These are losses, no doubt. There will be more loss in the months to come, both in terms of my weight and my illusions. It’s hard for me to say what my word for 2011 will be, as I really don’t know where I will be by this time next year.

I just hope that, whatever happens and wherever I’m at with all of it, I’ll be in a better, more honest emotional place.

A Milestone

I have hit two important milestones within the past 24 hours.

Last night, I received an acceptance (pending revisions) of an article I co-wrote with a colleague. This will be my fourth publication, and my department requires four articles (or a book) for tenure and promotion to associate professor. Knowing that I have met this requirement with plenty of time to spare on the clock–as well as knowing that I have more articles either in submission or in the pipeline–is an absolutely huge relief. I’m so, so happy.

I’m grateful that I work in a department with such clear guidelines for t&p. I’m grateful that I’m not in a situation where no matter what I do, it’s never quite enough. With the publications, the research award, and the summer grant, my research profile has definitely met the criteria for excellence. I’m confident about my teaching and research. How t&p works here is that we have to establish excellence in one area (research) and competence in the other two. I know my teaching meets the competence standard, and I think I have a shot at establishing excellence in teaching as well. I’m not worried about service, as I’ve done plenty at the department level and enough at the college and university levels.

It is such a relief to be at this point with another 18 months or so to go before I turn in my case.

The other milestone: I’m now down 57 pounds. I had hoped I might get to 60 before Thanksgiving, but I knew that would be tough to pull off. Now I’m hoping to get there before the end of the year. I have kicked up my workout schedule to get me through the holidays with as little damage as possible; I tend to gain a lot between Halloween and New Year’s, so I’ve been scared of this season all year. I gained a pound last week, which was upsetting and got me even more worried that I was falling back into bad habits.  Losing two pounds this week gave me more confidence heading into Thanksgiving that I can do this.

To be blunt, I’ve come way too far with my weight loss to screw it up now. Even if I do gain a pound or two over Thanksgiving, I’ll take it right back off. I need to be kind to myself and remember that I didn’t lose all of that weight in one day or one week; I won’t gain it all back that fast, either. I can’t beat myself up over a small gain and allow that gain to set me spiraling into unhealthy decisions and behaviors. Moderation–not only in terms of eating, but also in terms of my emotions–is the key to the holiday season.

Not Pregnant, Just Fat

A few days ago, I was at a work function.  Someone I’ve never met before approached me, arms spread, and said, “Congratulations!” I looked at her, puzzled, so she then gestured to my stomach.  I looked her squarely in the eye and said, “Oh no, I’m not pregnant.  I’m just fat.”

For the past year or so, this has been my response when people ask me when I’m due or congratulate me on my upcoming arrival.  I have dealt with comments like these for years, even back when I was a size eight with a tiny waist.  The first time I heard it, I was 20 or 21 years old.

I’ve never understood it, either. Did no one teach these people manners?  Unless she tells you she’s pregnant or the baby is falling out of her as you speak, never, ever ask a woman when she’s due or offer congratulations. One, just because a woman is pregnant doesn’t mean she wants to share details of her private life with you, and two, she may very well not be pregnant. If you ask a woman in this country if she’s pregnant, you are insinuating that she is fat.  Maybe it shouldn’t be that way, but it is.

I don’t understand why I’ve received this question so many times over the years. As I said above, I even heard this question a lot when I was thin. G says it is because I am, shall we say, well-endowed. Because of that, shirts tend to hang away from my body. That fact doesn’t give me the silhouette of pregnancy, trust me, but apparently some people see a shirt fall away from the body and immediately think “pregnant.”

Now, of course, I have the pooch that says, “I had two big babies and my stomach muscles will never fully recover.” I see plenty of women in my age group (and older) with this same pooch–most moms have it, to some degree. I would never dream of asking one of these women, “When is the baby due?”  Why some of them think it’s a good idea to ask me, I don’t know.

Then there are the men whose stomachs are bigger than mine. One of these days, I’ll respond by asking, “When are YOU due?”

