The Process of Acceptance

Yesterday I made 5 weeks sober.

"The only solution is to let go of who you once were and try to embrace the person you are today."

This is one of the many statements I wrote down when I first started brainstorming for my blog. It was followed by the questions,

"Who did I used to be?" and "Who am I now?"

To be honest, I'm not even sure I know the answers to those questions. But I'm going to try my best to answer them now...so bare with me here. It might be a little rough.

Who I used to be: Emotionally reactive, whether it be happy, sad, frustrated, or down right angry. My emotions always led the way. There was no hiding it. Some people referred to me as "high strung." I can't say that I would disagree. I overloaded my plate ALL of the time. I wanted to do everything for everyone. I was completely and totally insecure about everything. When I say everything, I mean down to every. word. that. came. out. of. my. mouth. Everyone who was nice to me, I assumed they were just "humoring" me. Even though I was successful with my job, I required confirmation from my boss or other peers to feel validated that I really was doing well. In fact, I required validation of my feelings about most anything. 

Constantly I felt guilty because there was always something wrong with me. When someone would ask what was wrong or if I was in a bad mood, I'd normally lie and just say I was tired. I felt like a hypochondriac. I didn't understand why, at the mere age of 24, I felt so bad all of the time. I was destructive. Emotionally and physically. I'd literally hate on myself all of the time. I hated that I gained weight. I gained enough to where I decided I'd never lose it. It would be impossible. I hated that I was socially awkward, when all I wanted was to fit in (this stems back all the way to grade school.) I hated that I couldn't just "get myself together" and be "fine." Did I mention that I hated there was always something wrong with me?

 Physically I'd destroy myself by staying up too late, not sleeping enough, eating food that only further displeased my already messed up digestive system, and of course alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. If you're familiar at all with the show How I Met Your Mother, you'll understand when I say every time I drank, my mindset was, "Challenge Accepted." How much could I drink and manage to still stumble up the stairs to my bedroom. Or not. A few times I allowed relied on Jeremy to help me. The next morning I wouldn't remember things that happened the night before (which is bad since I don't remember lots of things when I'm sober either.) I hated myself for drinking, so I'd drink more to not feel so bad about hating myself. Yes I know, that doesn't make sense. But the mindset of someone with an alcohol issue usually doesn't make sense. I never felt like doing my make-up or hair in the morning, so I'd say I didn't care. But then I'd be self-conscious every day at work and feel ugly. Even though I had some really interesting and nice accomplishments, none of it really seemed to be that big of a deal to me. To sum it up, I hated myself and assumed no one really liked me either.

Who I am now: I'm still emotionally reactive, but I'm getting better at controlling it in certain situations. I've also accepted that my emotions make me who I am. I also have made it a point to remove myself from situations that I know will only increase my stress. (Stress is the easiest way to start a flare, for me at least.) I try my best to only associate myself with people who impact my life positively. I try to limit the things I commit myself to. I realize I can't fix everything for everyone. I try my best not to dwell on everything, especially the things I have no control over. My awesome friend Kalli has helped me a ton by helping me identify the things I can control, and quantify if the result will be "the end of the world," or what the worst case scenario really is. (Usually it isn't nearly as bad as I make it out to be.) 

I lost 30lbs before my wedding. By doing this, I realize it isn't impossible. I have put back on a bit of the weight I lost, but I don't hate myself. I'm not that little 130lb thing I used to be (and probably never will be again), but I have learned to dress myself appropriately where I can still be comfortable in my own body. And most of all, I have realized and accepted that my husband didn't fall in love with 130lb little ol' me. He didn't even know me then. He fell in love with the heavier, curvier me. And I feel secure in that. I've worked through a lot of the insecurities regarding my friends and the feelings of being "just humored." I learned to accept that its quite possible there are people on this planet that sincerely enjoy being around me. (Gasp!) 

