I Just Ate Compulsively

I've been feeling blue all day. I found no solace at the OA meeting this morning, which is surprising, as generally there's at least one pearl offered and received. I found no excitement in quilting this afternoon. I went to a Contra dance, after having not danced for 15 years, and sat out half of the numbers. There were about 10 more women there than men, and I was an unknown entity. So I guess it was a given that I would find myself in that awkward wall-flower position, smile pasted on my face, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. When I got home this evening, I realized that my bra straps must have been showing all evening.... that sinking "spinach on the teeth" feeling.... the "I'm no good" feeling... the blues closing in on me.

And so, I got out a bag of dried coconut and started binging. It never even crossed my mind that "the answer is not in the bag of coconut." The driving force, the need to comfort myself, just took over. All that I've learned in OA was invisible until I ate so much coconut that I felt physical discomfort.

Isn't that ironic? I'm seeking comfort, in my old, compulsive way, and end up with greater discomfort. Right now, at this moment, I understand people who purge. I can imagine the relief. I've never purged, and most likely never will because I super hate throwing up.

Last night, when I couldn't sleep, I got out the "Big Book" of Alcoholics Anonymous. Flipping through the stories at the end of the book, #15 caught my eye. It starts out like this:

When I had been in A.A. only a short while, an oldtimer told me something that has affected my life ever since. "A.A. does not teach us how to handle our drinking," he said. "It teaches us how to handle sobriety."

Because I eat compulsively when I experience discomfort (due to fear, boredom, loneliness, whatever), it's important for me to learn other ways to handle discomfort. OA has taught me some tricks. But tonight they were simply not in my consciousness at all. I hope, like the author of #15, that by persevering with OA, and all it offers, I will learn how to handle sobriety (in the sense of not compulsively overeating).

PJ's Million Dollar Question

Since I didn't have a pressing subject anyway, today is a good time to respond to a recent tag by PJ. Here we go:

1. If you could live in another time period, which would you choose? The future? biblical times? 19th century? the 50's Whatever or whenever one you choose and why?If you need to answer with the thought you would still have your same family then do so.
I love our times and have never even considered what it might be like to live in other times. Other periods are interesting to read about or glimpse in movies.... However, to be honest, I'll stay right where I am, with pleasure!

2. What did you want to be 'when you you grew up' when you were a kid? Did you become that?
For a long time, from about age 5 to age 9, I wanted to be a ballet dancer. (See my post about how those hopes got dashed, here, and about a dance performance fiasco, here, and about dancing later in life, here.) So yes and no... not a ballet dancer, but I did dance for fun and for a few years was a dancer in and choreographer for a performing dance group.

Later, in 7th grade and up, I wanted to be a math teacher. Didn't do it. Couldn't get up in time for math classes in college, always scheduled for first or second period for some unknown reason. I tried, but my drinking and card playing at night took priority and so I majored in English and Psychology instead. I took some Education classes, thinking a maybe I'd be an English teacher. I couldn't stand the classes which seemed utterly inane to me and finished my BA with a straight English/Psy degree; went on and got a MA in Counseling Psychology. However, once again, fate brought me back to teaching in later years, not in a HS or college classroom as I had once thought, but in art workshops and conferences around the country. Way fun!!!! I think the counseling training helped me be a better teacher than the education classes would have.

3. If you won a million dollars (after taxes) what would you do?
Lordy, lordy, I have no idea. I have a close friend who won a large lottery. It so changed her life, more than anybody can imagine. One really significant change is that she went into hiding mode. She did not want people to be jealous of her and she felt shame at having gotten so much money, like she didn't deserve it. She and her husband gave a lot of it away. They also bought a very large, fancy home and quit working. After some years, they both felt lost, angry, useless, unworthy. Finally, the only answer seemed to be that they should go back to work, which they both did. Still, I'd have to say, she's not a very happy person. It seems almost that the money is a burden. I would not like to be in her shoes. In fact, I prefer a simple life and have no desire for a million dollars. If somebody gave it to me? Well, maybe I'd just tell 'em to keep it.

My husband and I saw a very interesting documentary movie that follows the lives of five lottery winners and what happens to them over time, Lucky, The Lottery Winner. We were fascinated!

4. What are you most afraid of and why?
On a personal level, it's cancer. Getting cancer or my husband getting cancer frightens me more than anything else. My grandmother, grandfather and mother all had cancer. Sometimes I feel doomed.

But on a more-important, non-personal level, I am most afraid of global warming and the decline of precious life forms on this earth. I hate the way we use it up. I hate that we keep adding to the human population. I wish every woman in the world would allow herself to give birth to one and only one child. In two generations, collectively, we could solve many of the earth's problems with this one simple act. Feeling this way for a very long time, it's the main reason why I never had children.