Maybe this sounds petty, but after dealing with this crap for years, no matter how thin or fat I am, it has gotten extremely old. I used to feel so ashamed by these comments that I would either apologize to the speaker (!) or pretend to be pregnant so as not to humiliate the other person and–let’s be honest–myself. I still remember the day ten years ago when I was waiting in line for an oil change. Some guy told me I looked like I was “ready to drop” as he went on and on about how miserable I looked and how he hoped the baby would come soon. The entire line tittered as my size 16 self desperately wished a hole would open up in the ground. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.

I take it back. When I visited my undergrad institution a few years after graduating–when I was a size 10 and feeling pretty darn good about myself–one of my former professors stopped me as I was walking into a campus event. “I see you’re expecting,” he smirked. The man was always an ass to me, but I tried to swallow my anger as I pasted a fake smile on my face and replied, “No, I’m not,” to which he replied in a patronizing tone, “Are you sure?” Furious, I said curtly, “I think I would be the first to know” and walked away.

I spent years feeling humiliated and apologizing to others for their rude remarks.  By extension, I was apologizing for my fatness (or my perceived fatness, because I truly wasn’t fat during many of these years).  I might as well have said, please forgive me for existing in a way that takes up too much space–or more space than you think I should occupy.

Around this time last year, I resolved, “No more.” I was no longer going to mollify and soothe the feelings of people who were inconsiderate of my feelings. I was no longer going to do the dance of saying, “I’m not pregnant” (or worst of all, pretend to be pregnant), then tell them “It’s OK, I have a big stomach” or some other lame remark as they began to apologize.  I told myself I was no longer going to rescue them from their thoughtlessness, apologize for my size, or tell them it was okay to hurt my feelings.

I came up with a short, succinct line:  ”Oh no, I’m not pregnant–I’m just fat.” I practiced saying it while keeping my head up and my eyes locked on theirs. I was not going to dip my head in shame, as I had done for so long. It was not my place to feel ashamed.

It was hard for me to say it the first couple times. Having been raised to put other people’s feelings ahead of my own, it was hard for me to say something that would make the other person uncomfortable. It was hard to not let the person off the hook for their stupidity, thoughtlessness, or whatever you want to call it.

Fortunately (ha ha), I got a lot of practice in right away, since I hear these comments at least a couple times a month. After I said it the first couple times, it wasn’t so hard anymore. Now, the words seem to fall right out of my mouth, and I have absolutely no trouble looking the person in the eye. It doesn’t matter who it is, either; I even took out a book editor who asked me when I was due at the Cs last spring.

I am sure that some people walk away from these encounters thinking that I am rude; I suspect the words “fat bitch” cross some of their lips. I really don’t care anymore. I don’t go out of my way to be rude in my response, but I do absolutely nothing to resolve the awkwardness of the moment for the speaker. Let them suffer the consequences of their actions.

If they have a problem with that, then perhaps they should think before they speak. Perhaps they shouldn’t be so careless the next time they see a woman whose shirt doesn’t lay flat against her stomach or who has a bit of pooch to her belly.

Unbelievable

I’ve just returned from the Watson Conference.  I had planned on writing about that, and I’m sure I’ll get around to it at some point, but I have to write about something else that happened today.

When I got home, I saw that some clothes I’d ordered from Old Navy arrived while I was gone. I’d ordered a shirt and a pair of pants for G, as well as some jeans for myself.  I ordered the jeans with the understanding that they would not fit.  I wanted to order a size that would fit me after losing 5-10 more pounds.  This way the jeans would get me through winter, since I have a pair of jeans that kind of fit me right now.  They’re big, but they’re good enough to get me through another month or two.

Anyway, while I meant to order the jeans small, I accidentally ordered a size smaller than I intended. I’ll spare you the explanation of why that is, but when I pulled the jeans out of the package, I did so with the thought that they were going to be way too small.

You all are smart enough to know where I’m headed with this:  the jeans fit me perfectly. This is the best fitting pair of jeans I’ve had in a long time, if ever. That is really saying something, since I’ve struggled since childhood to find a pair of jeans that fit (they have always gapped terribly at the small of my back).

As I looked at myself in those jeans, I couldn’t help it–I started crying. I never thought I’d be in this size again. I know that to many women, the size I’m currently wearing would not be what they’d want–I’m still overweight. However, I know where I’ve been, and for me, this is a triumph. I can wear “regular” sizes, and some of those sizes are even too big. I can go in almost any store and find something that fits. I still can’t really wrap my head around it, honestly.

