Horse Wisdom

Appaloosa Horse, from Wikimedia Commons

I made a breakthrough today.

More than three years ago or so, when my life began crashing down all around me, I made a decision to get whatever help I needed to change my life for  the better. I found a skilled counselor who was a great fit, who also referred me to the naturopath that I still work with today. They both helped put me firmly on the path to a happier, healthier life than I had ever dreamed possible. I began the slow process of learning to stop feeling guilty for things I was never responsible for, trying to save people around me and really concentrating on taking care of myself, for the first time in my life. I put a newly developed, potentially life-threatening auto-immune issue into remission. I lost so much weight, it seemed like I had entered a whole different world, based on what I could do, what I saw in the mirror, how the people around me treated me. My paralyzing social anxiety eased to the dullest throb. I learned to really, really enjoy moving my body. Life-tranforming changes, all of them.

What I still had never really found was self-acceptance. Everything I have accomplished, all the things I've mentioned and all the other things I've ever done with my life seem to count for nought to me. I constantly worry if I am a worthwhile human being. I do not believe in my own merit in any realm. I struggle in my relationships, because I don't ever feel confident in my own decisions, values, boundaries. It goes on and on. The bottom line is, I never have been able to say that I love and accept myself, as I am today.

This has been playing out with my body a bunch. As my weight fluctuates, as I struggle to find the regimen that will take me to the next level, make mistakes, change my mind, I find myself thinking terrible, negative thoughts about myself. Calling myself names. Sneering at my new, fantastically thinner self for still having excess fat, for every weakness, every misstep. I do try really hard not to, sometimes I'm successful. Often not. I know this is not helpful.

Today I met my counselor out at a ranch. She has begun working with clients using horses to guide the session, and asked me to come out. She was certain this would be helpful for me, especially, for some reason. I was excited and nervous. The ranch was out in the east Cascade foothills, next to a calm lake, amongst a patchwork of tiny farms. The surrounding green pine forested mountains dissolved into soft grey clouds above. A beautiful and contemplative place.

I met my counselor at the barn, and she introduced me to her horse, I'll call her Alex. Beautiful Appaloosa mare, brown with a white blaze and sock with faint spots, gorgeous deep big brown eyes with white sclera, like a human's. Alex has a deformity that results in it being dangerous for her to be ridden. She is, however, spirited and smart. This is now her job. We talk about what this work is. How horses are intuitive, how they pick up on our emotions and can help us tune in to what we are feeling. This can be very hard, for me. I can see the possible value in this.

I am very slow and cautious in approaching Alex. I extend my hand as shown, but I worry that she will be startled by some movement. We both flinch a bit when I tentatively move my hand closer a few times. My counselor showed me how to gently groom Alex, and we both brushed her to connect, become familiar, calm. We then went out to the paddock and began the work.

I started talking about my body issues, my struggle to find a good way to eat, work out, and how I feel I am slipping from my path. Alex wandered off and rolled in the dirt. I trailed off from what I was saying and just watched. I have never seen a horse do this before, in person. Her big, beautiful, muscular body rippled gracefully as she playfully covered her newly groomed coat in dust and mud. I smiled, realizing that SHE was unconcerned with how she looked, only with being herself and having fun. Huge, powerful, besmirched, but still undeniably beautiful.

Alex wandered into the middle of the paddock, searched the dirt and gravel for something to eat. There was nothing there, but she did this for a long time. My counselor and I returned to our conversation. At some point, Alex wandered over to the better pickings by the railing and nibbled on some rich grass and clover beyond. My counselor eventually remarked on how hesitant I had been when I had first approached Alex. I explained that I had been extremely nervous, in fact, because I was worried whether Alex would even like me. I saw this look I know well cross her face. Now we were getting somewhere.

Why, she asked, would I wonder such a thing? I began digging out the reasons. I know that animals are very intuitive, that they sense the kind of person you are. That I don't feel like a good person. I have all these bad habits and problems. I wonder if they are just things I need to work on, or if they are unfixable character flaws. I realize, suddenly, that what I am actually detailing is my terrible, unrelenting perfectionism, and say so. Alex stops grazing and looks very attentive. My counselor asks me if I love myself. I say I want to. I then realize that I've been waiting for the time that I am a "better person" to love myself. When I am more "perfect." Just like with my body. That I am, body and soul, considering myself unacceptable as I am.

