i have a fucked up view of my body. aka: i have a fucked up view of myself. (until i realize: ohmygodwhocares)

most days i walk around disconnected from my body.

during my exercise compulsion/restrictive eating phase, i worried all the time about my body, about how its folds and round edges presented themselves. i observed every reflective surface. i pinched, hit, scratched. i was only my body. all the time.

when i started gaining weight, i stopped looking at my reflection so much. i started delving past surface level because i no longer connected to or liked my surface level. beneath my skin, i recognized a dimly lit soul, obscured by obsession. i detached from my physical self, took the time to reacquaint with my spiritual, emotional, and mental self. suddenly i was not just a stomach with arms, legs, hands and feet. i was a person, too.

on the off days i catch my silhouette off-guard, i react in one of two ways. on the good days, i will smile, turn one way. turn another way. strike a pose. laugh at myself and continue on with a good day. on the bad days. well. we all know how the bad days go, don’t we?

generally i cry. like i am surprised at seeing myself, truly. in my mind i look a different way. i am the smaller version of myself, the one i spent hours studying in the mirror for two years. not the heavier young woman looking back at me with empty eyes. i don’t know her. i’m scared to see myself as i am.

you know about body dysmorphia (disorder)? crude judgement call: eating disordered people have it. in a few sentences:

Often BDD co-occurs with emotional depression and anxiety, social withdrawal or social isolation. The onset of the symptoms of a mentally unhealthy preoccupation with body image occurs either in adolescence or in early adulthood, whence begins self-criticism of the personal appearance, from which develop atypical aesthetic-standards derived from the internal perceptual discrepancy between the person’s ‘actual self’ and the ‘ideal self’

oh, hey life.

i see beauty easily in other people. i see it quickly. in smiles, in eyes. in the way shoulders roll back and chests lift. i see beauty in all sizes, in all shapes.

just not in mine.

i am measured in rolls, cellulite, and stretch marks. not by my intelligence, laughter, and kindness. i don’t see what other people see. i struggle with physical compliments. whenever anyone tells me i am beautiful, i cringe. i think, “how can you see that? do you not see this stomach? these legs? these horrible arms?” other women are allowed to look like i am and be beautiful. i am not.

really though, i don’t hate my body. i hate myself. the self-hatred manifests in the mirror.

i constantly battle the beauty ideals born from magazine culture. the rational side of me understands i deserve intimacy, authenticity, happiness, and love no matter the size of my stomach. she knows people find me attractive. she knows beauty shows up in a variety of ways. she knows personality shines just as bright as physical beauty.

none of that matters though when you put all your worth into your appearance. personality doesn’t matter when you can’t shake the idea of worth being directly tied to an uber-processed, shallow idea of beauty. self-love won’t happen when you can’t get over the idea that your body isn’t right, that it needs to be smaller because you’re too big for your height, for yourself, for anyone else.

deep down, i am terrified this will be my forever. that i will never gain a positive body-image and allow life into my life. i am scared i will never love the person i am. that is more immobilizing than living forever with this eating disorder.

the best i can do?

take it one day at a time.

what do you do if and when you find yourself in this struggle?

namaste

zoe

i wrote that last night before insomnia kicked in. i wrote it before i found two beautiful blogs i spent too many hours looking through. tucked in between those virtual pages i found photos. videos.

like this one. (scroll down till you hit the video of the little boy. he is more in touch with his fantastic, female sexiness than i am at twenty-two.).

and this one. (scroll down till you hit the video of the blonde girl reciting a poem she wrote. it’s fucking brilliant and left me covered in goosebumps).

i listened to some spoken word last night, about what it means to be female, about what it means to be fat. it got me thinking, about the word fat. about femininity. about bodies.

think about what you think about when you think about fat.

what words come to your mind? what emotions? what images?

more importantly: are they negative?

america has this unhealthy obsession with fat. we care so much about the bodies of other people, about the bodies we inhabit. turn on your television and count the number of shows about fat people (TLC is a good place to start). open up magazines and tally the number of articles geared toward losing weight. better yet, go count the advertisements.

america is drowning in fat shame and fat obsession.

the weirdest part is this: fat means nothing.

i’m going to say that again:

FAT. MEANS. NOTHING.