So yeah, I cried. I’m quickly approaching the size range I was in before I got pregnant with M, sizes I thought I would never see again. It’s still hard for me to believe I’ll get there, even though I’m only one-two sizes away from that point now. Those facts make me very happy and proud, but it’s also overwhelming, for reasons I haven’t quite figured out. Overwhelming in a good way, yes, but the bigness of those emotions sometimes leaves me crying, as happened tonight.

I think it’s probably hitting me harder because of some experiences at the conference. I saw some people for the first time in months, if not years–people who hadn’t seen me since I started losing weight.  One of my former students, now in grad school at the UofL, literally walked right past me at first; she didn’t recognize me until she stopped and did a double-take.  She’s never known me at this weight, so it threw her. I saw other folks from my grad school days, some of whom knew me when I was thin, some who didn’t. I heard, “You look fantastic!” a lot this week.

I was glad to hear these words, don’t get me wrong. It’s been frustrating for me that very few people in my work and personal lives have noticed my weight loss, so it was nice to get this reaction. But I guess the experience reminded me of what I’ve been missing for the past several years:  I no longer feel self-conscious about my weight when I go into a room filled with people.  I don’t feel guilty about eating because other people are going to judge the fat girl (me) for what she eats. I can ride a bus without feeling like I take up too much room in the seat.

Realizing I didn’t have to worry about those things at the conference brought home for me what I lost during all those years of struggling with my weight and what I’ve gained by losing the weight. I’m starting to see just how much my weight has affected everything about me–my psyche, my physicality, my sexuality, you name it–and I ache for what I lost during that time of struggle.

Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by all of that, so when I hit these happy milestones–like tonight’s trying on of the jeans–the tears come.  I suspect this is pretty normal among people who have lost a lot of weight, though.

Oh, in case you’re wondering, these are the jeans.

51

51 pounds.

I’ve now lost the same amount M weighs.

I’ve lost a M.

She weighed herself this morning after she saw me weigh myself, and as I checked her weight, I told her that was exactly what I had lost.  She couldn’t believe it.  Neither can I.

Wow.

50

As of this morning’s weigh-in, I have lost fifty pounds.

I knew I was closing in on this goal, but I am still kind of in shock. It seems hard to believe I’ve actually made it this far.

My original goal had been to lose 60-70 pounds, but now I’m thinking it’s going to be more in the 70-80 range. I’ve worked through that plateau I hit, and I’m feeling good about how the weight loss is going.

When I started this process, I didn’t really believe I could lose this much weight. I am of the “fake it ’til you make it” philosophy, so that is what I did at first. And now, I’m truly making it!

Unbelievable.

Light in August

As you can easily surmise, August has been a challenging month.

Thankfully, I am starting to feel as if I can see a little light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Some of this is due to my weight loss efforts. After not losing any weight for two or three weeks, yesterday I discovered I lost three pounds in the past week.  I’ve lost 1.5 inches off my hips over the past two weeks. This has helped encourage me to maintain my diligence with exercising and making more healthy choices with food.

G. has decided that he will be looking for work here in Fort Wayne.  He says will not be working in Cincinnati.  There are still many issues to discuss, but this is a positive development.

School starts for M and me on Monday, and I have been freaking out about maintaining my research agenda once the semester (and M’s school year) begins. I have been working hard to reinforce my commitment to Boice’s ideas, particularly brief daily sessions. 

During the school year, I don’t have sustained periods of time during which I can write–I simply don’t.  As a professor and mom of two young children, I’m always running from here to there to everywhere, and the techniques I know some professors can use simply aren’t realistic, given the constraints of my life. Brief writing sessions five days a week are realistic for me, however.  They fit into my life, and this was the strategy that helped me finish my dissertation when I felt hopelessly stuck.  Hopefully this will help see me through to tenure as well.

I have to keep writing as a daily habit, just as I have made exercise a daily habit.  That is just how it is. I am nervous about both, actually; I’m afraid that once school starts, everything will start slipping away from me.  I simply cannot allow that to happen.