Recently, I got a Droid phone, which I have been enjoying immensely. One of the best things is the navigation feature of Google Maps and the associated programs that locate coffee shops, places of interest, etc. near where you are travelling. Last month we put it through its paces on a road trip down to Virginia, and really enjoyed it, so much so that we felt moved to name the calm, female voice of the program, and the name we decided on was Lydia.
Lydia is a near perfect companion. She is never ruffled, never loses her temper, and is immediately responsive to changes in the route. Unlike some GPS units we've experienced, she is very willing to follow your lead if you ignore one of her instructions and come up with the route you had in mind rather than the one she had worked out for you. Without losing a beat, she tells you the next thing to do along the path you've chosen.
Yesterday, I persistently ignored her instructions on the way to the house of a friend. I basically knew how to get there, except for exactly where on the street my friend's house was located. For once, Lydia's chosen route made no sense to me, so I went my normal way, and at every turn, she very calmly gave me the next instruction to get to her route, which was parallel to the one I was taking, until at last she gave up and went with the flow. But at no time did she raise her voice or admonish me for not sticking to the plan.
It occurred to me, as this was happening, that what I was experiencing in my relationship with Lydia was a useful life lesson. I am a planner, in general, and specifically at this moment in my life I am focusing a lot of energy into planning: my time, my food, my activities. Only it seems as though every time I decide on something, be it an activity or a schedule or the next food to add, something happens to get in my way and make that decision impossible to follow. Unfortunately, I don't have Lydia's equanimity and I sometimes do give myself a hard time when thwarted by circumstance. I would be much better off if I could do as she does and just quickly re-evaluate my situation and adapt to the new route.
I look forward to spending more time with this delightful guide and learning from her worthy example.
A hui hou.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Trying
Yesterday, as part of my plan to get back into regular physical activity, I went to my health club for the first time in well over a year. They have a really nice lap pool, and I determined that I need to be swimming right now. I figured that as a start, I just try to swim as many lengths as I could, since I've had trouble getting into the Zen of swimming of late, and see if I could find some joy in it. I figured I'd do maybe twice up and back. Instead, I did 10 lengths and felt pretty good -- a lot of stretching helped, and I didn't push to swim without stopping, and I believe I did find some meditative joy.
That was the good part of the experience. The rest of it was incredibly difficult and led to my feeling as though as hard as I am trying to take better care of myself and do the things that are right for my body and spirit, the world right now is a very difficult place to be.
First, there was parking on the sixth floor of the garage and walking down six flights of stairs, which I did because the elevator was all the way on the other side of the garage and is kind of slow. Then, there was the fact that though my Reefs had just about fit my very wide foot when I arrived at the pool, somehow during the swim my right foot had swollen and wouldn't fit all the way in, so my heel was hanging out at the back. This made walking kind of awkward, but the real problem was in the shower -- I keep my shoes on there as the mats etc. that they use for drainage hurt my feet -- they don't hurt normal weight people, but my body pressed the soles down into the bumps more. And balancing on the edge of one shoe while trying to shower was not fun. In fact, it felt like a core workout!
Then there is getting dressed. I hate getting dressed in locker rooms, not so much out of modesty, but because it's hard to get dry. And my Green Mountain buddies will know what I mean when I say that trying to insert one's damp body into a sports bra requires contortions fit for Barnum and Bailey. My arms are short and my torso is wide, so I can't reach back very far. Oy.
And then, when I got to the elevator, already exhausted, I discovered that the one up to the sixth floor was out of order, so I would have to go to five and walk up the rest of the way. This felt like the last straw.
I try to keep a positive attitude in life. And I try not to feel as though the universe is out to get me, since most of the time I feel that it treats me with incredible care and generosity. But yesterday, all I felt was that it was trying -- trying my patience, trying my good attitude, and trying to make it harder for me to do what I need to do. I felt like crying.
But I dragged myself up the stairs between 5 and 6 and dragged myself home, where Carol and I brainstormed about how I could alleviate some of the obstacles I had encountered.
Today is another day, and I will try again.
A hui hou.
That was the good part of the experience. The rest of it was incredibly difficult and led to my feeling as though as hard as I am trying to take better care of myself and do the things that are right for my body and spirit, the world right now is a very difficult place to be.
First, there was parking on the sixth floor of the garage and walking down six flights of stairs, which I did because the elevator was all the way on the other side of the garage and is kind of slow. Then, there was the fact that though my Reefs had just about fit my very wide foot when I arrived at the pool, somehow during the swim my right foot had swollen and wouldn't fit all the way in, so my heel was hanging out at the back. This made walking kind of awkward, but the real problem was in the shower -- I keep my shoes on there as the mats etc. that they use for drainage hurt my feet -- they don't hurt normal weight people, but my body pressed the soles down into the bumps more. And balancing on the edge of one shoe while trying to shower was not fun. In fact, it felt like a core workout!
Then there is getting dressed. I hate getting dressed in locker rooms, not so much out of modesty, but because it's hard to get dry. And my Green Mountain buddies will know what I mean when I say that trying to insert one's damp body into a sports bra requires contortions fit for Barnum and Bailey. My arms are short and my torso is wide, so I can't reach back very far. Oy.
And then, when I got to the elevator, already exhausted, I discovered that the one up to the sixth floor was out of order, so I would have to go to five and walk up the rest of the way. This felt like the last straw.
I try to keep a positive attitude in life. And I try not to feel as though the universe is out to get me, since most of the time I feel that it treats me with incredible care and generosity. But yesterday, all I felt was that it was trying -- trying my patience, trying my good attitude, and trying to make it harder for me to do what I need to do. I felt like crying.
But I dragged myself up the stairs between 5 and 6 and dragged myself home, where Carol and I brainstormed about how I could alleviate some of the obstacles I had encountered.
Today is another day, and I will try again.
A hui hou.
Monday, August 16, 2010
The Best-Laid Plans
I have always been a planner. Maybe I learned it from my father, who carefully planned our family road trips and taught me to be his navigator and expense-recorder; I know I grew up enjoying my own road trips twice, first in the planning and then in the doing. I don't think I'm rigid about sticking to my plans, most of the time, and one of the things I love, especially when traveling, is deciding in the moment to take a side trip to see something that sounds interesting or drive to the end of a road just to see where it goes.
Unfortunately, this open and adventurous attitude has often seemed to fly out the window when I contemplate anything having to do with self-care. Somehow, I feel that unless I make some very detailed plan for myself, I'm not in control and destined to failure. Whether in the realm of exercise or food, having a set plan and following it has always seemed like the secret of success, and if I can't get it together to plan my meals or follow the schedule I've set for myself, I am a loser and not worthy of taking care of.
Needless to say, this is not an attitude that has helped me much in my recent struggles to get healthy and fit. I am the Queen of Impossible Expectations, or at least I have been, and every time I don't manage to stick to the program, I've landed in a slough of despond.
Fortunately, I think that all the thinking about and practicing with mindfulness that I've been doing has started to bear fruit, and I use that metaphor deliberately.
Last Friday, the third opportunity I had to add a new food to my current restricted fare, I had planned to have broccoli, as I was sorely feeling the want of variety among my vegetable choices. I went to the grocery store, fully intending to purchase said broccoli, and looking forward to steaming it for dinner that evening. But when I stepped through the doors of my local Whole Foods Market, there, in rosy, succulent glory, was a mound of gorgeous apricots. Apricots were also on my Phase 2 list, but I didn't feel in a rush to add them because I felt perfectly fine in the fruit department. But as I stood, riveted by their sensuous beauty, I thought how the apricot season is so short, and I immediately jettisoned the broccoli. That evening, I enjoyed my steamed cauliflower and had three tiny, perfect apricots for dessert. And I felt just fine about having to redo my entire plan.
A hui hou.
Unfortunately, this open and adventurous attitude has often seemed to fly out the window when I contemplate anything having to do with self-care. Somehow, I feel that unless I make some very detailed plan for myself, I'm not in control and destined to failure. Whether in the realm of exercise or food, having a set plan and following it has always seemed like the secret of success, and if I can't get it together to plan my meals or follow the schedule I've set for myself, I am a loser and not worthy of taking care of.
Needless to say, this is not an attitude that has helped me much in my recent struggles to get healthy and fit. I am the Queen of Impossible Expectations, or at least I have been, and every time I don't manage to stick to the program, I've landed in a slough of despond.
Fortunately, I think that all the thinking about and practicing with mindfulness that I've been doing has started to bear fruit, and I use that metaphor deliberately.
Last Friday, the third opportunity I had to add a new food to my current restricted fare, I had planned to have broccoli, as I was sorely feeling the want of variety among my vegetable choices. I went to the grocery store, fully intending to purchase said broccoli, and looking forward to steaming it for dinner that evening. But when I stepped through the doors of my local Whole Foods Market, there, in rosy, succulent glory, was a mound of gorgeous apricots. Apricots were also on my Phase 2 list, but I didn't feel in a rush to add them because I felt perfectly fine in the fruit department. But as I stood, riveted by their sensuous beauty, I thought how the apricot season is so short, and I immediately jettisoned the broccoli. That evening, I enjoyed my steamed cauliflower and had three tiny, perfect apricots for dessert. And I felt just fine about having to redo my entire plan.
A hui hou.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Craving Cucumbers
The yogurt I added on Monday caused no ripples in my well-being, so this morning I stand on the brink of adding cucumbers and am contemplating what it means to crave a simple vegetable.
In physical/taste-bud terms, it means that I am longing for the slightly bitter, slightly sweet, crunchy, juicy properties of cold cucumber slices or spears, a welcome relief from the sweetness of red peppers. Unfortunately, I don't particularly enjoy raw celery, except in tuna salad, and green pepper goes too far over the bitter line. Cucumbers are just right, the perfect foil (and conveyor) for smoked salmon or cheese or (be still my heart!) the hummus I plan to make next week when I've added chickpeas, sesame and garlic.
I've learned, these past two weeks, that I do crave variety in my foods, particularly at dinner. Though I'm perfectly happy having the same exact breakfast six days out of seven, and fairly content to have the same thing for lunch for quite a few days in a row, when my dinners get monotonous I start feeling as though food has become simple fuel and not the pleasure it often is. And without that source of pleasure in my life, I feel like I'm living behind a scrim, with everything looking dulled and washed out. I'm speculating that this feeling comes up in relation to dinner more than the other meals because those other meals, functionally, are much more about fueling the activities of my day. Dinner is the transition time to leisure, whatever that means to someone who's self-employed and self-driven. Dinner is a moment to pause and appreciate life, so much more than a simple pit-stop.
As important as that insight feels, it isn't the most important thing I've learned from my cucumber cravings. "Cravings" is a loaded word -- so often we tend to look at the things we most yearn for in a negative light. "Craving attention" is generally a pejorative description of someone, and "food cravings" most often pop up in discussions of how to eliminate, ignore or otherwise get the better of them.
In truth, cravings can be a positive tool, a way of hearing directly from your body what it needs. Though I have had my share of the less than helpful kind of food cravings, the ones that stand out in my mind are the times I've craved healthy things, like the time I was on the Atkins diet, when even carbs from low-calorie vegetables were verboten, and I found myself rooted to the floor in front of a pyramid of succulent Brussels sprouts in a sensuous reverie imagining how their sweetness and slight bitterness would contrast with the tang of mustard-mayonnaise. More recently, during my travels this summer, I realized I was absolutely longing for a salad one evening and realized that the previous three days had brought me nothing but sandwiches and fried food, with nary a vegetable in sight. And now, with my vegetables severely limited during these early weeks, I long for the variety of tastes and textures and colors they add.
I've also recognized that sometimes cravings can come from your spirit and tell you just as clearly what you need to nourish your soul. The other morning I was writing an email to my sister in which I was describing my longing just to sit somewhere for a while with no demands, when I suddenly realized I could satisfy that longing by beginning again to meditate regularly. At other moments I have craved sleep with an urgency that made me feel as though I would die if I didn't immediately lie down. And with increasing frequency, I find myself yearning to be out on my bike or in the pool, moving.
With cravings representing such primal wisdom, why do they have such a bad reputation? Perhaps because so many of us are oblivious to anything but the most obvious cues and don't pay attention until it's almost too late for satisfying those needs to do any good. But more likely it has to do with the fact that most of us don't seem to feel that we deserve to satisfy ourselves, to nurture ourselves and give ourselves what we truly need.
I'll be thinking more about this as I enjoy my cucumbers at lunch.
A hui hou.
In physical/taste-bud terms, it means that I am longing for the slightly bitter, slightly sweet, crunchy, juicy properties of cold cucumber slices or spears, a welcome relief from the sweetness of red peppers. Unfortunately, I don't particularly enjoy raw celery, except in tuna salad, and green pepper goes too far over the bitter line. Cucumbers are just right, the perfect foil (and conveyor) for smoked salmon or cheese or (be still my heart!) the hummus I plan to make next week when I've added chickpeas, sesame and garlic.
I've learned, these past two weeks, that I do crave variety in my foods, particularly at dinner. Though I'm perfectly happy having the same exact breakfast six days out of seven, and fairly content to have the same thing for lunch for quite a few days in a row, when my dinners get monotonous I start feeling as though food has become simple fuel and not the pleasure it often is. And without that source of pleasure in my life, I feel like I'm living behind a scrim, with everything looking dulled and washed out. I'm speculating that this feeling comes up in relation to dinner more than the other meals because those other meals, functionally, are much more about fueling the activities of my day. Dinner is the transition time to leisure, whatever that means to someone who's self-employed and self-driven. Dinner is a moment to pause and appreciate life, so much more than a simple pit-stop.