I begin crying. I start talking about how ridiculous that is. That I am, in fact, imperfect, just like every other human being, and will always be so. That no one could ever love themselves if they waited until they were their own ideal selves. That I deserve love, even my own love. I feel like I can breathe. So freaking relieved. I feel this deep sinking down into my core, my belly, in a good grounded way.

Alex then walks straight up to me, and begins to kiss and nuzzle me. I kid you not. I pet her and cry grateful tears and look into her beautiful eyes. This goes on for quite a while. I feel a great glow in my chest. I feel loved. Lovable. Accepted. On the inside and the outside. By both Alex and myself.

Eventually my counselor asks if there's anything else I want to talk about. I search about in my head. Alex disengages, wanders back to graze. I can tell it's because I've pulled back up into my intellect. We talk about this, how I spend so much time there, because it's so hard for me to get down into those feelings, that core, and feel, but it feels so good when I get down there. She points out that I probably did not feel loved growing up with all the abuse and abandonment in my family. That I got used to shutting off my feelings, living in my head, and trying to do the "right thing" to be found lovable, acceptable. Convinced that this was what it took. I concede that I could see how this could happen. I have sort of intellectually known all of this for quite some time. But somehow, this time, I could FEEL it. I always wanted to believe that I am not too flawed to love, but unsure. I suddenly really, truly understood the nonsense of that, for the very first time. She urged me to hang on to the visceral feeling of that realization in my body, my core.

When the time came to go, we went over and thanked Alex. She stopped grazing and gave me a sweet little snort and toss of the head. When I went to leave, she followed me to the railing and looked after me. I felt very grateful for the unconditional love I was given. It was just somehow very moving. My counselor urged me to hang on to this feeling, too, and I am trying.

I hope this doesn't sound too trite or woo-woo. I accept then that this is not an overnight victory, that I am going to have to slowly change 4+ decades of cognitive patterning and behavior around this idea. To fight to get back down into myself and out of my head. To relax and become part of the world and feel good enough for it. But still, I tell you, it was real, graspable progress. I want to write it down, and share it, and keep repeating it to myself until it becomes part of me. There really was something about being out there, about working with that beautiful, sweet horse that busted down a VERY resistant part of me.

So, to all of us struggling with ourselves, not feeling good enough, worthwhile, like we must become "better" to deserve love. Enough. We can strive to become better people certainly. But loving ourselves enough to see why we should take care of ourselves, and not get so caught up in some ungraspable perfectionist ideal of what we think we should be will help us tremendously in the meantime. Especially in letting go of unnecessary anxiety and negativity that can only stand between us and what we want. I can love who I am now. I can enjoy being in the world as I am, and still reach for what I want. It reminds me of all the Buddhist teachings I have ever read or heard. And something I read over at Mark's Daily Apple just today about Detachment from the Outcome. We can have goals, but being over-focused on them will get in our way. Keeps us from the joy of what is around us, here and now, forever and ever, if we let it. And I promise you, I will not. I am willing to trade in my perfectionism for love.

I'm Siiiiiiingin' in the Rain...

(Image borrowed from Crazy For Cult art contest)

Fresh back from an amazing trip to L.A. We were hoping for escape from the unusual cold-snap here in Seattle as well as the usual perpetual drizzle, but the trickster God of Vacation Weather frowned upon us and it was unseasonably frigid the whole time we were there and rained for several days. Ah well. It WAS sunny on either end of our stay, if chilly. AND, I got to sit 10 feet away from Malcom McDowell as he did a 30 minute introduction and Q&A after a brand spanking new remastered print of "A Clockwork Orange", telling amazing stories about Kubrick and how the movie got made, then emerge from the theater into the pouring rain. If you know "A Clockwork Orange", you know how "Singing in the Rain" gets stuck in your head on a loop, and I was so high on the experience happy...I did a little song and dance routine along Hollywood Boulevard on the way back to my friends' apartment, complete with simulated cane smacks and kicking. I have adored McDowell since I was 18 and first saw that movie, and I felt the same after seeing him as I did after I got to see some of my other life-long idols, like David Bowie or Iggy Pop. He was so charming and humble and smart and sweet. That was one of myriad highlights of an amazing trip, and overall I had a wonderful time.

I am certain that I have put on weight. My clothes are really fitting poorly. Some of it was deliberate choices to enjoy myself. I went to sushi with different friends a few times, because they wanted to and I missed it. I drank beer instead of wine several times when out or with St. Patty's day dinner, Guiness and potatoes, to enjoy the moment. But some of it was stress or alcohol induced eating.

