My World's on Fire

A few months ago, I did something called a Cheer Session at Ludy Luck Photography Studio.  It's a photoshoot in which the owner, Jennifer, sprays or splatters you with the paint colour of your choice and you celebrate yourself while Jennifer documents it on digital film. 
 

It seems pretty simple, but there's more to it.  Jennifer spends a crazy amount of time promoting fat acceptance and body positivity on her various social media sites and in real life.  It really is a transformative experience.  And a portion of the proceeds for each Cheer Session is donated to CAMH.  

Jennifer asked me why I was there - usually, people have something to work through when they're there.  I gave her a true answer: I hadn't quite rebounded after the excitement of my wedding last summer.  That was the truth, but it wasn't the whole truth.  I chose red because my world's on fire.

It's been a tumultuous few months.  I'd blame Mercury in retrograde, but it's bigger than that.

It started with some bad news I'm not ready to share.  Then came my annual physical with my doctor.  The idea of an annual physical makes sense - screen me for risk factors, signs and symptoms of common ailments and give me advice and treatments for the same.  The reality is it's really just a time where my doctor makes it clear to me that she has not read my chart at all prior to our visit, has no idea who I am, and then pockets $50 or more to tell me that my BMI is above 25 kg/m2 and I should "keep an eye on that."  You know, because every magazine I've ever read hasn't already made it abundantly clear that EVERYONE ELSE is already keeping an eye on it.

This time, even though I had just finished telling her about my work AS A DIETITIAN she suggested I try Weight Watchers, OR THE DIET COMPANY THAT CAUSED A FAMILY MEMBER TO LOSE A GALL BLADDER.  All while wearing a johnny shirt that doesn't tie up around me.

And I wanted to tell her all about the work of the Health at Every Size movement and the fact that zero percent of my other chronic disease indicators were throwing up red flags so the point of this appointment was for her to fat-shame me and make me even less engaged with my personal health because my primary care provider makes me feel like a giant waste of space (emphasis on giant).  But I didn't.  I held my johnny shirt together, nodded politely, put my clothes back on after she left, drove home and cried.

I'm fairly lucky, actually.  I'm a straight, cis-gender, white, upper-middle-class person who grew up in a western democracy.  What I mean by that is that I was born with a great deal of privilege already loaded onto my pre-paid credit card. The only ticks in my negative column are the fact that I'm female and obese.  Even so, it feels like there's a boot on my neck a great deal of the time.

About a month after that, I started listening to this podcast: Uncover: The Village.  It purports to be about the serial murders by Bruce McArthur that took place in the Church-Wellesley area of Toronto, but branches out into the history of the gay village in Toronto and the multiple reasons its occupants might have to distrust the police and their handling of the case.  Spoiler alert: It's because, for decades (and likely centuries before that), the popo and the system of governance they represented engaged in a systematic campaign to ruin (and sometimes end) the lives of those who lived a homosexual lifestyle.

And then last week, a man with an assault rifle walked into a Wal-Mart in Texas with the express purpose of killing persons of colour.

And, of course, the earth is ACTUALLY on fire.  Fueled by a crippling reliance on petroleum and an endless supply of single-use plastic packaging.

And I just can't anymore.

When I talk to people about how I feel, they tell me I'm taking on too much.  I'm shouldering other peoples' burdens when I should really take care of myself.  But since I'm a straight, cis-gender, white, upper-middle-class person who grew up in a western democracy, and if I'm even a fraction as woke as I think I am, self-care has to be something a little more meaningful than a bubble bath and a pedicure because the things that are keeping me up at night are bigger than me.

The photoshoot with Lady Luck was a great start.  It made me feel good.  It sent a message about how I should feel about my body to everyone who sees the pictures and hopefully inspired some people to feel differently (better!) about theirs.  It supported a business that I think is doing something inherently good in the world.  And, in a small way, supported an organization that I think is doing something inherently good in the world.