As important as that insight feels, it isn't the most important thing I've learned from my cucumber cravings. "Cravings" is a loaded word -- so often we tend to look at the things we most yearn for in a negative light. "Craving attention" is generally a pejorative description of someone, and "food cravings" most often pop up in discussions of how to eliminate, ignore or otherwise get the better of them.
In truth, cravings can be a positive tool, a way of hearing directly from your body what it needs. Though I have had my share of the less than helpful kind of food cravings, the ones that stand out in my mind are the times I've craved healthy things, like the time I was on the Atkins diet, when even carbs from low-calorie vegetables were verboten, and I found myself rooted to the floor in front of a pyramid of succulent Brussels sprouts in a sensuous reverie imagining how their sweetness and slight bitterness would contrast with the tang of mustard-mayonnaise. More recently, during my travels this summer, I realized I was absolutely longing for a salad one evening and realized that the previous three days had brought me nothing but sandwiches and fried food, with nary a vegetable in sight. And now, with my vegetables severely limited during these early weeks, I long for the variety of tastes and textures and colors they add.
I've also recognized that sometimes cravings can come from your spirit and tell you just as clearly what you need to nourish your soul. The other morning I was writing an email to my sister in which I was describing my longing just to sit somewhere for a while with no demands, when I suddenly realized I could satisfy that longing by beginning again to meditate regularly. At other moments I have craved sleep with an urgency that made me feel as though I would die if I didn't immediately lie down. And with increasing frequency, I find myself yearning to be out on my bike or in the pool, moving.
With cravings representing such primal wisdom, why do they have such a bad reputation? Perhaps because so many of us are oblivious to anything but the most obvious cues and don't pay attention until it's almost too late for satisfying those needs to do any good. But more likely it has to do with the fact that most of us don't seem to feel that we deserve to satisfy ourselves, to nurture ourselves and give ourselves what we truly need.
I'll be thinking more about this as I enjoy my cucumbers at lunch.
A hui hou.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Freedom in Restriction
For the past two weeks, I have been following the first phase of something called the LEAP protocol, which is basically an elimination diet based on elaborate food sensitivity testing. That testing was done as part of my functional medicine evaluation. In phase one, you basically eat the 12-15 foods to which you produce the least antigens while your body gets rid of those that have been produced by the foods in your normal diet to which you do react. In phase two you add the next least reactive foods back, one at a time, and so on for five phases, during which you monitor for bad reactions. When you are done with that, you've basically added back all the foods that tested in the "green" or low reactivity zone. After that you can experiment with adding untested foods, in the hopes that after 4-6 months, possibly longer, you might even be able to try again some of the foods to which you did react.
The underlying idea is that by removing foods to which your body has developed a sensitivity, you rest your system and let it heal. Ironically, the LEAP material explains that people often find that the foods they crave are precisely the ones that cause the strongest antigen production in their systems. My pre-catharsis cravings had been for popcorn, and sure enough, corn was one of the things I tested highest for within the "yellow" or moderately reactive zone.
Back in May, when I blogged about my evaluation, I wrote about the "specter of deprivation" and how it made me feel to contemplate possibly giving up some of my favorite foods. This was well before my major emotional catharsis, and it was not easy, at that point, to face that specter. Still, I figured that maybe it would be okay, since I would be giving up only those things that were scientifically proven to cause me unpleasantness.
In fact, I've spent the last two weeks not dodging shadows but basking in the sunshine.
Fortunately, I had only four items in the "red" zone -- goat's milk, raspberries, lima beans and sorbic acid. While I love raspberries and chevre, I often go months without eating them, so that was all fine. Some of my very favorite foods were, however, in the "yellow" zone. In addition to corn, I also react to wheat and cheddar cheese. Not so good. But surprisingly, when I sat down with the detailed outline of what to eat when, I found myself focusing on all the really good things I could have at any given point. Amazing! And I was lucky that some of my very favorite foods were also the lowest in antigen production. Imagine the hardship of being told to eat mangoes and cherries, or salmon.
I am working with a dietitian who is certified in the LEAP protocol, who changed things around to make better sense of the choices nutritionally (in cases where two items were equally non-reactive, they had been assigned to phases in alphabetical order rather than according to any more sensible reason) and ensure that I got enough variety to make the first phase livable. Here is the entire list of acceptable ingredients on which I have been living for the last two weeks:
Protein: salmon, lentils, American cheese (preservative free), Mozarella
Starches: potatoes, rice, quinoa
Fruits: mangoes, cherries, bananas, pineapple
Vegetables: celery, bell peppers, cauliflower
Nuts/oils: almond, cashew
Flavor enhancers: basil, honey
That's it. 18 ingredients, from which I have had to construct an entire bill of fare.
Back in the poetry-writing days of my youth, when everyone around me was wandering through the Iowa corn fields and emoting in free verse, I was writing sonnets, sestinas and villanelles. I found that my creativity thrived on the constraints of these intricate forms. I've found myself thinking often of those days during the past two weeks, and experiencing again the absolute exhilaration of coming up with something interesting and exciting in spite (or because) of the imposed limitations. And I've learned a lot in the process.
If I hadn't been barred from eating bread, would I ever have discovered how much I really love rice crackers? Had tomatoes not been taken off the table, would I ever have realized that sauteed red peppers function, taste-wise, in exactly the same way in a pasta dish? Less spectacularly, with broccoli, green beans and asparagus out of the picture, would I ever have remembered how delicious simple steamed cauliflower can be?
Sadly, I have not yet experienced the marked improvement in symptoms the protocol is supposed to induce, but my booklet says that the more messed up your system has been, the longer it can take to clean itself out, so I remain hopeful. And today I added yogurt, entering into phase 2 of this next great adventure.
A hui hou.
The underlying idea is that by removing foods to which your body has developed a sensitivity, you rest your system and let it heal. Ironically, the LEAP material explains that people often find that the foods they crave are precisely the ones that cause the strongest antigen production in their systems. My pre-catharsis cravings had been for popcorn, and sure enough, corn was one of the things I tested highest for within the "yellow" or moderately reactive zone.
Back in May, when I blogged about my evaluation, I wrote about the "specter of deprivation" and how it made me feel to contemplate possibly giving up some of my favorite foods. This was well before my major emotional catharsis, and it was not easy, at that point, to face that specter. Still, I figured that maybe it would be okay, since I would be giving up only those things that were scientifically proven to cause me unpleasantness.
In fact, I've spent the last two weeks not dodging shadows but basking in the sunshine.
Fortunately, I had only four items in the "red" zone -- goat's milk, raspberries, lima beans and sorbic acid. While I love raspberries and chevre, I often go months without eating them, so that was all fine. Some of my very favorite foods were, however, in the "yellow" zone. In addition to corn, I also react to wheat and cheddar cheese. Not so good. But surprisingly, when I sat down with the detailed outline of what to eat when, I found myself focusing on all the really good things I could have at any given point. Amazing! And I was lucky that some of my very favorite foods were also the lowest in antigen production. Imagine the hardship of being told to eat mangoes and cherries, or salmon.
I am working with a dietitian who is certified in the LEAP protocol, who changed things around to make better sense of the choices nutritionally (in cases where two items were equally non-reactive, they had been assigned to phases in alphabetical order rather than according to any more sensible reason) and ensure that I got enough variety to make the first phase livable. Here is the entire list of acceptable ingredients on which I have been living for the last two weeks:
Protein: salmon, lentils, American cheese (preservative free), Mozarella
Starches: potatoes, rice, quinoa
Fruits: mangoes, cherries, bananas, pineapple
Vegetables: celery, bell peppers, cauliflower
Nuts/oils: almond, cashew
Flavor enhancers: basil, honey
That's it. 18 ingredients, from which I have had to construct an entire bill of fare.
Back in the poetry-writing days of my youth, when everyone around me was wandering through the Iowa corn fields and emoting in free verse, I was writing sonnets, sestinas and villanelles. I found that my creativity thrived on the constraints of these intricate forms. I've found myself thinking often of those days during the past two weeks, and experiencing again the absolute exhilaration of coming up with something interesting and exciting in spite (or because) of the imposed limitations. And I've learned a lot in the process.
If I hadn't been barred from eating bread, would I ever have discovered how much I really love rice crackers? Had tomatoes not been taken off the table, would I ever have realized that sauteed red peppers function, taste-wise, in exactly the same way in a pasta dish? Less spectacularly, with broccoli, green beans and asparagus out of the picture, would I ever have remembered how delicious simple steamed cauliflower can be?
Sadly, I have not yet experienced the marked improvement in symptoms the protocol is supposed to induce, but my booklet says that the more messed up your system has been, the longer it can take to clean itself out, so I remain hopeful. And today I added yogurt, entering into phase 2 of this next great adventure.
A hui hou.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The Next Stage
To all of you who were following my story, thank you for your support, and my apologies for disappearing from cyberspace for the past two months. After the enormous catharsis that my previous 4-5 posts represented, I needed to take some time to let it all assimilate and figure out what the next stage of my journey needs to be. This probably took longer than one might expect because during that entire time, I never spent more than 8 nights in the same bed! But I'm home to stay for a couple of months now, and ready to begin whatever the next work turns out to be.
During those first weeks, I was continually amazed at the near-total absence of impulses to eat emotionally. And when I did find myself having thoughts of food when I was tired or frustrated or anxious, it was very easy to talk myself out of them. Sometimes all I had to do was look at the picture of my mother on my dresser and take a deep breath. This transformation of my inner dialogue has felt almost magical, though in fact it's the result of five years of concentrated work.
Unfortunately, changing the inner dialogue is not the only thing necessary to achieving better health. I still have to deal with making my health a priority in all the ways that require attention, and that continues to be a challenge. On the up side: the thyroid supplements have really improved my energy levels and taken away a low-level depression that I hadn't even been aware of until it stopped, and at my recent physical, all the numbers that had been indicating imminent breakdown of my metabolism have retreated into the safety zone. On the down side: I've embarked on the elimination diet protocol recommended by the functional medical practitioner I saw, which involved stopping all the supplements I had been taking, and my gut is not happy. I'm still trying to figure out what to do about that.
The good news is that even after two weeks of being confined to only a dozen or so foods, I'm still eating mindfully and not feeling particularly deprived. This says a lot, to me, of the power of clearing out the emotional debris and unwanted baggage from the closet of my psyche. I was also very pleased that the physician's assistant who is my primary care provider and has been working with me since before I started this journey, was really pleased that I had done that work and recognized its ultimate value, even if I haven't lost actual weight. She said she sees people who are following various weight management programs, including the one they run at my HMO, cycle and recycle through her office, and through dozens of pounds, because they are losing only weight, and not dealing with the underlying causes. That was incredibly validating, since her attitude is far from common in the medical profession.
So, here I am, waiting to see what this next stage holds. As my 59th birthday approaches, I find myself starting to believe that when I land on the brink of 60 next year, I may be in my best shape ever, in all senses of that word.
A hui hou.
During those first weeks, I was continually amazed at the near-total absence of impulses to eat emotionally. And when I did find myself having thoughts of food when I was tired or frustrated or anxious, it was very easy to talk myself out of them. Sometimes all I had to do was look at the picture of my mother on my dresser and take a deep breath. This transformation of my inner dialogue has felt almost magical, though in fact it's the result of five years of concentrated work.
Unfortunately, changing the inner dialogue is not the only thing necessary to achieving better health. I still have to deal with making my health a priority in all the ways that require attention, and that continues to be a challenge. On the up side: the thyroid supplements have really improved my energy levels and taken away a low-level depression that I hadn't even been aware of until it stopped, and at my recent physical, all the numbers that had been indicating imminent breakdown of my metabolism have retreated into the safety zone. On the down side: I've embarked on the elimination diet protocol recommended by the functional medical practitioner I saw, which involved stopping all the supplements I had been taking, and my gut is not happy. I'm still trying to figure out what to do about that.
The good news is that even after two weeks of being confined to only a dozen or so foods, I'm still eating mindfully and not feeling particularly deprived. This says a lot, to me, of the power of clearing out the emotional debris and unwanted baggage from the closet of my psyche. I was also very pleased that the physician's assistant who is my primary care provider and has been working with me since before I started this journey, was really pleased that I had done that work and recognized its ultimate value, even if I haven't lost actual weight. She said she sees people who are following various weight management programs, including the one they run at my HMO, cycle and recycle through her office, and through dozens of pounds, because they are losing only weight, and not dealing with the underlying causes. That was incredibly validating, since her attitude is far from common in the medical profession.
So, here I am, waiting to see what this next stage holds. As my 59th birthday approaches, I find myself starting to believe that when I land on the brink of 60 next year, I may be in my best shape ever, in all senses of that word.
A hui hou.
Friday, June 18, 2010
My Letter to My Mother
When I started this blog, I knew that one of the things I needed in order to heal was to bring my struggle with food and weight out into the light, to talk out loud (as it were) about the things about which I felt shame and guilt, the issues with which I struggled. It is partly in that spirit that I am about to share the letter I wrote to my mother as part of my recent therapeutic activities.