I am realizing that our trips to L.A. have been a bit stressful for a number of reasons, including trying to maximize time spent with several friends there, and staying with some of those friends in an admittedly chaotic atmosphere. I realized that I comfort eat to deal with that, meaning eating starchy comforting foods and/or overeating. It's funny, because there are now only a few situations in which I comfort eat - sleep deprivation and stressful travel situations. But NOT stressful situations when I am at home. It must have something to do with not having familiar surroundings to comfort me.

I also eat poorly if I've been drinking excessively, which tends to only happen on vacation, or to help soothe the hangover after. A and I have noticed that we drink too much with our L.A. friends, and we think it's an association thing, since neither we nor our friends tend to drink too much without one another around. There is something about going out and/or celebrating holidays that we have come to associate with one another. St. Patrick's day in the wonderful historic but alcoholic Hollywood dive bar, The Frolic Room, for instance, didn't help circumstances one bit. My friends and I all talked about this together and committed to trying to do better next time, since none of use feel good after we behave this way.

One wonderful, amazing positive change that I have noticed...my self-confidence is SO much better now. I used to feel very nervous and self-conscious as I walked the streets of L.A. I had always felt that there was so much emphasis on image and thin-ness there. But there has been a sea-change inside me between just the last time and this. This time, I felt self-assured, confident, open. I began to see a totally different side of L.A., one where people were incredibly friendly and diverse. So many times and places, people would just walk up to me and start chatting. I made friends and had a great time everywhere I went. There was so much more happening, culturally, than the shallow, soul-less glitz that I had experienced before. Even in Hollywood, where my friends live right on the crazy main strip, I was able to see and feel so much more than that, the soul beneath the hype of it all. I know the change is in me.

This change is surely the cause of the new magnetism I feel with other people. On St. Patty's day at the Frolic Room, the life of the party cute guy in a jaunty hat and leather jacket became fascinated with me. With all these really cute young girls around! He just kind of honed in on me. Between his silly dancing antics, he was sweetly attentive and inquisitive, charming, well-spoken and informed. At the end of the night, he even asked me on a date!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This was amazing to me! He wasn't creepy or just aiming for sex. He wanted to get to know me. He was so intriguing. I really liked him.  I explained my situation with A, and he STILL urged me to see him. But no time for love, Dr. Jones. I was only there for a little time longer. In any case, so flattering! I must be beaming positive, happy, confident, sexy energy into the universe.

So here I am, happy, busy, in need of recovery from sleep deprivation and drinking too much, a few pounds heavier, trying to sort it all out. I spoke with my counselor some about the stress, and we figured out what had happened with the friends that had been stressful, what I had done right and what I could do better next time. I am definitely becoming more assertive and less concerned with other people's judgement/anger, we concluded, which is really good, for me. That has always been a problem of mine, historically. The work I've done over last three years have made a giant difference, and I am really reaping the benefits, physically, emotionally and spiritually. There is more work to do, but there is always more work to do. I feel no shame or guilt about the mistakes or choices I made. I am confident that I will keep moving in the right direction.

I am moving forward with Occam's protocol, (heavy weightlifting / lots of protein / minimal cardio to stimulate massive muscle growth) even though part of me wants to steer off into fat-loss mode, as I now am feeling kind of fat, for me. I do feel I should finish the 6 week commitment and get to where I can lift my bodyweight with my legs and get closer to where I can do a pull-up with my arms before I put that aside for a while. So close to my goals with this.

It's been so long since I've been able to write! I have yet to catch up with people's blogs, can't wait to see how everyone is doing. It will have to wait, maybe for another day or so, as I need to catch up on work, but I felt I couldn't put off writing any longer. I missed that outlet!

So for now, I feel good; happy, despite things not being perfect. So what if I'm a little heavier than I'd like? So what if I am not perfect at dealing with stress or conflict or communication issues or eating? Life is very good, overall. I can see and point to real progress in many realms. I have learned to relax and enjoy my surroundings so much more. Just like the song says, I'm singing and dancing in the rain....

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Last night after dinner, we were relaxing on the couch (yeah, great, right?), watching a rerun of "Game of Thrones" because we're excited about the upcoming season. Sooooo geeky! Anyways, we HAD walked a couple miles before dinner, as we have every night this week between weightlifting sessions, so I don't feel terrible about it. BUT we had already eaten big ol steaks and salad. I had found myself hungry again, plus trying to maximize protein intake, so I went and made a protein powder + 1 cup unsweetened almond milk shake, drank that down, felt satisfied for the night, went back to watch my show.