  

In my effort to learn about how to make the world a better place, I saw one of those inspirational quotes on an Instagram account I'm following that said that the world doesn't need one person doing things perfectly so much as it needs a million people doing things imperfectly.  Part of what's burning me right now is that the fire is so fucking huge that I'm not sure I can handle the extinguisher I'd need to put it out by myself.  I feel like I've got the equivalent of a garden hose to fight a forest fire. I need more people.  Who will fight fires with me?

The Daily Challenge

Some of my loyal facebook and instagram followers will be aware that I have been intermittently engaging in daily challenges which I post on the sosh-meds for accountability purposes.

But those loyal followers will know that I haven't been super engaged with the challenges lately, and that's because they don't really resonate with me.  And here's where I hit my usual conundrum: I'm really bad at being self-directed; I really need the challenge to have some relevance to me. 

Recently my challenges are wanting me to consider people who can support me in my healthy living goal, consider ways I might be supported, and then ask one of those people to support me in that way.  Lame.

Don't get me wrong, I understand very well the importance of having a support system, knowing what support you need, and communicating your needs to your support system.  I was just really hoping for a challenge where I was going to do actual stuff.  Stuff that I could photograph.  Thinking about stuff just doesn't translate to a 4x4 image on Insta.  Or maybe that's an excuse to cover up my trust issues, which are the real reason, perhaps, that I haven't asked my support system for the support I need. 

New conundrum: Is the challenge really lame, or is the challenge too challenging for me right now? 

So here's my crossroads decision: Do I find a new set of challenges (like with a different app or something), or do I actually expose my vulnerability to the people in my life who could really make a difference by being the support that I need.  I guess the fear is that I'm going to haul out my foibles and nobody's going to be there.  I'll be standing there with my hang-ups flapping in the breeze like the luckless idiot in a horror or war movie who's just been disembowelled, holding my guts in my hands with nobody to shove them back into my abdominal cavity and sew me back up again. 

It's hard to say to people that I need a buddy to check in on me to see that I'm still logging my food, or getting my steps in, or going outside sometimes instead of ensconcing myself in the rabbit-hole-like comfort of the cool glow of endless streaming television.  But that's what I need.  And I need to tell my people that's what I need.  And trust that they'll be there to give me what I need.  But that's hard.

I guess that's why it's called a challenge.

Marie Kondo and the Discontent

My last post began the autumn of my discontent.

I resolved to get singing lessons or piano lessons and achieve goals and I did none of those things.

I did become mildly depressed, so I can't say I didn't do anything.

January is a funny month.  On the one hand, we feel like it's a time to set intentions and become new people.  On the other hand, it's cold and wet and unpleasant out there and mostly all I want to do is curl up in a blanket, eat and drink warm things, and watch the endless stream of blockbuster entertainment that flows from my smart tv.

I've been starting slowly, but there is a lot of "new" in my life.

I'm in a new band.  I have new furniture which has sparked a Marie Kondo-esque purge of my house.  New goals.  New approaches.  New hopes.

But the general malaise of autumn 2018 is not so far behind me that I don't see myself slipping back into it if I'm not careful.  And my most burning of desires still seem so far away that I'm not sure I'll ever achieve them, which makes the general comfort of stress eating and couch potato-ing that much more appealing.

I get that feeling that I have to do something big.  I have to turn my whole life completely upside down.  After I do that, I'll have a purpose again and feel like things are going the way they should.  It's kind of like rearranging your purse and starting by upending it to dump everything out onto the floor in front of you.  Sure, it's easier to find things when you've gone through it, but there's always the danger that in the upending, one of my most prized lipglosses is going to roll under the couch never to be seen again (this is a metaphor, btw, I'm not really talking about lipgloss here), and it is basically guaranteed that within a month of two my purse is going to become the same old shitshow of crumpled receipts, unwrapped restaurant cheque candies and tangled phone charge cords it always is.

So what I'm saying is: I need to be vigilant.  Or I'll never get my purse clean.