But I also want to share it because getting back my mother's memory and a sense of her existence in the world is so important to my healing. And putting her picture and my letter to her out into that world feels like an essential step. She existed, people -- she lived and loved and made mistakes, and she died too soon. And I miss her. But now I have her back, and an empty place inside me feels filled again.
Dear Mommy,
I remember you. Despite being so young when you died, and despite the hideous betrayal of the adults around me then, the conspiracy to blot you out of my life, I remember you.
I remember how you sang to me, about the Milky Way, and how you and Audrey and I would ride in the car with Auntie Rella, Stuart and Eileen and sing as we rode through the evening. I remember your playing the ppiano, and how I figured out how to play "Danse Macabre" and Morton Gould's "Pavane" because your playing them so intrigued me, and how I used to love looking at the music in the piano bench. Music has always been part of my life, a gift from you.
I remember how you loved to read. Some of my most precious possessions are the few Frank G. Slaughter novels you shared with me. I remember the "Screen Stories" magazines you read -- I read them, too. And a love of reading and movies has been another gift from you. do you remember taking me to see "the Birds"? When we came home and you opened the screen door, a moth flew out at us and we yelped, and then laughed and laughed because we were so scared.
I remember your cooking and how you taught me how to do it. i remember how good your fried chicken was, and have never had anything like it since. Shortly after you died, I had a dream that I was standing at the stove making chicken as you did, and feeling overwhelmed because I really didn't know how. But I still make -- and love -- beef stew the way you showed me. And I remember loving the spaghetti you used to make with ketchup in the sauce -- so 1950s. I love to cook -- another gift from you.
There are a few other, physical gifts I have, and have cherished, as well. Your topaz pendant was something I wore for many years and treasured as a link to you -- I gave it to my stepdaughter on her wedding day. Another pendant of yours with a lovely purple stone I gave to Audrey last year when we were finally reunited. I still have my baby book, and over the years have sometimes reread what you wrote to me there about the day I was born, and I have carried your love for me deep in my heart, even when I was unaware of it. I believe that's partly why I was able to become the good, loving woman that I am.
I remember how you used to embroider, and how you taught me running stitches and French knots, and made sure I knew that the reverse side should always be as neat as the front. I've enjoyed embroidery through the years, feeling close to you when I did it. I embroidered a unicorn on a deep blue fabric for Lou, my one and only boyfriend, and I embroidered a pattern of ohia lehua as part of a patchwork khupe [wedding canopy] for my dear friend Richie. Even now, there is a nearly finished piece of a humuhumunukunukuapua'a sitting in my embroidery box. Another gift you shared with me.
When you died and everyone told me to be strong and get on with my life, I didn't know how to do that and still keep you present. And when Daddy married M---- and she set out to excise you from our lives completely, I went along because I so desperately wanted her to love me and be my mother. I didn't know any better, and none of the grown-ups apparently knew how to help me mourn you and honor your memory in a healthy way. But you were, and are, my mother, my first and deepest love, and my most fundamental core couldn't abandon and betray you, even as the rest of me seemed to. In some strange way -- subversive, Carol called it -- I kept you with me by taking on your pain and your way of handling it. I ate and grew heavy, and my body grew more and more to resemble yours. I stuffed down my sorrow and frustrations even as you did, and in that way kept you close even when I was not permitted to say, or even think, your name.
I understand now that that was the only way open to me, given the craziness, the fear and inadequacy of the people closest to me. I understand now that I did what I needed to do to survive, as children do, even without understanding what that was. And I did survive, and even thrived in a lot of ways. You would be proud of me, proud of my accomplishments, proud of my kindness and compassion, proud of my integrity.
through all these years, I thought that I had forgotten you and that the only part of you I carried was the weight. But now I know that's not true. I carry your musical talent and your love of reading. I carry your skill at cooking and embroidering, your joy in singing and laughing. I carry your smile, so obvious in the picture I printed out of you and placed around my house last night. And I carry your love for me, your joy at giving birth to me, your firstborn daughter.
Please, Mommy -- let me go now. Let me let you go. I carry you inside me, in every aspect of who I am. I can't carry you physically any more.
I love you and I am grateful for all your gifts to me. I hope I do honor to them and to you in the way that I live my life. Now I've put your picture up, to have a constant physical reminder of you everywhere I live.
Help me, Mommy. Help me let you go so I can keep you in your rightful place. Your life was cut short -- help me get healthy, so that I can be around for my grandchildren, your great grandchildren.
I carry your heart -- I carry it in my heart.
Your loving daughter,
Sherry
But I also want to share it because getting back my mother's memory and a sense of her existence in the world is so important to my healing. And putting her picture and my letter to her out into that world feels like an essential step. She existed, people -- she lived and loved and made mistakes, and she died too soon. And I miss her. But now I have her back, and an empty place inside me feels filled again.
Dear Mommy,
I remember you. Despite being so young when you died, and despite the hideous betrayal of the adults around me then, the conspiracy to blot you out of my life, I remember you.
I remember how you sang to me, about the Milky Way, and how you and Audrey and I would ride in the car with Auntie Rella, Stuart and Eileen and sing as we rode through the evening. I remember your playing the ppiano, and how I figured out how to play "Danse Macabre" and Morton Gould's "Pavane" because your playing them so intrigued me, and how I used to love looking at the music in the piano bench. Music has always been part of my life, a gift from you.
I remember how you loved to read. Some of my most precious possessions are the few Frank G. Slaughter novels you shared with me. I remember the "Screen Stories" magazines you read -- I read them, too. And a love of reading and movies has been another gift from you. do you remember taking me to see "the Birds"? When we came home and you opened the screen door, a moth flew out at us and we yelped, and then laughed and laughed because we were so scared.
I remember your cooking and how you taught me how to do it. i remember how good your fried chicken was, and have never had anything like it since. Shortly after you died, I had a dream that I was standing at the stove making chicken as you did, and feeling overwhelmed because I really didn't know how. But I still make -- and love -- beef stew the way you showed me. And I remember loving the spaghetti you used to make with ketchup in the sauce -- so 1950s. I love to cook -- another gift from you.
There are a few other, physical gifts I have, and have cherished, as well. Your topaz pendant was something I wore for many years and treasured as a link to you -- I gave it to my stepdaughter on her wedding day. Another pendant of yours with a lovely purple stone I gave to Audrey last year when we were finally reunited. I still have my baby book, and over the years have sometimes reread what you wrote to me there about the day I was born, and I have carried your love for me deep in my heart, even when I was unaware of it. I believe that's partly why I was able to become the good, loving woman that I am.
I remember how you used to embroider, and how you taught me running stitches and French knots, and made sure I knew that the reverse side should always be as neat as the front. I've enjoyed embroidery through the years, feeling close to you when I did it. I embroidered a unicorn on a deep blue fabric for Lou, my one and only boyfriend, and I embroidered a pattern of ohia lehua as part of a patchwork khupe [wedding canopy] for my dear friend Richie. Even now, there is a nearly finished piece of a humuhumunukunukuapua'a sitting in my embroidery box. Another gift you shared with me.
When you died and everyone told me to be strong and get on with my life, I didn't know how to do that and still keep you present. And when Daddy married M---- and she set out to excise you from our lives completely, I went along because I so desperately wanted her to love me and be my mother. I didn't know any better, and none of the grown-ups apparently knew how to help me mourn you and honor your memory in a healthy way. But you were, and are, my mother, my first and deepest love, and my most fundamental core couldn't abandon and betray you, even as the rest of me seemed to. In some strange way -- subversive, Carol called it -- I kept you with me by taking on your pain and your way of handling it. I ate and grew heavy, and my body grew more and more to resemble yours. I stuffed down my sorrow and frustrations even as you did, and in that way kept you close even when I was not permitted to say, or even think, your name.
I understand now that that was the only way open to me, given the craziness, the fear and inadequacy of the people closest to me. I understand now that I did what I needed to do to survive, as children do, even without understanding what that was. And I did survive, and even thrived in a lot of ways. You would be proud of me, proud of my accomplishments, proud of my kindness and compassion, proud of my integrity.
through all these years, I thought that I had forgotten you and that the only part of you I carried was the weight. But now I know that's not true. I carry your musical talent and your love of reading. I carry your skill at cooking and embroidering, your joy in singing and laughing. I carry your smile, so obvious in the picture I printed out of you and placed around my house last night. And I carry your love for me, your joy at giving birth to me, your firstborn daughter.
Please, Mommy -- let me go now. Let me let you go. I carry you inside me, in every aspect of who I am. I can't carry you physically any more.
I love you and I am grateful for all your gifts to me. I hope I do honor to them and to you in the way that I live my life. Now I've put your picture up, to have a constant physical reminder of you everywhere I live.
Help me, Mommy. Help me let you go so I can keep you in your rightful place. Your life was cut short -- help me get healthy, so that I can be around for my grandchildren, your great grandchildren.
I carry your heart -- I carry it in my heart.
Your loving daughter,
Sherry
Thursday, June 17, 2010
My Life as a Hitchcock Hero
These last few weeks have taken me on quite the wild ride; to change metaphors, I've been feeling a bit like Gregory Peck in Spellbound, an amazing Hitchcock psychological thriller where the revelations about the truth of the hero's experience come faster and more furiously as the movie progresses.
As those of you who followed "The Story of Princess S" will have learned, I had a difficult childhood. My mother died when I was 13, my father remarried almost immediately, and my stepmother basically to wipe my mother's memory off the face of the planet. I was never allowed to mourn her. Later on, I was disowned, twice, and except for my paternal grandparents, also disowned by my father, their son, had no contact at all with my family of origin for most of my adult life. In my early 30's, my first round of therapy (precipitated by my inability to lose weight) allowed me to start mourning my mother and recovering my ability to express my feelings rather than stuffing them down. My second round of therapy, in my 40's, enabled me to break through the thick wall of denial about how much losing my whole family had hurt me. Two years ago, my work at Green Mountain enabled me to know and express my anger at my father for his abominable betrayal of me.
And yet, I still wasn't able to lose weight.
When I reconnected with my sister last year, she told me about a book that had helped her deal with some of the same issues, Toxic Parents by Susan Forward (thanks, Princess A!). I read it at the time, and was interested to discover that while all of it felt relevant, the part of the book that resonated most strongly was the section on incest. While I didn't have that particular nightmare to deal with, I think that in some ways the utter betrayal of the parent-child bond of being discarded finally and forever is in some ways closest to the betrayal that sexual abuse represents. In any event, Dr. Forward's primary therapeutic technique for those who have experienced incest is a series of letters, to the offending parent, the non-offending parent and one's little self, followed by telling one's story as a fairy tale (hence my previous three posts). I knew when I read that that I had to write a letter to young Sherry, and I knew that it had to be about reassuring myself that none of what happened was my fault, but I couldn't do it. I knew the words but couldn't access the feelings.
Fast forward to four weeks ago, and the beginning of the cinematic period of my recovery.
It began the morning I got the results of a glucose tolerance test suggesting that I am seriously pre-diabetic. Though this wasn't exactly news, I started to freak out, which is not something I generally do. The next day, I told my wonderful, healing therapist about this, and when she said some reassuring things, I said, "I know all that. My adult self knows it, but I feel like there's a little girl inside me lying on the floor kicking and screaming, terrified." She responded by asking me what I would say to that little girl, and I was, for once in my life, totally dumbstruck. This was odd, because, as she reminded me, if it were any other child in the universe, I would have been right there hugging and comforting her. I knew then that I had to write that letter.
Unfortunately, I still didn't know what to say. I knew even more clearly than a year before that none of what had happened was really my fault and that I had only done what I needed to do in order to survive, but I was feeling so much to blame, I was totally paralyzed. Then I realized that I had to start by writing a letter to my sister. When I had visited her just before this episode began, she had told me about her recent struggles to deal with her own anger and pain, and I think that hearing all of that, most of which I had not known about as it was happening, Somehow, I felt I needed to apologize to her for not protecting her, not knowing what she was going through -- essentially, for not being her parent. I know this was irrational, but I needed to say it, so I wrote the letter.
And that precipitated a week of getting in touch with my anger at our stepmother, to whom I wrote my second letter. I also screamed out loud and pounded the wall of the shower with my fist, neither of was something I had ever done before. In some ways, that was the most terrifying experience of all; I had no idea that I was so scared of getting angry.
At that point, I started to write the fairy tale, which I think was a very wise choice, as it enabled me to understand, viscerally, the extent of what had been done to me and how I had had so few options available to survive. Another therapy session precipitated the climactic revelation; my wise healer asked me to consider what the food was doing for me beyond allowing me to stuff down feelings. And in that instant I knew that it was keeping my mother alive within me, and that I needed to let her go in order to be healthy. That was truly a Hitchcock moment.
Of course, in the movies, they never show you what the hapless hero has to do to recover from the moment of revelation. Fortunately, in addition to my healer I also have my wife, who is a very wise woman who knows me very well. She suggested two things: that I write about my memories of my mother, and that I put up her picture. The picture I posted on Facebook, which turned out to be a wonderful gift to myself (and will be the subject of an upcoming post). The letter proved to be the catalyst for a profound catharsis; in writing it, I was again 13 years old and just learning that my mother had died. It enabled me to mourn her from the depths of my soul and, I think, finally to begin to heal from that loss.