A few minutes later, A goes into the kitchen, comes back with an orange and a bag of trail mix. Now, this trail mix is just nuts (though including cashews, very starchy) and raisins, no sugar/grains or any of that smack. But still, I am trying to LOSE FAT while gaining muscle right now, and I just don't need those extra carbycarbycarbcarbs in the nuts and fruit form, which I know keeps me from losing, personally. He starts snacking on this. I KNOW this is the wrong thing to do. I think, man, there must be something better to be eating if you are still hungry, some form of protein.

So what did I do? I started eating it too. I find myself reaching into the bag repeatedly. I eat probably more than a big handful, maybe even two. Less than an hour before I will be going to bed. When I am not really hungry. For pleasure while watching the show. Then I find myself crankily telling A that this food is no good for us, we should be snacking on something else.

No bueno.

I realize that without A around, I NEVER snack late at night any more. But if he starts doing it, I do too. Does this mean A is to blame? Absolutely NOT! I need to take full responsibility for my own eating habits. Should I be saying ANYTHING to A about his habits? NO! I owe that boy an apology.

But somehow, all of these years, I give myself permission to eat whatever he's eating, whenever he's eating it. This has not gotten me good results, in the past. Partly because he's The Viking, standing almost a foot taller than my already somewhat tall self, with his linebacker freaking build, shoulders for miles. He NEEDS to eat more than me. I should not be eating as much as him. He weighs more than 90 pounds more than me right now. Eating like him will likely put me back up there, too!

But even beyond this...if he does give in to bad habits, as we all do sometimes, why does that mean I should?  I don't know why I still do this. Sometimes I don't, but often I do. So, if every time he feels he needs some extra calories, or just doesn't have the willpower to resist late night snacking, and I follow suit, and THEN I have my own lapses of willpower on top of that, well, that's the path to failure.

It's funny, because I've been able to divorce myself from everyone else's food behaviors around me, except for A. People might be eating cake, but they may as well be eating rocks, as far as I'm concerned. But A and I have been on this journey together for years now, and living together for over 20. Somehow, this makes it different, though it should not.

We've been, by all accounts, wildly successful overall. You can see how we've both progressed on the picture bar to the right, and those pictures don't even show us at our smallest. It's been over two and a half years since we started losing the weight this time, and though neither of us look/feel exactly as we'd like, we are still ex-obese and growing more athletic, with MUCH more normal food habits. I'm really proud of us.

But I must admit, I think I'm still attached to the idea that it's only "fair" that if he has a snack, I get one too. Even if I'm not hungry! There is still a little lingering disordered thinking, here. And possibly some enmeshment....A is not me and I am not A. I need to neither judge nor match his eating habits. I need to be adamant about taking care of myself. How do you remember to ask yourself, "Is this right for me, right now?" I do so much of the time.

I finally weighed in. Not a totally happy weight, but not TOO out of control. I need to step up my game this next week. Walk MORE. With or without A around. Eat less carby and at the right times, no matter what or when he or anyone else is munching. I want to fit back into my skinny jeans without the muffin top for L.A., the place where I feel fat at my skinniest! I want to be able to rock my clubwear because my friends have gigantic club plans for us, apparently. Gothy clubs and L.A. type clubs! You know what I'm talking about. I need to feel sexilicious. We leave next Thursday!

Monkey see, monkey don't! Or, as I have been advised...monkey see, monkey sit back and calmly observe. No knee-jerk reacting!

My Milkshake...

(Image blatantly stolen from The Shaving Grape. Go read his funness.)

I have my own version of a little black dress. It is magical, because I bought it when I was significantly heavier than I am, probably 15 pounds or so, and have worn it at my lowest weight, 10+ below where I am now, and it fits like a dream no matter what. It's a shirt dress with 3/4 sleeves and buttons all the way down the front, but it has a dozen or so rows of cute little square mini pleats, hard to explain, but super artsy and cute, from the waist down. There is a thick elastic belt with a leopard-pattern fabric front and buckle around the waist, placed perfectly. It comes to about mid-thigh on me.

It is one of the only dresses I have ever had that makes me feel like I'm NOT in drag, probably because of the men's shirt styling up top. It makes me look and feel svelte and sexy. It covers the loose skin on my arms, fits really nicely across the chest, shows off my hourglass figure, my relatively thin upper body, my new waistline, and forgives the all the sins below. Every person who wears dresses ever should be blessed with a dress like this.

