As part of my portfolio requirements for my master's program I have to complete 10 hours of therapy, which I am trying to take seriously. Number 1: I'm paying this woman a considerable amount of money to not and number 2: I will be the first to admit that I am not without my issues.
The point here though is not to go over these issues. There isn't enough blog space in the world for that. But my therapist did say something the other week that really resonated with me and I've been thinking about it ever since. Just sort of in passing she mentioned that it seems like I've hit the reset button on my life. At first I just agreed and didn't think much of it, but the more I thought about it the more I realized that is exactly what I've done.
I look back at a certain period of my life, let's just call it college, and I think, "how was I that girl?" Then I begrudgingly moved back to the US and spent 2 1/2 years in Phoenix trying to figure out who exactly I was if not that girl. I know I wasn't always a treat to be around for that period of time. I am sure that more than one person was turned off and turned away from my incessant "this isn't my life either" mentality, but it was all part of the process of getting me here. Of getting me to this point where I can say "it doesn't matter who I was but who I want to be" and reaching out and hitting that reset button.
I may not love Portland, but I love my life and I love who I have become, the best me I can be.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sometimes Mum is Right
I think it is fair to say that most women (whoa, yes, I just referred to girls as women) my age have at least the slightest bit of fear about turning into their mother. Don't get me wrong, I love my mum. She's an awesome and inspiring lady. She has done far more with her life than I'm sure I ever will and thus has taught me that being a strong woman is where it's at. But in many respects we are polar opposites. Sure, I insist that my towels are folded a certain way (not her way, but nonetheless it's an inherited trait) and that the toilet paper must come from the top down, but I am the hippie child that my mum cannot figure out how she spawned. On more than one occasion I have heard her say, "how did you turn out like this?" Not in a bad way. She loves me, hippie, flightiness and all, but looks aside, the apple obviously rolled down the hill after it fell off the tree.
Needless to say, my mum and I do not always see eye to eye (mostly on all things relating to politics and my love of Barack Obama and her love of Sarah Palin). We hardly ever argue, but it is generally agreed that we simply do not agree. However, political views aside, my mum is a pretty insightful lady. I rarely make any kind of major decision without consulting her and she truly is one of my best friends. If I have a terrible day, it is her number that I dial first.
It seems strange, but we did not become close until after my parents divorced. Prior to that I was an annoyed tween that was generally quite unpleasant. Mostly because I didn't like myself very much. It was during this time that Mum started preaching the gospel of "You only get better with age". I didn't see how this could be possible. I only saw myself getting uglier and fatter. I'd probably end up with braces (I did) and glasses (those too) and be alone with my cats (except I'm allergic) for the rest of my life. What did this lady know?
Slowly, I started to see a glimmer of hope. I lost 30 pounds the summer I lived in London and the world seemed a little brighter. I wasn't exactly the queen of popularity in high school but I disliked it anyway and made it through unscathed, for the most part. I went on to college where boys started to notice me. Whoa. The end of my time in London was a bit of a low point for me, but I returned to the US determined to take the time to better myself, at least physically. While everything else seemed to be spinning out of control I figured at the very least I could handle that one aspect of my life.
Today, I am 60 pounds lighter than I was at 13. But more then being physically better, somewhere between the time when my mum starting preaching her crazy gospel and now, I actually really started liking myself. I discovered that she was right. At 27, I wear less make up than I have in years, I enjoy spending time alone and have the confidence to try pretty much anything. I can laugh at myself and not get torn up when others laugh at me. In fact, I've discovered that I get immense pleasure out of making others laugh, even if it is at me. I rarely look back at high school nostalgically, mostly because I really didn't like it, but also because I can hardly believe that I was once that girl who let other's opinion of her get her down. Now I say, "if you don't like me, nuts to you, that's your problem".
Recently my mum and I were talking about how I spent several of my early 20s years faking it until I could make it. I wasn't exactly where or what I wanted to be, but I figured that eventually I'd buy into my own attempt at confidence. Eventually I did. And I was surprised to hear that Mum too has at points in her life faked it to make it. I guess maybe we're more alike than I thought.