I would like to share that letter here as my next post.
A hui hou.
As those of you who followed "The Story of Princess S" will have learned, I had a difficult childhood. My mother died when I was 13, my father remarried almost immediately, and my stepmother basically to wipe my mother's memory off the face of the planet. I was never allowed to mourn her. Later on, I was disowned, twice, and except for my paternal grandparents, also disowned by my father, their son, had no contact at all with my family of origin for most of my adult life. In my early 30's, my first round of therapy (precipitated by my inability to lose weight) allowed me to start mourning my mother and recovering my ability to express my feelings rather than stuffing them down. My second round of therapy, in my 40's, enabled me to break through the thick wall of denial about how much losing my whole family had hurt me. Two years ago, my work at Green Mountain enabled me to know and express my anger at my father for his abominable betrayal of me.
And yet, I still wasn't able to lose weight.
When I reconnected with my sister last year, she told me about a book that had helped her deal with some of the same issues, Toxic Parents by Susan Forward (thanks, Princess A!). I read it at the time, and was interested to discover that while all of it felt relevant, the part of the book that resonated most strongly was the section on incest. While I didn't have that particular nightmare to deal with, I think that in some ways the utter betrayal of the parent-child bond of being discarded finally and forever is in some ways closest to the betrayal that sexual abuse represents. In any event, Dr. Forward's primary therapeutic technique for those who have experienced incest is a series of letters, to the offending parent, the non-offending parent and one's little self, followed by telling one's story as a fairy tale (hence my previous three posts). I knew when I read that that I had to write a letter to young Sherry, and I knew that it had to be about reassuring myself that none of what happened was my fault, but I couldn't do it. I knew the words but couldn't access the feelings.
Fast forward to four weeks ago, and the beginning of the cinematic period of my recovery.
It began the morning I got the results of a glucose tolerance test suggesting that I am seriously pre-diabetic. Though this wasn't exactly news, I started to freak out, which is not something I generally do. The next day, I told my wonderful, healing therapist about this, and when she said some reassuring things, I said, "I know all that. My adult self knows it, but I feel like there's a little girl inside me lying on the floor kicking and screaming, terrified." She responded by asking me what I would say to that little girl, and I was, for once in my life, totally dumbstruck. This was odd, because, as she reminded me, if it were any other child in the universe, I would have been right there hugging and comforting her. I knew then that I had to write that letter.
Unfortunately, I still didn't know what to say. I knew even more clearly than a year before that none of what had happened was really my fault and that I had only done what I needed to do in order to survive, but I was feeling so much to blame, I was totally paralyzed. Then I realized that I had to start by writing a letter to my sister. When I had visited her just before this episode began, she had told me about her recent struggles to deal with her own anger and pain, and I think that hearing all of that, most of which I had not known about as it was happening, Somehow, I felt I needed to apologize to her for not protecting her, not knowing what she was going through -- essentially, for not being her parent. I know this was irrational, but I needed to say it, so I wrote the letter.
And that precipitated a week of getting in touch with my anger at our stepmother, to whom I wrote my second letter. I also screamed out loud and pounded the wall of the shower with my fist, neither of was something I had ever done before. In some ways, that was the most terrifying experience of all; I had no idea that I was so scared of getting angry.
At that point, I started to write the fairy tale, which I think was a very wise choice, as it enabled me to understand, viscerally, the extent of what had been done to me and how I had had so few options available to survive. Another therapy session precipitated the climactic revelation; my wise healer asked me to consider what the food was doing for me beyond allowing me to stuff down feelings. And in that instant I knew that it was keeping my mother alive within me, and that I needed to let her go in order to be healthy. That was truly a Hitchcock moment.
Of course, in the movies, they never show you what the hapless hero has to do to recover from the moment of revelation. Fortunately, in addition to my healer I also have my wife, who is a very wise woman who knows me very well. She suggested two things: that I write about my memories of my mother, and that I put up her picture. The picture I posted on Facebook, which turned out to be a wonderful gift to myself (and will be the subject of an upcoming post). The letter proved to be the catalyst for a profound catharsis; in writing it, I was again 13 years old and just learning that my mother had died. It enabled me to mourn her from the depths of my soul and, I think, finally to begin to heal from that loss.
I would like to share that letter here as my next post.
A hui hou.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The Story of Princess S -- Part III
Fortunately for Princess S, she had fallen in love (as princesses do) with the Queen of a neighboring realm. Queen C was loving and wise, and helped Princess S through the sad, dark days that followed her banishment. They would often visit the dowager queen and the old King in the kingdom of the south, and they tried to comfort each other for the calamity that had befallen them.
Then one afternoon, the knight who had married Princess A sent a message to Princess S from her ancestral kingdom to inform her that the King had died. Though Princess S was sore afraid of confronting Lady M and Princess A, she knew that she had to mourn for the King in the way that was proper, as she had never been allowed to mourn for her mother, the Queen. With Queen C at her side she traveled to her ancestral home to attend her father's funeral. Lady M was courteous, even in her grief, but Princess A ran to her sister and embraced her. Princess S returned the embrace and yearned for her sister, but knew that as long as Princess A remained in the kingdom of their birth, Lady M would punish her for communicating with Princess S. So she and Queen C traveled back to their home to observe the mourning customs of their faith.
Twenty years passed as life went on. Prince H died, an angry, bitter man, and the old King and Queen grew ever more bitter, mourning the loss of both their children and all their other grandchildren, even though Princess S and Queen C visited them often. Eventually they died as well. Queen C's children grew up, married and had children of their own, wonderful grandchildren for her and Princess S, who loved them with an unbounding love. Princess S accomplished many good works and was beloved by Queen C, their children and grandchildren, and the people in her adopted land. Her life was good and worthy and she was grateful every day for all the gifts that life had given her.
And yet, all was not well in the kingdom of her heart. Food continued to be her comfort, solace for griefs she did not even recognize. As her body grew older, she could no longer fend off the ill effects of carrying so much extra weight, and she sought desperately for a remedy. Hearing of a magical kingdom to the north whose inhabitants possessed much wisdom, she traveled there to see what she could learn. She met many healers who taught her their secrets, and she took them to be her own, following the path they recommended even when it was difficult to navigate and took her through frightening, dark places.
Slowly, Princess S began to heal. Slowly, she began to realize the enormity of the evil that had befallen her at Lady M's hands. Slowly, she began to understand that she had taken care of herself the only way she knew how.
One day, as she traveled through the kingdom of Facebook, she recognized a friend from the days of her childhood. "Have you news of Princess A?" she asked. "Do you think she might want to hear from me?" "Yes, she would," her friend replied. "She asked me that same question about you." So Princess S sent a message to Princess A, whose heart was gladdened, and they were reunited. Princess A had experienced great hardships during the lost years, but had found healers who helped her with their wisdom, and she had come to see Lady M for what she was. And so the sisters were united, and there was much joy in both their lands.
And yet, Princess S's heart was still heavy, as was her body. She kept following the path shown to her by the healers from the North until at last she came to a deep, dark forest. Though she longed for the light, Princess S knew that it was in the deep, dark forest that the secret to healing lay, so she sat beneath the trees and waited to see what would come to her. She sat for a long time, and storms of rage and grief blew through her, and those storms were so strong and terrible that she did not think she would ever see the light again.
When she had been sitting for what felt like eons, Princess S at last came to realize that she had been holding her mother, the Queen, inside her for all those years, and that the food she had used to fill the emptiness inside her was also a way to feel close the the mother she had lost. As she had that realization, a shaft of light, warm and bright, penetrated the gloom of the forest and caressed her face through her tears. She got up and returned to her castle, where she told Queen C what had been revealed. Queen C, ever loving and wise, said "You kept your mother close in the only way you were allowed," and then she said, "We must put a picture of the Queen in our home for you to see whenever you wish, so that you may let go of what you have held inside so painfully for all these years."
And they lived happily ever after, surrounded by their loving friends and family.
Then one afternoon, the knight who had married Princess A sent a message to Princess S from her ancestral kingdom to inform her that the King had died. Though Princess S was sore afraid of confronting Lady M and Princess A, she knew that she had to mourn for the King in the way that was proper, as she had never been allowed to mourn for her mother, the Queen. With Queen C at her side she traveled to her ancestral home to attend her father's funeral. Lady M was courteous, even in her grief, but Princess A ran to her sister and embraced her. Princess S returned the embrace and yearned for her sister, but knew that as long as Princess A remained in the kingdom of their birth, Lady M would punish her for communicating with Princess S. So she and Queen C traveled back to their home to observe the mourning customs of their faith.
Twenty years passed as life went on. Prince H died, an angry, bitter man, and the old King and Queen grew ever more bitter, mourning the loss of both their children and all their other grandchildren, even though Princess S and Queen C visited them often. Eventually they died as well. Queen C's children grew up, married and had children of their own, wonderful grandchildren for her and Princess S, who loved them with an unbounding love. Princess S accomplished many good works and was beloved by Queen C, their children and grandchildren, and the people in her adopted land. Her life was good and worthy and she was grateful every day for all the gifts that life had given her.
And yet, all was not well in the kingdom of her heart. Food continued to be her comfort, solace for griefs she did not even recognize. As her body grew older, she could no longer fend off the ill effects of carrying so much extra weight, and she sought desperately for a remedy. Hearing of a magical kingdom to the north whose inhabitants possessed much wisdom, she traveled there to see what she could learn. She met many healers who taught her their secrets, and she took them to be her own, following the path they recommended even when it was difficult to navigate and took her through frightening, dark places.
Slowly, Princess S began to heal. Slowly, she began to realize the enormity of the evil that had befallen her at Lady M's hands. Slowly, she began to understand that she had taken care of herself the only way she knew how.
One day, as she traveled through the kingdom of Facebook, she recognized a friend from the days of her childhood. "Have you news of Princess A?" she asked. "Do you think she might want to hear from me?" "Yes, she would," her friend replied. "She asked me that same question about you." So Princess S sent a message to Princess A, whose heart was gladdened, and they were reunited. Princess A had experienced great hardships during the lost years, but had found healers who helped her with their wisdom, and she had come to see Lady M for what she was. And so the sisters were united, and there was much joy in both their lands.
And yet, Princess S's heart was still heavy, as was her body. She kept following the path shown to her by the healers from the North until at last she came to a deep, dark forest. Though she longed for the light, Princess S knew that it was in the deep, dark forest that the secret to healing lay, so she sat beneath the trees and waited to see what would come to her. She sat for a long time, and storms of rage and grief blew through her, and those storms were so strong and terrible that she did not think she would ever see the light again.
When she had been sitting for what felt like eons, Princess S at last came to realize that she had been holding her mother, the Queen, inside her for all those years, and that the food she had used to fill the emptiness inside her was also a way to feel close the the mother she had lost. As she had that realization, a shaft of light, warm and bright, penetrated the gloom of the forest and caressed her face through her tears. She got up and returned to her castle, where she told Queen C what had been revealed. Queen C, ever loving and wise, said "You kept your mother close in the only way you were allowed," and then she said, "We must put a picture of the Queen in our home for you to see whenever you wish, so that you may let go of what you have held inside so painfully for all these years."
And they lived happily ever after, surrounded by their loving friends and family.
Friday, June 4, 2010
The Story of Princess S -- Part II
Despite those scattered weeks of deprivation and dread, Princess S thrived at college. She questioned and learned and took delight in all the world around her. Eventually she fell in love, as princesses do, not with a prince or knight, as was the norm in her day, but with another princess. And she felt the need to keep quiet about her love until she understood what this would mean for her kingdom.
When college was over, she planned a long journey across the sea to England. No one knew that she was leaving behind her lady love, and she was very sad. But off she went, and was very excited to be in the home of the literature she loved. She made new friends and had adventures. But one day, she received a scroll from the King, telling her that he had found out about her lady love, and soon came a message from Lady M, telling her that she was unworthy to return to the kingdom. Even Princess A sent a scroll accusing Princess S of causing hurt and havoc in the kingdom. She was banished from her homeland.
Princess S was sick at heart. The only members of the royal family who communicated with her were the dowager Queen and the old King, her father's parents. For this she was grateful. Though she knew that she was a good and worthy princess, her heart was heavy, and she alternated between eating to fill the new empty place inside her and depriving herself, so that she might someday be allowed to return home.
The years passed, and when her sojourn in England was over, Princess S traveled over the vast ocean to Boston, where she made her new home. She made friends and found work, and tried to free herself from the terrible bondage that eating to fill the empty spaces had become. When she continued to be unsuccessful, her wise counselor suggested that she see a healer to find whether it was heartsickness that stood in her way.
The healer helped Princess S explore the empty sad place inside her that had grown there when she was not allowed to grieve for her mother, the Queen. Princess S cried and grieved, moaned and mourned, until the healer agreed that she was ready to try again to go forth in health.
Then Princess S received another scroll from the King, informing her that he and Lady M were selling the ancestral castle and asking what to do with her belongings that were stored there. Princess S replied, and then there were other scrolls exchanged between her and her estranged family. Soon, she was invited to visit the new castle, and something resembling normalcy returned to their relations. She was even asked to attend Princess A's wedding, though when she did, Lady M made sure that she was not permitted to take full part in the festivities, much to the dismay of the old King and Queen. But Princess S was grateful to be part of the family once again. Her exile appeared to be over.