I used to insist on wearing a black pencil skirt beneath and the front buttons at the bottom unbuttoned, because a) that makes it look a little more artsy but mostly b) I was so insecure about my legs. But my last round of weight loss made a significant difference in my legs, from mid-thigh down, fortunately for me. I am shocked at how tiny and cute they appear, from mid-thigh down, at least. I haven't even posted a pic of myself on this blog since that round, because I just haven't found one I loved. But I am happy about this.

The other night we had a First Thursday event for a friend in Pioneer Square and then another friend's birthday party at a popular Capitol Hill club where each of the three different floors are totally geared towards a different crowd, from House to Goth-y to hipster, making it a weirdly eclectic place to visit. I paired that dress with a really cool spiral steel necklace on a black suede lace around my neck, a chunky steel link bracelet, shiny gunmetal stockings and black tall boots with a hint of light tan fur lining that matches the lightest color of the leopard skin belt. I felt all Va-Va-Voom. And I DID NOT, for the very first time ever, wear a skirt underneath. I left those legs out there, for all to see.

All I gotta say is, I never lacked for company all freaking night. Random dudes struck up conversations with me, at both events, on every floor of that club, too. An acquaintance went openly gaga over me, which really raised eyebrows around our table. A different guy, super-cute newly-divorced weightlifting martial arts dude talked to me for hours. I'm not saying I was necessarily being hit on (well, except for the one acquaintance dude, who actually used a PICKUP LINE on me. Har.) But I am not used to people I don't know or know well, kind of pursuing me around the club for attention. Don't worry, I made time for my friends. But I get the feeling that I must be doing something right, if you know what I mean.

This helped me realize that even if I HAVE gained a little fat, maybe the weightlifting this is giving me some excellent other benefits. Maybe I look more athletic, or am exuding a new confidence. It just made me feel good to get that attention, though I know it's much more important that I value myself, from the inside out.

On another milkshake topic, I am struggling with the protein powder thing. I have been gaining  fat along with my muscle, and am trying to fine-tune the diet to figure out why. Subbing beans out for some of the fattier protein so far isn't helping. In fact, I think my weight gain has accelerated. Beans get two more days, and then out they go, unless my weight suddenly plunges. But I'm also worried it's the protein powder.

I haven't been feeling so hot, and in fact have had a lot more inflammatory issues going on. A is also gaining weight and not feeling so hot, either. I read a LOT of information about the controversies involving protein powder manufacturing. Mostly that unless done extremely carefully and more importantly, expensively, the protein becomes de-natured and can cause excito-toxin issues, which do cause inflammatory symptoms in me. Poop! I want to do the right thing, and I am so at sea here. I have immediately cut the protein powder, but I need lean protein, and the lean protein options I have are shrinking quickly. The protein powder/almond milkshakes are out. :( We are gonna most likely going to cut the beans, will cut a lot of fat coming up, and are going to stop drinking for a few weeks (after tonight's prescheduled bowling and fried chicken date with friends) to see if that helps at all. Wish us luck!

Seeing Through the Looking Glass...

I started to write this yesterday, but it got too late to finish it.  Thanks for all the well-wishes, I'm finally feeling mostly better today.

I've spent a few days really thinking about internalized size-ism.  Ever since I started the work of posting my pictures, I've dwelt on the waves of emotion that have risen up to the surface as I gazed upon them, each provoking an individual response.  At first I could hardly look at the old pictures.  I did feel a sense of disbelief at the denial I had been immersed in.  I really never did see myself as THAT fat.  I always knew I was big, but I didn't realize how big.  I think that when we look into mirrors there can be a million tricks we play to find the "me" that we want to believe exists there.  I still find myself doing this, angling my face and body to see a more defined jaw, a thinner midsection, sucking in my cheeks to find the bones buried beneath.

Pictures are frozen moments in time; you can't control the image being reflected back at you.  You are forced to face a much more objective version of yourself, freed from the normal filters that your defenses throw in front of your vision.  Normally, when I looked at pictures of myself, my response was to wince, look away.  As a result I almost never looked at those pictures for more than a second or two.  This time was different.  This time I had to choose pictures to post, and to do this I had to carefully contemplate what each photograph was displaying, finding the ones that showed what I really looked like each step of the way that I was willing to share.