Needless to say, my mum and I do not always see eye to eye (mostly on all things relating to politics and my love of Barack Obama and her love of Sarah Palin). We hardly ever argue, but it is generally agreed that we simply do not agree. However, political views aside, my mum is a pretty insightful lady. I rarely make any kind of major decision without consulting her and she truly is one of my best friends. If I have a terrible day, it is her number that I dial first.
It seems strange, but we did not become close until after my parents divorced. Prior to that I was an annoyed tween that was generally quite unpleasant. Mostly because I didn't like myself very much. It was during this time that Mum started preaching the gospel of "You only get better with age". I didn't see how this could be possible. I only saw myself getting uglier and fatter. I'd probably end up with braces (I did) and glasses (those too) and be alone with my cats (except I'm allergic) for the rest of my life. What did this lady know?
Slowly, I started to see a glimmer of hope. I lost 30 pounds the summer I lived in London and the world seemed a little brighter. I wasn't exactly the queen of popularity in high school but I disliked it anyway and made it through unscathed, for the most part. I went on to college where boys started to notice me. Whoa. The end of my time in London was a bit of a low point for me, but I returned to the US determined to take the time to better myself, at least physically. While everything else seemed to be spinning out of control I figured at the very least I could handle that one aspect of my life.
Today, I am 60 pounds lighter than I was at 13. But more then being physically better, somewhere between the time when my mum starting preaching her crazy gospel and now, I actually really started liking myself. I discovered that she was right. At 27, I wear less make up than I have in years, I enjoy spending time alone and have the confidence to try pretty much anything. I can laugh at myself and not get torn up when others laugh at me. In fact, I've discovered that I get immense pleasure out of making others laugh, even if it is at me. I rarely look back at high school nostalgically, mostly because I really didn't like it, but also because I can hardly believe that I was once that girl who let other's opinion of her get her down. Now I say, "if you don't like me, nuts to you, that's your problem".
Recently my mum and I were talking about how I spent several of my early 20s years faking it until I could make it. I wasn't exactly where or what I wanted to be, but I figured that eventually I'd buy into my own attempt at confidence. Eventually I did. And I was surprised to hear that Mum too has at points in her life faked it to make it. I guess maybe we're more alike than I thought.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
To Meat or Not to Meat?
I haven't given up something for Lent in years, literally. The last time I can recall was in high school and that was a pretty half-assed attempt at giving up pop. We were always told that if you could give it up for Lent you should be able to give it up forever. I generally agree with this philosophy, but since I do not attend church regularly (and putting it that way is generous) I wanted to find my own way to reflect on Jesus' sacrifice. After talking to a good friend and discovering that she'd been veggie for four months I decided to give a little more thought to how much meat I was consuming. It was far more than I had thought and it was definitely not that kind of meat I should be eating, i.e. it was highly processed junk meat. Thus, I gave up meat.
Lent is technically the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Palm Sunday, but I decided to go for the gold and tack on the extra 7 days until Easter. That means I can officially eat meat today, but I have no plans to do so. I have no plans to do so in the immediate future, but I also do not plan to convert to being a full-on vegetarian. Instead, I am trying to figure out a middle ground where I contentiously consume meat no more than once a week.
Perhaps this seems somewhat counterproductive, but another friend made a very valid argument: why punish an entire industry when there are those farmers who are not so unethical? Yes, they are still killing animals, but I do still believe that animals are meant to be eaten. I enjoy eating meat, but I also cannot deny how amazing I have felt since I've given it up.
However, this cannot entirely be attributed to going veggie. It is not just that I have not eaten meat, but that I have put much more consideration into what I put in my body in general. I have been eating better overall and I can certainly continue to do so and occasionally eat meat. At least meat that is locally raised because the biggest part of the plan overall is to buy locally whether it is meat or fruits and vegetables. It's my own little food revolution.
Happy healthy eating! Vive la revolution!
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