Then trouble came again to the kingdom. The King renounced his father and mother and renounced his brother, Prince H, who had joined him in business. Harsh words were spoken and a judgment against the King was issued in the court of the land. But the King, instigated by Lady M, evaded paying the judgment and banished his parents and his brother to exile in the south.
Princess S was sick at heart. The old king and queen had always loved her and cared for her, even through her long exile. When Lady M would try to tell her of their perfidy, Princess S refused to listen. And that was the act that led to her second and final banishment from the kingdom of her birth.
To be continued....
When college was over, she planned a long journey across the sea to England. No one knew that she was leaving behind her lady love, and she was very sad. But off she went, and was very excited to be in the home of the literature she loved. She made new friends and had adventures. But one day, she received a scroll from the King, telling her that he had found out about her lady love, and soon came a message from Lady M, telling her that she was unworthy to return to the kingdom. Even Princess A sent a scroll accusing Princess S of causing hurt and havoc in the kingdom. She was banished from her homeland.
Princess S was sick at heart. The only members of the royal family who communicated with her were the dowager Queen and the old King, her father's parents. For this she was grateful. Though she knew that she was a good and worthy princess, her heart was heavy, and she alternated between eating to fill the new empty place inside her and depriving herself, so that she might someday be allowed to return home.
The years passed, and when her sojourn in England was over, Princess S traveled over the vast ocean to Boston, where she made her new home. She made friends and found work, and tried to free herself from the terrible bondage that eating to fill the empty spaces had become. When she continued to be unsuccessful, her wise counselor suggested that she see a healer to find whether it was heartsickness that stood in her way.
The healer helped Princess S explore the empty sad place inside her that had grown there when she was not allowed to grieve for her mother, the Queen. Princess S cried and grieved, moaned and mourned, until the healer agreed that she was ready to try again to go forth in health.
Then Princess S received another scroll from the King, informing her that he and Lady M were selling the ancestral castle and asking what to do with her belongings that were stored there. Princess S replied, and then there were other scrolls exchanged between her and her estranged family. Soon, she was invited to visit the new castle, and something resembling normalcy returned to their relations. She was even asked to attend Princess A's wedding, though when she did, Lady M made sure that she was not permitted to take full part in the festivities, much to the dismay of the old King and Queen. But Princess S was grateful to be part of the family once again. Her exile appeared to be over.
Then trouble came again to the kingdom. The King renounced his father and mother and renounced his brother, Prince H, who had joined him in business. Harsh words were spoken and a judgment against the King was issued in the court of the land. But the King, instigated by Lady M, evaded paying the judgment and banished his parents and his brother to exile in the south.
Princess S was sick at heart. The old king and queen had always loved her and cared for her, even through her long exile. When Lady M would try to tell her of their perfidy, Princess S refused to listen. And that was the act that led to her second and final banishment from the kingdom of her birth.
To be continued....
The Story of Princess S -- Part I
It's been over two weeks since I last posted, for which I apologize; I have been in the midst of a major emotional breakthrough and felt that it was more important to feel my feelings than think or write about them.
Let me tell you all a story.
Once upon a time, in a kingdom in the midwest, there lived a king and queen and their three daughters. The oldest daugher, Princess S, was a bright and happy child, beloved by her parents, full of curiosity, energy and imagination. She loved her sister, the middle daughter, Princess A, and frequently led them into interesting adventures.
As Princess S grew older, she realized that her mother was getting sadder and sadder, and would stay up late into the night reading novels and movie magazines and eating junk food. Sometimes Princess S would share her books and magazines, and sometimes she would share her mother's food as well. In the mornings, she and Princess A would get themselves off to school because the Queen would still be in bed, and sometimes the two older princesses would huddle together in fear as they listened to the King and Queen quarrel. But most of the time, life was good and interesting, and Princess S felt that she could grow up and do anything she could imagine.
Then one day, when Princess S was 13 years old, she arrived home from school to discover the Queen dead on the bathroom floor. She ran to find a neighboring queen and stayed at her castle with the littlest princess and the neighbor prince, and later Princess A, watching the flashing lights from the ambulance and fire trucks and police cars in front of her castle, until her father came to get her. "What will become of us?" she cried, as she flung herself into the King's arms. "How do we go on?"
Everyone told Princess S that as the oldest, she had to be strong and take care of her sisters and set a good example. Everyone told Princess S that everything would be all right. Everyone told Princess S not to cry.
And so she didn't. She remembered her mother, the Queen, growing sadder and sadder and eating junk food. And Princess S began to eat, too; she began stuff food into her empty place, trying to keep the sadness and grief and fear from bubbling up and overwhelming her.
The months passed, and life went on. And the King began to court Lady M, who soon became the new queen. Everyone thought that the kingdom would prosper with Lady M as the new queen. The little princesses loved her, and the King loved her and she seemed to love them all with a large and welcoming heart.
But inside, that heart was black as the foulest night, and Lady M nurtured her desire to rule not just the kingdom but the entire empire with a heavy hand and iron fist. "I AM YOUR MOTHER," she cried, "AND YOU HAD NO OTHER BEFORE ME." Like Abraham destroying the idols, she lay waste to all memories and traces of the Queen. Using her wiles and insidious charm, she manipulated Princess S into banishing the late Queen's mother and sister, convincing her that they did not have the best interests of the princesses at heart, since they suspected Lady M's evil core. She rules the kingdom with fear and withholding love, forcing the princesses to curry favor or run the risk of banishment to the coldest reaches of the castle. Princess S and Princess A often huddled together, trying to figure out when the axe of Lady M's wrath would next fall, and on whom. These were dark days in the kingdom.
And yet, to themselves as to all the rest of the world, it seemed a happy family. There was laughter and there were family gatherings, school concerts and vacations and trips to the movies. Lady M, who had been overweight much of her life, saw that Princess S was growing heavy and put her on a diet, not letting her eat the foods she loved, the foods that reminded her of her mother the Queen, and making her feel shame about her body. But Princess S longed for Lady M's love and approval, so she followed diets, and quaked every time she had to step on a scale, since the wrong number could bring down upon her the wrath of Lady M. When she went off to college, she was free at last to eat what she wanted, but would starve herself in the weeks before Parents' Weekend or winter break, dreading the moment of inspection when she came again into Lady M's presence.
To be continued....
Let me tell you all a story.
Once upon a time, in a kingdom in the midwest, there lived a king and queen and their three daughters. The oldest daugher, Princess S, was a bright and happy child, beloved by her parents, full of curiosity, energy and imagination. She loved her sister, the middle daughter, Princess A, and frequently led them into interesting adventures.
As Princess S grew older, she realized that her mother was getting sadder and sadder, and would stay up late into the night reading novels and movie magazines and eating junk food. Sometimes Princess S would share her books and magazines, and sometimes she would share her mother's food as well. In the mornings, she and Princess A would get themselves off to school because the Queen would still be in bed, and sometimes the two older princesses would huddle together in fear as they listened to the King and Queen quarrel. But most of the time, life was good and interesting, and Princess S felt that she could grow up and do anything she could imagine.
Then one day, when Princess S was 13 years old, she arrived home from school to discover the Queen dead on the bathroom floor. She ran to find a neighboring queen and stayed at her castle with the littlest princess and the neighbor prince, and later Princess A, watching the flashing lights from the ambulance and fire trucks and police cars in front of her castle, until her father came to get her. "What will become of us?" she cried, as she flung herself into the King's arms. "How do we go on?"
Everyone told Princess S that as the oldest, she had to be strong and take care of her sisters and set a good example. Everyone told Princess S that everything would be all right. Everyone told Princess S not to cry.
And so she didn't. She remembered her mother, the Queen, growing sadder and sadder and eating junk food. And Princess S began to eat, too; she began stuff food into her empty place, trying to keep the sadness and grief and fear from bubbling up and overwhelming her.
The months passed, and life went on. And the King began to court Lady M, who soon became the new queen. Everyone thought that the kingdom would prosper with Lady M as the new queen. The little princesses loved her, and the King loved her and she seemed to love them all with a large and welcoming heart.
But inside, that heart was black as the foulest night, and Lady M nurtured her desire to rule not just the kingdom but the entire empire with a heavy hand and iron fist. "I AM YOUR MOTHER," she cried, "AND YOU HAD NO OTHER BEFORE ME." Like Abraham destroying the idols, she lay waste to all memories and traces of the Queen. Using her wiles and insidious charm, she manipulated Princess S into banishing the late Queen's mother and sister, convincing her that they did not have the best interests of the princesses at heart, since they suspected Lady M's evil core. She rules the kingdom with fear and withholding love, forcing the princesses to curry favor or run the risk of banishment to the coldest reaches of the castle. Princess S and Princess A often huddled together, trying to figure out when the axe of Lady M's wrath would next fall, and on whom. These were dark days in the kingdom.
And yet, to themselves as to all the rest of the world, it seemed a happy family. There was laughter and there were family gatherings, school concerts and vacations and trips to the movies. Lady M, who had been overweight much of her life, saw that Princess S was growing heavy and put her on a diet, not letting her eat the foods she loved, the foods that reminded her of her mother the Queen, and making her feel shame about her body. But Princess S longed for Lady M's love and approval, so she followed diets, and quaked every time she had to step on a scale, since the wrong number could bring down upon her the wrath of Lady M. When she went off to college, she was free at last to eat what she wanted, but would starve herself in the weeks before Parents' Weekend or winter break, dreading the moment of inspection when she came again into Lady M's presence.
To be continued....
Monday, May 17, 2010
Quantity vs. Quality
Carol and I just spent that weekend at a conference which took place at the Penninsula Hotel in Chicago, which is supposedly the best hotel in the United States. I can believe that. The rooms were extremely comfortable, the bathroom was the size of many New York City apartments, and the staff were beyond attentive. Since we were attending a very tightly scheduled conference, we had the opportunity to eat all our meals at the hotel, and the food was exquisite, very good quality ingredients beautifully prepared and presented. Then yesterday we drove to the northern suburbs to go out to dinner with my sister, brother-in-law and niece. We had a very pleasant and tasty dinner at Uno's Chicago Grill.
This was a very interesting and informative juxtaposition. The meals at the Penninsula were, well, small. All the portions were pretty much exactly the sizes we are served at Green Mountain, what dietitians would call "normal." In contrast, the portions at Uno's were gargantuan, what the American public might call "normal." The one good thing about the Uno's menu is that it offers three "mini dessert" choices that are actually the size of a "normal" dessert rather than the feast for three size of most chain restaurant finales.
This got me thinking. I enjoyed all the meals at both places, and I mindfully removed more than half of my entree to a take-out box for my niece to take home before I dug in, so I probably had something close to the same amount of food. But for complexity and subtlety of flavor, Uno's wasn't even close to being able to compete with the Penninsula's fare.
Have restaurant portions increased because the quality of the ingredients and the ability of the culinary staff to cook them properly have declined? As economic considerations and mass production values have affected the hospitality industry, did those on the tiers beneath the very top have to make up in quantity what they are not able to provide in quality? It would seem so.
And that leads to an even more important question for those of us on the quest for improved health. Do we, as eaters, make up in quantity for a lack of quality in our food choices? I know from my own experience that if I'm eating really good ice cream, I can be happy with much, much less than if I eat store-brand ice milk. In fact, paying attention to the quality of food so that one can feel satisfied is an essential principle of mindful eating. But is it as true for beef tenderloin (our dinner Saturday night) as it is for ice cream or chocolate? Or for fruit or vegetables? Again, I think so.
Good things coming in small packages seems to be a very relevant truism.
A hui hou.
This was a very interesting and informative juxtaposition. The meals at the Penninsula were, well, small. All the portions were pretty much exactly the sizes we are served at Green Mountain, what dietitians would call "normal." In contrast, the portions at Uno's were gargantuan, what the American public might call "normal." The one good thing about the Uno's menu is that it offers three "mini dessert" choices that are actually the size of a "normal" dessert rather than the feast for three size of most chain restaurant finales.
This got me thinking. I enjoyed all the meals at both places, and I mindfully removed more than half of my entree to a take-out box for my niece to take home before I dug in, so I probably had something close to the same amount of food. But for complexity and subtlety of flavor, Uno's wasn't even close to being able to compete with the Penninsula's fare.
Have restaurant portions increased because the quality of the ingredients and the ability of the culinary staff to cook them properly have declined? As economic considerations and mass production values have affected the hospitality industry, did those on the tiers beneath the very top have to make up in quantity what they are not able to provide in quality? It would seem so.
And that leads to an even more important question for those of us on the quest for improved health. Do we, as eaters, make up in quantity for a lack of quality in our food choices? I know from my own experience that if I'm eating really good ice cream, I can be happy with much, much less than if I eat store-brand ice milk. In fact, paying attention to the quality of food so that one can feel satisfied is an essential principle of mindful eating. But is it as true for beef tenderloin (our dinner Saturday night) as it is for ice cream or chocolate? Or for fruit or vegetables? Again, I think so.
Good things coming in small packages seems to be a very relevant truism.
A hui hou.