At first I found it extremely painful.  I felt embarrassed, shocked, and disgusted when I realized how truly obese I appeared in the pictures.  I found it hard not to be judgmental about each and every one down to the latest set.  I focused on the flaws.  I agonized over the choices, but I made them.  I cropped and brightened, posted them to my blog, made up captions, reviewed and revised endlessly, swapping them out to better tell the story.  A few days passed during this process.  I read other people's blogs while I continued to work on my own, read about their own issues with self-image, and had revelations about how my feelings were evolving as I commented on theirs.  As I scrolled up and down my little filmstrip, something began to happen.  I realized that I had been judging myself in a way that I would never level at another.  Never.  My own dear friends are of all shapes and sizes, from the largest to the skinniest, I love them without prejudice and don't ever even consider what they weigh, only the loveliness that comes from the whole of who they are.  Why am I so hard on myself? 

There was so much internalized size-ism bubbling up from within.  I remembered all the reasons why.   My parents, peers and other adults were ruthless, tearing me down for my appearance at every opportunity.  Add that to the prevailing social attitudes I grew up with where you are thin or you are worthless.  I took it as a child, never able to stand up for myself. I swallowed it and felt shame, though at least part of me felt it was wrong.  I secretly vowed as a child to never judge others by their looks, but it's been a constant struggle to overcome my own feelings of self-loathing, instilled by others.  I was made to feel ashamed, guilty, unacceptable.  I realized that's why I couldn't look at those pictures without it being so painful.  It's very complicated, this seems overly simplified...it's like internalized racism or any other prejudice.  If you're surrounded by it, it poisons you, even if you reject it on an overt level.  My favorite performance artist, Guillermo Gomez Pena helped me see this, that every single one of us walks around with internalized shame and prejudice.  In order to deal with internalized prejudice, you must bring it out into the light, examine it, share it, exorcise it.  Putting up these pictures and talking about here now means that to me.

Repeatedly seeing the pictures began to desensitize me...I no longer flinched and felt bad.  I began to see that I was more than the weight on me...the sparkle in my eye, the way I lovingly held A, the stylishness of that outfit...it was really me in each of those pictures, and there was nothing wrong with who I was. 

Why am I trying to lose weight then?  I'm proud of my ongoing transformation.  I do think that, at least in my own opinion I am now more physically attractive, and I know that am healthier and happier.  But being fat doesn't make me a bad person, and I don't need to feel ashamed of where I've been.  I just wasn't ready to heal in that way yet.  At various times I was working on various things, maybe healing something else, maybe stuck and hadn't hit the point where change had become imperative.  And that's okay.  The pain and suffering, the struggle contributed to who I am today.  Someone who champions the underdog.  Who sees through outside layers to the heart of things.  A person that appreciates diversity and uniqueness, instead of someone who clings to some unattainable uniform vision of who we ought to be sold to us from the powers above.  Someone who knows how easy it is to get stuck, and what it takes to find and embrace change.

This is a very delicate thing to talk about because I don't want to make the implication that being fat means that someone is stuck, wounded or has something else wrong with them.  It doesn't mean that at all.  I meant that for ME, and me alone.  I do not feel that I am healthy and happy when I have a lot of extra weight; it is my choice to lose it.  I think it is completely individual, this choice.  I have a friend who is quite large, and she is happy, vibrant, wittier than ten of me, and I wish I could be her for a day.  She's an actress, comedian, singer and showperson extraordinaire, and the most popular person I know.  She is at complete ease with herself, flirts with people constantly, shoot, even I have a little ol' girl crush on her, to be perfectly honest.  She's perfect the way she is. 

But my journey is different than hers.  I don't think my body and face look as attractive with weight as hers does.  I have health issues that losing weight helps address.  I have emotional issues that are untangling along with the weight loss tied to child abuse, comfort, gender identity, sexuality, loss, self-esteem, all manner of things.  I am not a witty vibrant actress, overflowing with natural charm -  I have a different shape to my soul that demands a different container to be expressed the way it always wanted to be.  I also don't want to sound like a Pollyanna, spouting some gussied up false message that taking this path is all rainbows and glitter and happiness pie.  It's hard to feel your feelings, to make yourself face painful things, to become more disciplined and put forth an effort.  It's not easy, but like most developmental and healing processes, it's worth it, at least to me.  This is the right way for me at this time.  I guess I do have a message of hope, because hopeful is how I feel.  YMMV.  My truth is my truth alone.  Nobody has to feel the same way I do about it.  They can talk about how much it sucks, how it's a drag and a struggle and no fun at all.  They can decide that they are happy to be heavy, and that's totally okay too.  I, myself feel very lucky to be here, becoming what I've always wanted to be.  And I'm very glad that I took the risk to put those pictures up.  It gave me a chance to begin seeing through the illusions, both good and bad that I've always attached to my self-image and into who I really am.