When I'm asked how I feel, I'm honest, but I've learned how to phrase things in different ways to where I don't constantly sound like the Debbie-Downer I used to hate. Instead, when I'm asked how I'm doing I choose to focus on the good things going on in my life, thus giving me a positive answer. It isn't a lie to say, "I'm doing well." I have a lot of really great things going on, and I'm learning to cherish them as they are. I've also stepped out of the bitterness and started asking how other people are doing. I know that may sound extremely selfish, but used to I would never ask, "How was your weekend?" or other variations. Frankly, I didn't want to know because I knew it would be better than mine, because mine inevitably sucked. I'm getting better at what I like to refer as, "The Social Contract." I also realized that I do not have to drink alcohol to comply with, "The Social Contract." I do not have to drink alcohol at all for anything. So I don't. It's hard, especially at get-together's with friends and everyone is having wine or a martini. But my husband is encouraging, and so far I've done ok.

Most of all, I've begun to accept that I am enough. I do have times where I fall down the rabbit-hole of doom and despair, but for the most part I feel good about myself. I'm involved in an amazing support group, I get along with people at work, I'm confident my boss likes me, and I'm finally back at church. In spite of my pain and in the moments of sadness when I get frustrated that I even have to deal with this illness, I also know that God would not have given it to me unless I could handle it. This was a wake-up call for me. The moment I realized I had no control over my body, and never had, I was humbled to the grace of God and reminded that He has had control all along, regardless of my attempts to ignore Him. I was also reminded that I don't have to go this alone. My hope is only that I can continue on the right path and to lean on God when I need strength. 

So it seems that letting go of the old me would be easy since the old me didn't seem to pleasant...but it was hard. And I still hold on to bits and pieces of the old me. I'm still cynical about most things, but I'm much more open to positivity than I was before. I have chosen to be Happy.

Back in the Day

I’m sixteen and little do I know it, I am in the best physical shape I will ever be in. I go to early morning marching band practice at 6:30am and carry an eight pound instrument around my neck for two hours. Then I attend school, sitting at a desk for the majority of seven hours, followed by a drive to the dance studio and being on my feet, (or on the floor) for another five to seven hours. Somewhere in there is a break to slam down Taco Bell or Burger King, all before getting to go home just to sit at my desk some more and do homework until midnight. Sleep for five to six hours, rinse and repeat. 

Now, don't be fooled. I didn't do all of this with ease. I was never, and will never be considered "normal," if such a thing even exists. (Which it doesn't. But that's for another time and a different soap box.) I think my body has always been a little different compared to other females my age. As a child I was never particularly athletic, which is not completely unusual. But I started having back and muscle problems at the young age of ten and began seeing my mother’s chiropractor. The muscles in my hamstrings have always been “wound tight," which caused me to have to work much harder at stretching and flexibility in dance. The tightness, paired with my back spasms and alignment issues, also made recovery time from dance or other exercise much longer than most my age. My knees began giving me incessant issues around the age of fifteen. I had always had what my doctors thought were growing pains, but when I started dance it worsened quickly. Lucky me, I inherited my biological father’s Osgood Schlatters. This is when the tendons do not connect completely to the bone in your knee, usually due to a growth spurt in an active adolescent. Usually kids grow out of it, but in my blood line, it sticks around forever. Yay. Once I was diagnosed with this, I was told to quit any running, jumping, squatting, and anything that would cause acute knee impact, or I’d have to have knee replacements before I was thirty. Fifteen-year-old Me was not ready to give up what seemed like everything that was important and made me happy. Especially since thirty was so far away.

Naivety at its best, my friends.

Most people look back and joke about how good they looked “back in the day”. I’ll admit, I did look what I would personally consider "my best" back then, at 5’5” and 130lbs. Nearly ten years later though, I’m not looking back and thinking about how good I looked, I’m looking and longing for how much I was able to do. Thirty isn't that far away anymore... *shudder*

As a child, I never understood why my mother had to budget her energy, picking and choosing each little thing she would or would not do. She tried to explain to me that she had "Fibromyalgia" and it made her really tired sometimes. At the age of seven, I didn't understand it, nor was I interested. It was just a big F-word I couldn't pronounce. It frustrated me that naps and resting came before activities and fun most days. Sometimes I would get so bored having to play by myself, that I would “accidentally” be loud just to see if I could wake her up so she would play with me. If I knew then what I know now, I never would have made a peep.

I’m sorry, Mom. I get it now.