Friday, May 14, 2010
A Week of Limbo
This has been a strange, interesting and frustrating week. Coming home from Green Mountain always feels a little strange and challenging, and this time was no exception. In addition to still dealing with a hacking cough and accompanying low energy level, I spent the week dealing with getting all the tests arranged and samples taken for my functional medicine evaluation, seeing my grandchildren, fleetingly, and getting ready for a 10-day trip to the midwest, which will be starting in about an hour. To say that I actually unpacked would be extremely kind; it was more like flinging the contents of the suitcase around the room in order to make room for the new contents. I'm not proud of it, but it was the best I could manage in my current physical state.
It's taxing, trying to stay in the moment without judgment. I'm sure that if I were truly mindful, being in the moment would be calming and peaceful; instead, it often feels like I'm rushing haphazardly from moment to moment. I'm not sure that's an improvement over my non-mindful state, except that I do believe the anxiety is less with the judging voice somewhat muted.
Food took a definite back seat this week. Since we would be home for less than a week before leaving for 10 days and had at least 2 dinner engagements, it didn't seem worth the effort and expense of doing a major shopping, so the choices at hand were severely limited. I'm not proud of that either, but it was the best I could manage in my current physical state. Ditto exercise, or lack thereof. I did do some walking, but each time ended in paroxysms of coughing. I hold out some hope that I'll be able to swim in the hotel pools, and I packed my spry tube. If I can do something physical even once, I'll feel like I'm back on my way.
So, off I go. Wish me luck.
A hui hou.
It's taxing, trying to stay in the moment without judgment. I'm sure that if I were truly mindful, being in the moment would be calming and peaceful; instead, it often feels like I'm rushing haphazardly from moment to moment. I'm not sure that's an improvement over my non-mindful state, except that I do believe the anxiety is less with the judging voice somewhat muted.
Food took a definite back seat this week. Since we would be home for less than a week before leaving for 10 days and had at least 2 dinner engagements, it didn't seem worth the effort and expense of doing a major shopping, so the choices at hand were severely limited. I'm not proud of that either, but it was the best I could manage in my current physical state. Ditto exercise, or lack thereof. I did do some walking, but each time ended in paroxysms of coughing. I hold out some hope that I'll be able to swim in the hotel pools, and I packed my spry tube. If I can do something physical even once, I'll feel like I'm back on my way.
So, off I go. Wish me luck.
A hui hou.
Friday, May 7, 2010
The Specter of Deprivation
Yesterday, I spent most of the afternoon going to an appointment with a wonderful doctor who specializes in functional medicine and works with participants from Green Mountain at Fox Run when the folks here think it would be appropriate. Last week I went to a class here about functional medicine and how it might help us in our quest to become fit and healthy, and something about what I learned resonated. Specifically, one of the points presented was that this approach, which deals with systemic imbalances in gut flora and hormones can explain difficulty losing weight and eating in a way that feels like emotional eating but can't be associated with any specific emotion. I figured that I've been working so hard on this process for the past four and a half years that I really owed it to myself to check out this possibility, especially since it feels as though my immune system is currently teetering on some brink.
It was a very interesting, informative, and possibly overwhelming visit; I find that despite feeling at the time that I understood everything I was being told, now, a day later, a lot of it seems to have flown out of my head. When I get back home, I have to have a bunch of blood tests done and collect spit and stool samples to send in and get some blood drawn to send off for food sensitivity testing. All of those tests should give the doctor a better sense of what's going on in my digestive tract and with my insulin, thyroid and cortisol hormones as well as helping her figure out what to do next.
The functional medicine approach, at least as my doctor explained it, involves the 4 Rs:
Removing from my digestive system any toxins, bacteria or other bad stuff that might be causing problems
Replacing anything digestive requirements missing or present in less than optimal levels , through supplementation
Reinoculation with good bacteria, by taking probiotic supplements
Repairing the damage and imbalances in the digestive system by eating healthy foods and avoiding those to which I might be sensitive.
Of course, after my years of working very hard to get out from under the specter of deprivation, the idea of needing to restrict my food choices, even for reasons of promoting good health, made me a little anxious. That anxiety blossomed into full-blown dismay when the doctor told me that her preferred clinical tool for assessing food sensitivity is having patients follow an elimination diet, which involves a few weeks eating from a fairly limited list of food groups and then gradually reintroducing them one at a time to assess any reactions. This is where the advantage of working with someone who knows the Green Mountain program becomes very clear. I told her of my concern about undoing the progress I had made in eliminating deprivation as a motivator to non-hunger eating, and we agreed that I would do the food sensitivity testing instead.
As if to prove my point, when I stopped for gas on my way back to Green Mountain, I felt the junk food calling to me from the attached convenience store, and it was immediately clear that that was because of my fear of feeling deprived during this whole process. So I told myself to get a grip, since I wasn't going to be doing random deprivation but rather only avoiding things proven to have an ill effect on my health. After the test results are in, I'll have to work with a dietician to add foods back gradually based on my degree of reactivity, but at least I won't have to give up anything that doesn't seem to be a problem. I seem to be able bear restriction if it has a direct effect on how I feel physically. The hope is that if I can give my GI system time to heal and reset itself, I may be able to reintroduce some of those foods to which I had developed a sensitivity.
This feels like a new adventure, and it's a little scary, but something about it feels right as well. This just makes sense to me. Call it a "gut feeling."
I'll let you know how it goes.
A hui hou.
It was a very interesting, informative, and possibly overwhelming visit; I find that despite feeling at the time that I understood everything I was being told, now, a day later, a lot of it seems to have flown out of my head. When I get back home, I have to have a bunch of blood tests done and collect spit and stool samples to send in and get some blood drawn to send off for food sensitivity testing. All of those tests should give the doctor a better sense of what's going on in my digestive tract and with my insulin, thyroid and cortisol hormones as well as helping her figure out what to do next.
The functional medicine approach, at least as my doctor explained it, involves the 4 Rs:
Removing from my digestive system any toxins, bacteria or other bad stuff that might be causing problems
Replacing anything digestive requirements missing or present in less than optimal levels , through supplementation
Reinoculation with good bacteria, by taking probiotic supplements
Repairing the damage and imbalances in the digestive system by eating healthy foods and avoiding those to which I might be sensitive.
Of course, after my years of working very hard to get out from under the specter of deprivation, the idea of needing to restrict my food choices, even for reasons of promoting good health, made me a little anxious. That anxiety blossomed into full-blown dismay when the doctor told me that her preferred clinical tool for assessing food sensitivity is having patients follow an elimination diet, which involves a few weeks eating from a fairly limited list of food groups and then gradually reintroducing them one at a time to assess any reactions. This is where the advantage of working with someone who knows the Green Mountain program becomes very clear. I told her of my concern about undoing the progress I had made in eliminating deprivation as a motivator to non-hunger eating, and we agreed that I would do the food sensitivity testing instead.
As if to prove my point, when I stopped for gas on my way back to Green Mountain, I felt the junk food calling to me from the attached convenience store, and it was immediately clear that that was because of my fear of feeling deprived during this whole process. So I told myself to get a grip, since I wasn't going to be doing random deprivation but rather only avoiding things proven to have an ill effect on my health. After the test results are in, I'll have to work with a dietician to add foods back gradually based on my degree of reactivity, but at least I won't have to give up anything that doesn't seem to be a problem. I seem to be able bear restriction if it has a direct effect on how I feel physically. The hope is that if I can give my GI system time to heal and reset itself, I may be able to reintroduce some of those foods to which I had developed a sensitivity.
This feels like a new adventure, and it's a little scary, but something about it feels right as well. This just makes sense to me. Call it a "gut feeling."
I'll let you know how it goes.
A hui hou.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Dancing for Joy
Yesterday was a beautiful day here in Vermont, and I drove down to Brattleboro to have lunch with friends. I arrived at the restaurant quite early and got too hot listening to the radio in the car, so I found a shady step to sit on and commenced enjoying the surroundings. Almost immediately I noticed a little green wormy bug flying down, probably from the tree I was sitting under, on an invisible thread. I watched it blowing back and forth in the wind for a while, until it finally landed on the pavement. To my delight, it started doing a very rhythmic dance that looked quite a bit like some of the moves from Friday's Zumba class, dipping first in one direction and then the other. It was amazing to watch, and to my anthropomorphic eyes it seemed as though that little bug was having a wonderful time.
I know that creatures on the lower tiers of the biological ladder usually have some survival or reproductive reason for everything they do, but I didn't see it eating anything, and there were no other little green worms around to be impressed by my little guy's prowess. I couldn't think of a single reason why it would be dancing except that it felt good.
This observation naturally started me thinking about how here at Green Mountain we are learning that what works best is to find physical activities that give us pleasure, that we want to do, and to enjoy moving our bodies more, as they were designed to move. And that got me remembering a dance center in Cambridge in the early 80s that was called the Joy of Movement Center. Apart from biking, there is no more joyous activity, for me and many others, than dancing. Any kind of dancing. Moving rhythmically in response to music seems to be a basic human drive. This little worm was telling me, or so I thought, that maybe that impulse went beyond humans. When humpback whales leap out of the water or slap their pectoral fins or tails, it looks to humans as though they are playing, and in fact, nobody has been able to figure out any more scientific reason for those behaviors.
During this past week, as I've been getting back to strength training and becoming generally more active, I've also become much more mindful of my body and how it feels in any given moment. Mindfulness is a key aspect of the program here, in all the spheres: eating behavior, physical activity, and all the psychological elements we deal with. I think I now understand more than before how being mindful of how I feel, even when that involves noticing aches and pains, is actually a powerful way of living in the moment and being/accepting who I am. I welcome that insight, and I think it will help me as I move forward.
I was feeling pretty happy about all these thoughts, as I sat there in the comfortable shade waiting for my friends, when I noticed that my little green friend was no longer on the pavement. I looked around and saw the worm back in the air, flying again on its invisible thread. It tried to land a few times, but never found a place to settle, until it finally came to rest and again began its interesting dance. As I watched, I suddenly realized that it was probably trying to get free of the thread so it could go off and conduct worm business. The dance that I had been interpreting as an expression of joy was also a technique for bursting out of bondage.
And I thought, yes, that's exactly what we are doing, too.
A hui hou.
I know that creatures on the lower tiers of the biological ladder usually have some survival or reproductive reason for everything they do, but I didn't see it eating anything, and there were no other little green worms around to be impressed by my little guy's prowess. I couldn't think of a single reason why it would be dancing except that it felt good.
This observation naturally started me thinking about how here at Green Mountain we are learning that what works best is to find physical activities that give us pleasure, that we want to do, and to enjoy moving our bodies more, as they were designed to move. And that got me remembering a dance center in Cambridge in the early 80s that was called the Joy of Movement Center. Apart from biking, there is no more joyous activity, for me and many others, than dancing. Any kind of dancing. Moving rhythmically in response to music seems to be a basic human drive. This little worm was telling me, or so I thought, that maybe that impulse went beyond humans. When humpback whales leap out of the water or slap their pectoral fins or tails, it looks to humans as though they are playing, and in fact, nobody has been able to figure out any more scientific reason for those behaviors.
During this past week, as I've been getting back to strength training and becoming generally more active, I've also become much more mindful of my body and how it feels in any given moment. Mindfulness is a key aspect of the program here, in all the spheres: eating behavior, physical activity, and all the psychological elements we deal with. I think I now understand more than before how being mindful of how I feel, even when that involves noticing aches and pains, is actually a powerful way of living in the moment and being/accepting who I am. I welcome that insight, and I think it will help me as I move forward.
I was feeling pretty happy about all these thoughts, as I sat there in the comfortable shade waiting for my friends, when I noticed that my little green friend was no longer on the pavement. I looked around and saw the worm back in the air, flying again on its invisible thread. It tried to land a few times, but never found a place to settle, until it finally came to rest and again began its interesting dance. As I watched, I suddenly realized that it was probably trying to get free of the thread so it could go off and conduct worm business. The dance that I had been interpreting as an expression of joy was also a technique for bursting out of bondage.
And I thought, yes, that's exactly what we are doing, too.
A hui hou.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Instant Gratification, Long-Term Joy
It's Friday today, almost the end of my first week here at Green Mountain, and I am reminded of something I figured out a long time ago. If you want instant gratification, a constant sense of progress and achievement, there is no better endeavor than strength training.
Most people with weight management issues focus exclusively on the scale, which is a recipe (pardon the food reference) for disaster. We have absolutely no control over how our body metabolizes what we feed it, or the schedule by which it eliminates waste products and stores or utilizes fat. We do have control of our actions. So, right off the bat (pardon the exercise reference), physical activity represents a much better arena in which to measure progress than what we eat. And while aerobic activities can also provide a steady sense of accomplishment, there is nothing like feeling your muscles get stronger and more flexible by the day, doing an addition repetition or going up in weight, or simply feeling better able to do those reps without huffing and puffing and turning purple.
For the first three years after my first visit to Green Mountain, I embraced strength training almost religiously, clinging to it when everything else was falling apart. There were good reasons for this. For one thing, I had learned that strength training is just about the only way a short, middle-aged female can increase her metabolic rate. For another, I can usually manage strength training even when my asthma and/or orthopedic issues make cardiovascular effort too difficult or painful. So I did my alternating upper- and lower-body conditioning routines every morning almost without fail, despite various kinds of tendonitis and a medication adjustment that left me with 8 weeks of intense fatigue until my body got used to it.