Thanks PJ, for giving me the opportunity to expound on these interesting questions. If anybody happens to read this and wants to answer the same questions, please do (and also please let me know so I can read your answers).

Dance ~ Part 3 (the end, for now)

Yes, my childhood/youth dance card was tarnished and bleak. But later, in my 40s and 50s, the dancer in me left hibernation and found a pathway through folk dance and later recreational ballroom dancing.

It wasn't always easy... I recall taking workshops where the teachers rotated the dancers. It seemed that each time I rotated to a new partner, I saw on his face a look that said, "Oh no, here we go... She's a big one... She won't be a good partner... She must weigh twice as much as me... Maybe I should take a break right now..." Some did take a break. Some discovered that I can dance. Some even sought me out later as a partner. I learned to take the bad with the good, stick with it, keep smiling and above all, enjoy the dance.

For several years, I performed with a Hungarian folk dance group, eventually becoming one of the group's primary choreographers. Performing was tough. The first time on stage, my knees were shaking so much that my dear partner literally had to hold me up. Eventually, I came to enjoy performing very much.

During those two decades, I formed romantic attachments to two different men who were dancers, one which lasted 13 years. He was a big guy, overweight like me. He was/is a great dancer and always in demand as a partner. Guys can be overweight, sweaty, choreography-impaired, humorless, you name it... If they're willing to try, they will always have a dance partner. For us gals, it's a bit more difficult. When I started ballroom dancing, I got used to asking men to dance with me, which was a bit tough on the ego, but which got me on the dance floor.

I look back on those 20 years of dance as a primary focus in my life and am thankful for the courage and serendipitous circumstances that helped me to take baby steps out of hibernation. That phase of my life ended when I met my husband (who will not/does not dance) and moved to an island where there really isn't any venue for dancing. It's OK. I'm willing to trade dance for my marriage... and I still dance by myself sometimes, especially in my studio.

Going back to the start of Part 1, I wrote: "I guess if I'm ever going to recover (as they put it in OA), I have to face the D word... Dance." I've told the stories. Now what is it I need to face?

I think it's my bitterness and anger about what happened and about being overweight and large. Perhaps a 10-things list is in order. OK... Ten Things I'm Willing to Forgive and Leave Behind:

1. I forgive you, Mr. Andahazi, Mr. Russian ballet master. You taught me body carriage and how to move in time to music. I'm sure you did not intend to harm me when you told my parents I was not suited to ballet. You were right... I am not.
2. I forgive you, Mom and Dad. You did not understand how important it was to me that you see our modern dance performance. You tried to make it up to me later by traveling all the way across the country to see me perform folk dance on several occasions. You were kind and attentive to my needs in countless ways.
3. I forgive you, stage helpers, for the mix-up about our costumes.
4. I forgive you, Mrs. Kane, for pushing me back on stage. Although I was humiliated at the time, it was the right thing to do. Maybe it's partly the reason why I was able to perform later in life. So thank you!
5. I forgive myself for holding this anger and shame inside for all these years.
6. I forgive myself for all the years I overate and binged, especially for how doing so continually hampered me from blossoming as a dancer.
7. I forgive myself for any erroneous assumptions I may have made regarding male dance teachers, choreographers and partners. I assumed the worst, that they all dreaded working with me. I admit it's possible that some of them didn't have any negative feelings at all.
8. I forgive those men who have a preference for dancing with small, attractive women even if they aren't really very good dancers.
9. I forgive myself for hibernating, shyness and holding back.
10. I forgive myself for limiting my own potential in dance by holding onto shame, fear and resentments from the past.

Ooooh, that felt good!!!! Now I can let the subject of dance rest for a while. The only other thing to do is to put my word-arms around Little Peacefulbird, hug her tightly, rock her gently and tell her I understand how wounded she was and how proud I am of her for allowing dance to emerge again and even flourish after many years of hiding.

Dance ~ Part 2

Dance turned a dark corner for me when my ballet teacher told me and my parents that I was too big to be a ballet dancer (previous post). So, when the next school year began, my parents enrolled me in a modern dance class.

Oh joy, I was dancing again. Toward the end of the year, our teacher choreographed "Alice in Wonderland" for us to perform. Oh ecstacy, I got a part in a duet! I was Tweedle Dum and my neighbor, Kathy, was Tweedle Dee. She was very short and pole thin. I was quite a bit taller and much rounder. We had circle skirt costumes.

Performance day came and two things went very wrong. My parents had some sort of concert tickets that evening and so declined to come to my performance. (Baaaaaad Mommy and Daddy!) At least they didn't see our embarassing duet....

