Fear of Dying by Diet

When I think of dying, I am not afraid.  After a very low spot (physical) several years ago, I lost that fear. Or I thought I had.

Once again I must honor the presence of my convoluted thinking.

Weight has always been an issue for me.  As a chubby child, I took a lot of ribbing.  There’s no doubt that I carried that child within me for years and failed to appreciate my perfectly acceptable body through my younger years.

In my parenting years I’m not sure that I could blame my increased weight on child-bearing, although it definitely had an effect.  My subjugation of self for the benefit of others probably had more to do with it.  I ate my way through exhaustion, anger, grief, overwhelm, and you-name-it! Then, as I gained more of a sense of myself, I began to shed the worst of my pudgy pounds.

Although I have never been (what I would call) obese, I carried some extra weight with me for a long time – both psychically and physically.  Then several years ago I decided that my looks were not at issue – it was my health that was at issue.  I changed my diet and my lifestyle in order to age as a lean machine.

It just didn’t work.

I have lost enough to feel better but those last pounds won’t go away. Although I eat an exemplary diet, I continue to hover around the same weight.  I exercise more.  I eat less.  I lose.  I gain.  The result is healthy but static and more than I’d like  to carry into my coming years.

Recently, I began having a few health issues. Nothing serious (I hope), just a mystery fever that comes and goes at will. While the doctors are puzzling, my sisters and I talk and question and scare ourselves looking up symptoms on the internet. Yesterday I admitted to her that I am losing weight.

“I hope I’m not dying”, I said.

My sister began snorting with laughter. She couldn’t catch her breath. Mystified, I chuckled along with her, waiting for an explanation. “OMG,” she said, “that’s just what I would think!”

When she caught her breath we talked aobut it. It became a serious conversation. We have watched friends and even our own parents stop eating and decline. Our dear sister who died of cancere become emaciated and resembled a holocaust survivor when she died. Our true feelings around being thin have some grim memories attached.

It does seem a bit silly to think that I cling to those last 15 pounds so that I can feel robust when I look in the mirror. Ultimately, I can laugh with her. We acknowledge our unconscious fear of weight loss as an unexplored aspect of our fear of dying.

Who knew?

The Student

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Filed under Self-examination, You Become What You Believe

Opinions

Your opinion is your opinion, your perception is your perception–do not confuse them with “facts” or “truth”. Wars have been fought and millions have been killed because of the inability of men to understand the idea that EVERYBODY has a different viewpoint. John Moore 

 

I’m wondering when my opinions become the strongest. Or more to the point – when am I the most vociferous about them?

Many of my opinions are strong. Although I no longer see most things in black and white, I still veer toward the more intense colors of any subject. What, however, looses my tongue and makes me argumentative about them?

Alcohol, of course.

Anger, when aroused can create some heated arguments.

Fear, which is the basis of anger anyway.

Last night I could hear my ideas flying about like razors even as my friends gently leaned away from me. And so I spent my go-to-sleep drowse and my wake-up-thoughts coming to understand my behavior. I must be compassionate with myself and not spiral into self-denigration.

I have been a little bit ill too long without answers. My energy is beaten down. My confidence is shaken. Fear trembles beneath the surface of the unanswered questions. Anger bubbles up in defense.

I owe some apologies this morning.

The Student

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Filed under Quotations, Self-Acceptance Project, Self-examination, When you stray from your center, you get lost

Perfection Face-off

Have not fear of perfection – you’ll never reach it.  Salvador Dali

Much has been said about perfection.  The word is batted around loosely. The search for perfection is treated as the path to nirvana.

And for me, the need to be perfect is a bit of a hell. My struggle toward acceptance runs head-on to my need for perfection.I am constantly amazed at how many of my feelings of inadequacy, of anger, of fear, (I could go on forever); when stripped to their naked core are my need to be perceived and to perceive myself as perfect.

I recently had a glaring lesson in how ridiculous this is. My blood sugar was tipping about recently together with some other symptoms that could have been related to diabetes. What? Me?

No matter what the outcome of a doctor visit, I felt sure I could handle my issues with diet and exercise. But me? Diabetes? When I pride myself on my healthy lifestyle?*

What was I really afraid of?  Being wrong.  In the face of what could be a damaging disease I found these little squiggy places in my brain that weren’t worrying about the outcome as much as about admitting what was happening to me.

Give it up, girl! Be human. Live with who you are. (I’ll keep talking to myself.)

The Student

*I didn’t visit the concepts of genetic predispostitions, aging with its breakdown of parts, etc.

 

 

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Filed under Quotations, Self-Acceptance Project