Sometimes it would take me all day to complete the lower body routine, as I could manage only about one exercise per hour and would lie on the floor staring upside down out the window at the palm tree next door (this was in Hawaii) until I could muster up the will and the energy to go on to the next muscle group. It would take me several hours, but I would do it. I felt stronger, I was fitting better into clothes, and I felt really good about myself.
Then I suddenly found myself unable to bridge whatever the hurdles were, and I began dreading strength training with an intense, consuming dread that left me paralyzed. Every morning I would dress in my fetching exercise attire and mope around the house, feeling as though I couldn't do anything else until I completed my strength training for the day, yet not being able to bring myself to do it. This meant, of course, that I never got anything at all done, which increased my stress level and flooded my brain with negative self-talk, so that the next day I dreaded the strength training even more. And on and on and on.
Since my major illness last fall, I have had no problem getting to be more active; I rely on my joy in bicycling to motivate me to ride as often as I can. But I've been waiting, in vain, for similar intrinsic motivation to strike me regarding the strength training piece. On the other hand, what led me to sign up for these two weeks at Green Mountain was feeling so weakened at my core and yearning for the feeling that exercising my muscles gives me.
I am happy to report that after 5 days, I feel like a different person. I still find the exercises, especially lower body, hard and occasional uncomfortable, but I'm starting to feel a kind of delight in doing them, as they allow me to feel my body getting stronger by the day. By the time I leave next Saturday, this ember of pleasure will, I hope, have been fanned into a flame of enthusiasm so that I can keep things up after I get home, even while traveling. Perhaps that is all that intrinsic motivation needs to be. Perhaps one day soon I will long to do quad lifts and biceps curls the way I now long to be on my bike.
A hui hou.
Most people with weight management issues focus exclusively on the scale, which is a recipe (pardon the food reference) for disaster. We have absolutely no control over how our body metabolizes what we feed it, or the schedule by which it eliminates waste products and stores or utilizes fat. We do have control of our actions. So, right off the bat (pardon the exercise reference), physical activity represents a much better arena in which to measure progress than what we eat. And while aerobic activities can also provide a steady sense of accomplishment, there is nothing like feeling your muscles get stronger and more flexible by the day, doing an addition repetition or going up in weight, or simply feeling better able to do those reps without huffing and puffing and turning purple.
For the first three years after my first visit to Green Mountain, I embraced strength training almost religiously, clinging to it when everything else was falling apart. There were good reasons for this. For one thing, I had learned that strength training is just about the only way a short, middle-aged female can increase her metabolic rate. For another, I can usually manage strength training even when my asthma and/or orthopedic issues make cardiovascular effort too difficult or painful. So I did my alternating upper- and lower-body conditioning routines every morning almost without fail, despite various kinds of tendonitis and a medication adjustment that left me with 8 weeks of intense fatigue until my body got used to it.
Sometimes it would take me all day to complete the lower body routine, as I could manage only about one exercise per hour and would lie on the floor staring upside down out the window at the palm tree next door (this was in Hawaii) until I could muster up the will and the energy to go on to the next muscle group. It would take me several hours, but I would do it. I felt stronger, I was fitting better into clothes, and I felt really good about myself.
Then I suddenly found myself unable to bridge whatever the hurdles were, and I began dreading strength training with an intense, consuming dread that left me paralyzed. Every morning I would dress in my fetching exercise attire and mope around the house, feeling as though I couldn't do anything else until I completed my strength training for the day, yet not being able to bring myself to do it. This meant, of course, that I never got anything at all done, which increased my stress level and flooded my brain with negative self-talk, so that the next day I dreaded the strength training even more. And on and on and on.
Since my major illness last fall, I have had no problem getting to be more active; I rely on my joy in bicycling to motivate me to ride as often as I can. But I've been waiting, in vain, for similar intrinsic motivation to strike me regarding the strength training piece. On the other hand, what led me to sign up for these two weeks at Green Mountain was feeling so weakened at my core and yearning for the feeling that exercising my muscles gives me.
I am happy to report that after 5 days, I feel like a different person. I still find the exercises, especially lower body, hard and occasional uncomfortable, but I'm starting to feel a kind of delight in doing them, as they allow me to feel my body getting stronger by the day. By the time I leave next Saturday, this ember of pleasure will, I hope, have been fanned into a flame of enthusiasm so that I can keep things up after I get home, even while traveling. Perhaps that is all that intrinsic motivation needs to be. Perhaps one day soon I will long to do quad lifts and biceps curls the way I now long to be on my bike.
A hui hou.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Knitting Up the Ravelled Sleeve
I never used to have sleep problems, not that I remember, anyway. But when I developed asthma, in my thirties, for about a year and half I was up till 3 or 4 in the morning coughing and hacking, until we finally hit on the right regimen to manage it. Then after that, I was up till 3 or 4 in the morning because I was taking theophylline, which is in the same pharmaceutical family as caffeine, with similar effects. Then I became a gigging musician who frequently had to drive home after midnight; while I have the welcome ability to stay awake while driving, even when I'm tired, when I get home from such a drive it takes me a long time to reverse the effects of whatever it was that allows me to stay alert. Then came menopause, and nearly 3 years of springing totally wide awake at 3am, no matter what time I went to sleep. Now, my ability to fall asleep is frequently compromised by aches and pains and gout as well as respiratory infections, so all in all, I do not have an easy relationship with Morpheus.
But that's not the only problem.
I've always been a secret eater, much to my great shame. I remember the most humiliating moment of my young life being when the cleaning lady found a paper bag with empty cookie boxes in my closet and told my parents, who took away my allowance and made me come right home after school so I couldn't buy extraneous food. In my adult life, I've done most of my eating for other than hunger reasons late at night, waiting till everyone else in the house is asleep. This frequently means staying up well past the point at which my body wants to go to sleep.
Over the past five years, as I've dealt with a lot of the underlying issues that have kept me from successful weight management, my urge to eat inappropriately has lessened a great deal, and as a result I've been able to sleep much better and more easily. But there are times still when I get into bed at a very reasonable time, feeling tired and ready to sleep, but the minute I hit the mattress, my knee and my ankle and my toes all start to hurt, and/or I start coughing, and within minutes I'm wide awake and feeling anxious and completely stressed out about not being able to fall asleep. Meditating and listening to soothing music don't help, nor does focusing on my breath, so I end up feeling like a rotisserie chicken until I finally feel compelled to get out of bed and head for the kitchen. Food still soothes, most of the time, and quiets something in my brain (something about seratonin) so that I can finally fall asleep. If it doesn't soothe, it helps pass the time until I get so tired I can't help but fall asleep.
This is obviously not an optimal situation. Recent research has suggested that lack of sufficient sleep can contribute to weight gain (or failure to lose weight) through a number of mechanisms. Sleep deprivation can also contribute to feelings of stress, and hamper one's ability to problem solve or be mindful. And last night I got first-hand knowledge of another benefit of a decent night's sleep.
I've been plagued, since I arrived on Sunday, with a lot of ankle pain and pain in my knee, presumably the result of being much more active, especially on stairs. I've also had some break-out gout pain in my big toes, and some asthma. The net result is that when I lie down in bed, everything starts to hurt. And, as I described above, I start to agitate about not being able to sleep or wake up early and can't fall back to sleep, etc. etc.
Of course, since I have been doing a lot of strength training since I've been here, I had acquired a whole lot more aches and pains and stiffness. In fact, by dinnertime last night, I could barely get up out of my chair to hobble back to my room. So when bedtime came around, I decided to take a tramalol, which is one of the few painkillers I can take that doesn't interact adversely with my blood pressure. I usually take it only when I am in such discomfort that I can't sleep, and it seems to allow my muscles all to relax. Consequently, I slept really well, and this morning it was like magic -- all the muscle aches and pains were gone. Better living through chemistry!
Clearly, I need to do something about my difficulties with sleep. While I don't see a clear way ahead at this particular moment, I am confident that with the help of the folks here and my own prodigious problem-solving skills, I'll figure it out eventually. Until then, I have to do whatever I can to keep the sleeve of care from ravelling further.
A hui hou.
But that's not the only problem.
I've always been a secret eater, much to my great shame. I remember the most humiliating moment of my young life being when the cleaning lady found a paper bag with empty cookie boxes in my closet and told my parents, who took away my allowance and made me come right home after school so I couldn't buy extraneous food. In my adult life, I've done most of my eating for other than hunger reasons late at night, waiting till everyone else in the house is asleep. This frequently means staying up well past the point at which my body wants to go to sleep.
Over the past five years, as I've dealt with a lot of the underlying issues that have kept me from successful weight management, my urge to eat inappropriately has lessened a great deal, and as a result I've been able to sleep much better and more easily. But there are times still when I get into bed at a very reasonable time, feeling tired and ready to sleep, but the minute I hit the mattress, my knee and my ankle and my toes all start to hurt, and/or I start coughing, and within minutes I'm wide awake and feeling anxious and completely stressed out about not being able to fall asleep. Meditating and listening to soothing music don't help, nor does focusing on my breath, so I end up feeling like a rotisserie chicken until I finally feel compelled to get out of bed and head for the kitchen. Food still soothes, most of the time, and quiets something in my brain (something about seratonin) so that I can finally fall asleep. If it doesn't soothe, it helps pass the time until I get so tired I can't help but fall asleep.
This is obviously not an optimal situation. Recent research has suggested that lack of sufficient sleep can contribute to weight gain (or failure to lose weight) through a number of mechanisms. Sleep deprivation can also contribute to feelings of stress, and hamper one's ability to problem solve or be mindful. And last night I got first-hand knowledge of another benefit of a decent night's sleep.
I've been plagued, since I arrived on Sunday, with a lot of ankle pain and pain in my knee, presumably the result of being much more active, especially on stairs. I've also had some break-out gout pain in my big toes, and some asthma. The net result is that when I lie down in bed, everything starts to hurt. And, as I described above, I start to agitate about not being able to sleep or wake up early and can't fall back to sleep, etc. etc.
Of course, since I have been doing a lot of strength training since I've been here, I had acquired a whole lot more aches and pains and stiffness. In fact, by dinnertime last night, I could barely get up out of my chair to hobble back to my room. So when bedtime came around, I decided to take a tramalol, which is one of the few painkillers I can take that doesn't interact adversely with my blood pressure. I usually take it only when I am in such discomfort that I can't sleep, and it seems to allow my muscles all to relax. Consequently, I slept really well, and this morning it was like magic -- all the muscle aches and pains were gone. Better living through chemistry!
Clearly, I need to do something about my difficulties with sleep. While I don't see a clear way ahead at this particular moment, I am confident that with the help of the folks here and my own prodigious problem-solving skills, I'll figure it out eventually. Until then, I have to do whatever I can to keep the sleeve of care from ravelling further.
A hui hou.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Plan B and Beyond
Here I am, back at Green Mountain at Fox Run, which has truly become my home away from home over the past four and a half years. I could go on and on about how wonderful and transformative the program is, how knowledgeable and compassionate the staff all are, the delicious meals and the beautiful surroundings, and maybe I will in another post. But today I want to focus on one aspect of the Green Mountain experience that I most appreciate, which is the empowering attitude of always finding a way to deal with (and get around) impediments.
One of the main reasons I came here in the first place, in September 2005, was that the program literature promised a safe environment in which women with physical challenges could learn how to become active without hurting themselves. This was essential for me, given my old knee injury and frequent tendonitis in my foot, not to mention my asthma. I figured I could try out all kinds of physical activity and find ones that I didn't hate too much, at the very least, and learn to do them without injuring myself further.
I was a total tomboy as a child, and all through college remained quite physically active despite not being the fastest runner. I was great at softball (having spent my childhood playing catch in the backyard), could swish baskets on demand, rode my bike all over the place, and do just about any other sport involving good hand-eye coordination. Yes, I was overweight, but I was strong and loved moving. Then when I was in England I was following a public footpath home from a Slimming Club meeting (just another example of diets being bad for your health!) and ended up going over a wall that was twice as far down on the other side, landing in a deserted monastery garden and tearing the cartilage in my left knee. Back then no one even said the words "physical therapy," so I was left with a chronically weak joint that would get reinjured just about every time I played tennis or ran across the street or even landed funny on that leg. Ten years later I developed asthma, and that really put an end to my active life as I had known it.
By the time I arrived at Green Mountain, in addition to living pretty much entirely in my head (as dealing with my body was no fun at all), I had also become afraid to move, especially if it involved raising a foot off the floor. Walking was manageable, but dancing was out of the question, and going up and down stairs was the bane of my life.
What I discovered when I started the program here was that being physically active is the closest thing to a magic bullet for all sorts of issues, not just weight management, and that there is always a way to exercise all the muscles of the body, including the heart (ie, aerobic activity), even if you are orthopedically or medically challenged. I also learned that while being active may be hard, at first, if it hurts that means you aren't doing the activity correctly or are doing too much of it.
LynnAnn Covell, who was fitness director at that time and currently manages the lifestyle coaching program here, is one of the most inspirational people I have ever encountered, and one of the first things she said to my class of Green Mountain newbies was that if Plan A didn't work for us, she would come up with Plan B, and if that still didn't work, she would come up with plans C through Z, until she found a way for each of us to exercise comfortably and in a way that would allow us to become more fit and more comfortable in ourselves. And I've learned that she was telling the truth. If you can't do quad lifts on the floor, you can do them standing up or in a chair or on a fitball or in bed or in the pool. If you can't walk, you can swim or bounce on a fitball or ride a bike. If you can't dance on your feet, you can dance sitting in a chair or on a fitball and feel the joy in moving with the music.