For our duet, Kathy and I were to enter from opposite sides of the stage. But somebody had mixed up our costumes. On her side, a helper wrapped my too long skirt around her tiny waist twice and safety pinned it in place. On my side, a helper broke the zipper trying to get her skirt over my shoulders and then tied it around my waist with a cord, which made it so short that it barely covered my crotch.

When we entered, the audience broke into laughter at the sight of our odd, bedraggled-looking costumes. Kathy stood and waited for the laughter to subside. I fled the stage in humiliation. Our dance teacher pushed me back on. The audience laughter increased and again I fled. Meanwhile the music started and Kathy began to dance her part. When Mrs. Kane pushed me on the stage again, I finally figured out where in the choreography we were supposed to be and began to dance.

Although the audience clapped for us, that was the end of dancing for me for a very long time. After that third grade fiasco, I knew, 100%, absolutely I could not be a dancer. I avoided dances and dancing all through my school years. In high school and college, if I went to a dance at all, it was always hugely terrifying and stressful. I'd act out, gossip with the girls, drink (college) and leave early.

I wanted (more than anything!) to dance. I envied the slender, pretty girls dancing close with their boyfriends. I loved the music. My inner body would move, in a way I hoped nobody would notice, to the music. I was trapped in a mind that constantly trumped with one old ballet card and two old modern dance cards.

There's more to discover about me and dance.... next post.

Dance - Part 1

I guess if I'm ever going to recover (as they put it in OA), I have to face the D word... Dance.

At 67 years old and somewhere around 190 pounds, I still have a dancer inside me... All my life... a dancer in me with no outlet, an inner dancer who has only rarely been public, an overweight, sometimes obese, girl/woman hiding a lithe and passionate dancer inside.

I just watched episode 2 of So You Think You Can Dance, which makes me feel my feelings, with tears of joy. I've loved this program and watched every episode since it began. Even my husband, who does not dance and has not ever danced, has developed an interest in seeing young dancers working with excellent choreographers to learn and perform different styles of dance.

What is it about dance? Movement... the body speaking the heart's truth when the mouth is only mute?

As a child my parents took me to The Ballet Russes. Seeing the beautiful grace and electric energy of these dancers at about 4+ years old is still a vivid memory. I felt myself transported into their bodies, my heart into theirs. I wanted to be a dancer, a ballet dancer.

I poured over the performance program and a ballet picture book, practicing the positions in my bedroom with the door closed. My brother and I made crepe paper ballet costumes for the kids in our neighborhood. We showed them how to dance and staged a show for our families on the sidewalk in front of our house.

When I was 8, I finally persuaded my parents to enroll me in ballet lessons. Here is a poem I wrote 15 years ago about those lessons...

You Were Wrong, Mr. Andahazi

I call you back, Mr. Andahazi,
Mr. Russian ballet master,
with spindly legs
and equally spindly heart.
I call you back and place you
in front of a child
who will speak to you now.

You talked to my parents
in my presence
as though I wasn’t there
as though I were
the family puppy –
Look at those feet!
She’s gonna be a big one!
Well, maybe you’re a hot-shot
Russian ballet master, but
you were dead wrong about me.
It wasn’t a waste, Mr. Andahazi,
of my parent’s money
to pay for my dance lessons.

You could see only
the future, the lights,
the stage, the barely fleshed
skeletons of delicate women
held high over the heads
of small men, like you.
Paying money today
to realize an outcome
so many years down the road.
She’s going to be too big
and too tall, you said,
a waste of your money,
no man will be able
to dance with her, you said,
take her away,
off with her head.

I pity you, Mr. Andahazi.
You did not see the pure joy
in my heart. You did not
notice or feel or enjoy
the radiance of my love
for those weekly lessons
right there in your studio.

Little girls, you know,
take words like yours
to heart and turn them
into demons which can
prevent us from knowing
our worth and following our bliss.
I wonder if you care?
It doesn’t matter anymore.
You were wrong.
I have always been a dancer.
That is all I have to say.

I call you back, Mr. Andahazi,
Mr. Russian ballet master
with spindly legs
and equally spindly heart.
I call you back and place you
over there, against the wall
to witness the dancer
you tried to squelch
to watch her twirl gracefully
around the dance floor
like Isadora’s scarves
floating and waving in the breeze.
I call you back to notice,
to comprehend your lack of power
over us, the child and me.
You will stand there
and watch me dancing,
behold my pleasure, my delight,
time after time after time.
But I do not see you.
I do not recognize you.
I do not even remember you.
You are not here anymore.

At that time, I thought I'd banished the demons. But tonight, watching my favorite dance show, I felt them tugging on me again. There's more... more dance and self-image and weight stuff... I hope to deal with it in another post or two...