This approach works for other aspects of life as well. If you can't meditate on your own, you can listen to a recording of affirmations, or do some guided imagery, or a walking meditation or simply take a mindful walk in a beautiful place. If you can't bear the thought of giving up eating in front of the television you can eat a meal there and set a timer to tell you when food needs to go back to the kitchen so you don't end up eating mindlessly for hours. If you can't make a healthy lunch every day you can cook a whole bunch of things on the weekend or buy prepared foods that fit into how you want to eat or bring a stock of such foods into your work environment or figure out how to make healthier restaurant choices. There is no one perfect answer, and searching for it can get in the way of finding a functional solution.
The trick to making this work is not letting disappointment and frustration at being unable to carry out Plan A get in the way of recognizing plan B and beyond.
A hui hou.
One of the main reasons I came here in the first place, in September 2005, was that the program literature promised a safe environment in which women with physical challenges could learn how to become active without hurting themselves. This was essential for me, given my old knee injury and frequent tendonitis in my foot, not to mention my asthma. I figured I could try out all kinds of physical activity and find ones that I didn't hate too much, at the very least, and learn to do them without injuring myself further.
I was a total tomboy as a child, and all through college remained quite physically active despite not being the fastest runner. I was great at softball (having spent my childhood playing catch in the backyard), could swish baskets on demand, rode my bike all over the place, and do just about any other sport involving good hand-eye coordination. Yes, I was overweight, but I was strong and loved moving. Then when I was in England I was following a public footpath home from a Slimming Club meeting (just another example of diets being bad for your health!) and ended up going over a wall that was twice as far down on the other side, landing in a deserted monastery garden and tearing the cartilage in my left knee. Back then no one even said the words "physical therapy," so I was left with a chronically weak joint that would get reinjured just about every time I played tennis or ran across the street or even landed funny on that leg. Ten years later I developed asthma, and that really put an end to my active life as I had known it.
By the time I arrived at Green Mountain, in addition to living pretty much entirely in my head (as dealing with my body was no fun at all), I had also become afraid to move, especially if it involved raising a foot off the floor. Walking was manageable, but dancing was out of the question, and going up and down stairs was the bane of my life.
What I discovered when I started the program here was that being physically active is the closest thing to a magic bullet for all sorts of issues, not just weight management, and that there is always a way to exercise all the muscles of the body, including the heart (ie, aerobic activity), even if you are orthopedically or medically challenged. I also learned that while being active may be hard, at first, if it hurts that means you aren't doing the activity correctly or are doing too much of it.
LynnAnn Covell, who was fitness director at that time and currently manages the lifestyle coaching program here, is one of the most inspirational people I have ever encountered, and one of the first things she said to my class of Green Mountain newbies was that if Plan A didn't work for us, she would come up with Plan B, and if that still didn't work, she would come up with plans C through Z, until she found a way for each of us to exercise comfortably and in a way that would allow us to become more fit and more comfortable in ourselves. And I've learned that she was telling the truth. If you can't do quad lifts on the floor, you can do them standing up or in a chair or on a fitball or in bed or in the pool. If you can't walk, you can swim or bounce on a fitball or ride a bike. If you can't dance on your feet, you can dance sitting in a chair or on a fitball and feel the joy in moving with the music.
This approach works for other aspects of life as well. If you can't meditate on your own, you can listen to a recording of affirmations, or do some guided imagery, or a walking meditation or simply take a mindful walk in a beautiful place. If you can't bear the thought of giving up eating in front of the television you can eat a meal there and set a timer to tell you when food needs to go back to the kitchen so you don't end up eating mindlessly for hours. If you can't make a healthy lunch every day you can cook a whole bunch of things on the weekend or buy prepared foods that fit into how you want to eat or bring a stock of such foods into your work environment or figure out how to make healthier restaurant choices. There is no one perfect answer, and searching for it can get in the way of finding a functional solution.
The trick to making this work is not letting disappointment and frustration at being unable to carry out Plan A get in the way of recognizing plan B and beyond.
A hui hou.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Finding My Heart Space
Part of my journey to increased calm and healthfulness has involved learning to meditate. I started with guided imagery as part of the Green Mountain at Fox Run program, and then started doing actual meditation when I began phone coaching sessions with one of the behavioral specialists there. Being the perfectionist that I was/am, I spent much of the first weeks trying to figure out if I was doing it right, and really concerned that I wasn't. Eventually I got over that and became much more comfortable with the notion that meditation is a practice, in the same sense of that word as I am familiar with from my musical life; there's no way to be perfect, but the repetition makes the whole process occur with a greater sense of ease.
Then my coach started talking about getting into my "heart space," breathing into it, feeling and acting from it, and I was lost. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Three years later, I still didn't, not really, but had made enough progress so that I was no longer worrying about why I was "failing" at this piece of my task. I guess that eventually I started to believe that I was probably there, whatever that meant, but simply unable to feel what that meant.
Fast forward to our time in San Francisco, where at Carol's meeting she learned about a company that makes a product called "emWave" -- a combination of software and sensor that helps train you to achieve what they refer to as "coherence," a synchronization of your heart rate with your autonomic nervous system. This sounded intriguing, so we saw a demonstration of the desktop computer program and promptly bought a system to try at home. The program suggests that you "focus your attention in the area of the heart and pretend you are breathing in and out through the heart area." Since I had never been able to do that in any reliable way, I thought using the software might help me attain that connection, which seems to be pretty important to inner peace.
I installed the software when we got home and have now had several sessions. I think this is just the tool that I need. I'll try to describe what a session entails.
After opening the program, you attach a sensor to your earlobe; the other end plugs into a little unit that plugs into a USB port. It looks a lot like a thumb drive. Then you press start and your session begins. For the first 30 seconds or so, the unit calibrates your heart rate, and you can check whether the sensor is well-placed to get a good signal. Once it has calibrated, you start hearing a chiming every five seconds to tell you how your state of coherence is. Here's a rather fuzzy screen shot of a basic session:
The squiggle along the top represents your heart rhythm. You are shooting for a smooth and regular pattern rather than something that looks like High Sierra. The three bars in the lower right are the three levels of coherence: red is low, blue is medium and green is high. The greater percentage of the time you spend is blue or green, the more relaxed and centered you are.
The default has a low bonging for low coherence, a medium chiming for medium coherence, and a spritely high ringing for high coherence. I found that I wasn't budging off the low level and thought it might be because I find the low bonging quite restful, so I reversed the low and high sounds assigned by the program and have had much better luck. It's very helpful to have the immediate feedback, and it's getting easier for me to bring myself back out of the low level by focusing on my heart space, so I guess I've already done better at finding it than I ever did before.
The program also has interesting visualizations to help you stay focused and motivated, as well as three games that you control by keeping yourself in the more desirable states of coherence. I'm looking forward to spending more time with these as I practice centering myself with this interesting and helpful tool. Maybe future posts will actually originate from my heart space. One can but hope.
A hui hou.
Then my coach started talking about getting into my "heart space," breathing into it, feeling and acting from it, and I was lost. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Three years later, I still didn't, not really, but had made enough progress so that I was no longer worrying about why I was "failing" at this piece of my task. I guess that eventually I started to believe that I was probably there, whatever that meant, but simply unable to feel what that meant.
Fast forward to our time in San Francisco, where at Carol's meeting she learned about a company that makes a product called "emWave" -- a combination of software and sensor that helps train you to achieve what they refer to as "coherence," a synchronization of your heart rate with your autonomic nervous system. This sounded intriguing, so we saw a demonstration of the desktop computer program and promptly bought a system to try at home. The program suggests that you "focus your attention in the area of the heart and pretend you are breathing in and out through the heart area." Since I had never been able to do that in any reliable way, I thought using the software might help me attain that connection, which seems to be pretty important to inner peace.
I installed the software when we got home and have now had several sessions. I think this is just the tool that I need. I'll try to describe what a session entails.
After opening the program, you attach a sensor to your earlobe; the other end plugs into a little unit that plugs into a USB port. It looks a lot like a thumb drive. Then you press start and your session begins. For the first 30 seconds or so, the unit calibrates your heart rate, and you can check whether the sensor is well-placed to get a good signal. Once it has calibrated, you start hearing a chiming every five seconds to tell you how your state of coherence is. Here's a rather fuzzy screen shot of a basic session:
The squiggle along the top represents your heart rhythm. You are shooting for a smooth and regular pattern rather than something that looks like High Sierra. The three bars in the lower right are the three levels of coherence: red is low, blue is medium and green is high. The greater percentage of the time you spend is blue or green, the more relaxed and centered you are.
The default has a low bonging for low coherence, a medium chiming for medium coherence, and a spritely high ringing for high coherence. I found that I wasn't budging off the low level and thought it might be because I find the low bonging quite restful, so I reversed the low and high sounds assigned by the program and have had much better luck. It's very helpful to have the immediate feedback, and it's getting easier for me to bring myself back out of the low level by focusing on my heart space, so I guess I've already done better at finding it than I ever did before.
The program also has interesting visualizations to help you stay focused and motivated, as well as three games that you control by keeping yourself in the more desirable states of coherence. I'm looking forward to spending more time with these as I practice centering myself with this interesting and helpful tool. Maybe future posts will actually originate from my heart space. One can but hope.
A hui hou.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Getting Ready for the Next Round
After our intense, exhausting time in San Francisco, capped by a seriously uncomfortable overnight flight home to Boston, I am now getting ready to go back to Green Mountain at Fox Run for two weeks, starting Sunday. The part of me that has to unpack and repack and get organized is feeling a little overwhelmed, but the part of me that is yearning to be healthier is excited and eager.
I love Green Mountain. I love the vastness and solidity of Okemo Mountain, which watches over our days there. I love the staff, who have become practically family after all the time I've spent there, and I love the other women who take part in the program. Being able to spend the bulk of my days taking care of myself and making my health my top priority is a wonderful gift, and one that I appreciate deeply.
It is a place where mindfulness comes easily. The clarity and quiet of the Vermont air form a magnificent backdrop for the act of paying attention. Sometimes, when I am meditating at home, I can hear my feet crunching on the track as I walk my laps, a gentle, rhythmic sound that I find enormously grounding. I look forward, always, to the wonderful meals so lovingly prepared by chefs Jon and Lisa, who are so generous in sharing their knowledge with us in the hopes that we can learn to cook mindfully and with joy. If I want quiet and solitude, I can spend hours by myself, coming out of my room only for the occasional class and meals. If I want company, there is always someone interesting to talk to or to provide a hug, an encouraging word or a little commiseration.
I'm looking forward to my time there as an oasis in a very busy spring. I'm just above the weight where I feel comfortable in my skin, and the two weeks in Vermont should get me back to a more tolerable level, in addition to helping me figure out what my next focus needs to be. I hope that two weeks of regularly engaging in strength training will help make that a routine again, and that two weeks of upping my cardio and walking (of necessity) up and down stairs many times a day will make moving a little easier. And finally, I am planning to use my various physical therapy aids regularly, so that my ankle pain will recede to a more manageable level.
Of course, the dangers of having expectations are always lurking. If I get there and have a flare-up of orthopedic issues or asthma, I won't be able to do all the activities I've been imagining, and that will be disappointing. But I've never been there without learning the next thing I needed to work on, so I am confident that this will be a good use of my time, whatever I take away from it.
I'm also planning to try to post every day while I'm at Green Mountain, so that I can share what I learn and help solidify it in my mind.
A hui hou.
It is a place where mindfulness comes easily. The clarity and quiet of the Vermont air form a magnificent backdrop for the act of paying attention. Sometimes, when I am meditating at home, I can hear my feet crunching on the track as I walk my laps, a gentle, rhythmic sound that I find enormously grounding. I look forward, always, to the wonderful meals so lovingly prepared by chefs Jon and Lisa, who are so generous in sharing their knowledge with us in the hopes that we can learn to cook mindfully and with joy. If I want quiet and solitude, I can spend hours by myself, coming out of my room only for the occasional class and meals. If I want company, there is always someone interesting to talk to or to provide a hug, an encouraging word or a little commiseration.
I'm looking forward to my time there as an oasis in a very busy spring. I'm just above the weight where I feel comfortable in my skin, and the two weeks in Vermont should get me back to a more tolerable level, in addition to helping me figure out what my next focus needs to be. I hope that two weeks of regularly engaging in strength training will help make that a routine again, and that two weeks of upping my cardio and walking (of necessity) up and down stairs many times a day will make moving a little easier. And finally, I am planning to use my various physical therapy aids regularly, so that my ankle pain will recede to a more manageable level.
Of course, the dangers of having expectations are always lurking. If I get there and have a flare-up of orthopedic issues or asthma, I won't be able to do all the activities I've been imagining, and that will be disappointing. But I've never been there without learning the next thing I needed to work on, so I am confident that this will be a good use of my time, whatever I take away from it.
I'm also planning to try to post every day while I'm at Green Mountain, so that I can share what I learn and help solidify it in my mind.
A hui hou.
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