NOTHING.

it only means what we choose to associate with it. and, unfortunately, america generally associates fat with ugly, unhealthy, abnormal, shame, and unworthy.

what right do we possess that allows us to pass judgement on the body of another person? what happens when we do do that? when we judge, we create assumptions. how do you know a heavier person is not healthy? how do you know they do not exercise or eat healthfully? the answer? you don’t. nor should you care. it’s not your body. it’s not your life. (i am saying this as much for myself as anyone else).

the image of a toned, tight, and fit person haunts every single person in western culture, whether we fight against it or not. that ideal still exists, still floats in the back of our minds, still affects how we view our body in the world. womanhood and femininity do not come in a one size fits all. we just like to pretend it does.

worshipping the idol of thin is a religion breeding contempt for diversity.

and contempt for our own beautiful selves.

after i watched those videos, after i read through quotes and surveyed pictures, i stumbled onto one thought:

i am so lucky to have this female body.

no matter what shape it takes.

because people like that little boy will never truly be a woman. transgendered females will never be biologically female like i am. this body is a gift. it is something to be celebrated, not cried over because it’s a little round. to be a woman is an amazing, sometimes overwhelming, experience. there is a reason we look different.

so, my god, zoe, stop worrying about your body. because you are not you body.

you are a living, breathing, soul with beauty your limbs can never measure.

namaste

zoe

so i watched demi lovato’s documentary (this one is long)

and, surprisingly, i almost cried a few times.

(source)

girl was honest. at the end i wanted to like, sit down with her and talk and talk and talk. i know MTV showed her in a specific slant but she talked candidly about issues not widely discussed (see the post before last).

she said things i related to. brought up questions i asked and continue to ask all.the.time.

her honesty tapped mine on the shoulder, said, “come on, man, just let it out.”

so.

here it goes.

(THIS IS VERY OPEN)

friends relate to the thoughts. not the extremes. explaining thought processes to their fruition (e.g: ending up over the toilet) never happens. i keep a lot under wraps for a variety of reasons. mainly because no one i know is a bi-polar bulimic with anorexic tendencies. at least outwardly, anyway. additionally, a lot of friends dismiss my worries as needing to get laid or needing to reap more gratitude. not that i disagree entirely but. that hurts. that makes me think and believe my feelings are overly dramatic and childish and not worth discussing or believing. after a while you give up on honest connection and just fucking agree, you know?

i know a lot of what i experience emotionally everyone experiences emotionally. yet, not everyone chooses to hurt themselves. not every ends up acting out those creepy things lurking around in the darkness of your self. and i really don’t want to keep pretending i am not genuinely troubled.

if i survey my twenty-two years, i can tell you this sadness did not start a mere two and a half years ago. it started in my childhood. i remember being called a cry-baby at age seven. i remember friends distancing themselves from the overly-emotional and very sensitive child, whose contradictory bouts of wild energy caused teachers to speak privately with my mom and a friend’s mom to say something like “i don’t think you should hang out with zoe”. i remember feeling awkward and uncomfortable and worthless by age nine.

i remember friends in middle school telling me i was too sad too often. one girl told me i was depressed and wanted to drag everyone down with me. which was not true. not true. i just felt a lot and was confused and wanted someone to tell me it would eventually be okay. that i would eventually be okay. after that i shut myself up. stopped spilling the secrets buried in my heart. i stopped thinking i was special enough to be heard. i sealed myself off and learned to play the role of “helpful” despite crying myself to sleep frequently. by the end of middle school, my mom asked me one day if i wanted to “see someone” (a therapist, namely). i ignored the request because there was nothing wrong.

but i remember being angry all the time. i remember crying, hating myself so much. once, i jokingly played with scissors and my wrist. i was only half-joking. (i’ve never said that to anyone)

i cried myself through the first two and a half years of high school. the self-hatred formed in my childhood carried into my teens, multiplied and manifested. i mellowed out a lot my senior year. found a group of friends who loved and accepted me. the next surge electrified me my freshman year of college (makes sense). the crying started up again. the depression.

when i read through old journals, i am struck by the deep sadness written in the pages. part adolescent angst, part deep emotion children don’t regularly feel. the words hurt me now, years later.

of course, i’ve experienced happiness, too. i’ve had numerous happy days. i’ve had a lot of people in my life who love the person i am. i cannot discount any of that. however, the heaviness of my sadness often feels extraordinary.

and totally mystifying.

because i know the extent of beauty in my life. of privledge, of love, of abundance. i want to stress too that i never asked to feel the things i feel. i never asked for the thoughts that make no sense in conjunction with the elements that make up my life.

i understand the saying “you are what you think” but, sometimes, my thoughts do not feel like my own. they creep out of shadows. become a loud sound i can’t drown out with happiness or gratitude or a good fuck. even when life goes right, i still struggle. the heaviness never lifts entirely. sadder still is how well i’ve learned to numb it out, to shrug it off and pretend like all is fine (being vulnerable is hard).

i’ve been trying not to overthink. i’ve been trying to talk myself down. but, you know, it’s like, how long can you pretend you’re okay? i can’t do that to myself anymore, deny reality.

example:

one of the syptoms of bi-polar (II) is racing thoughts, ones that make you keep late hours and develop insomnia (because the brain won’t shut up).

and right now my mind is goinggoingoing. i can’t keep my focus on one thought for very long. my heart is racing, too. i’m all panicky. jittery. i feel like i have so much energy but i haven’t slept properly in three weeks (6 am bedtime last night though i got into bed at 1) and wake up heavy and slow. i don’t really feel like i can breathe well. i’m crying, not crying. yet, i started the day over the moon happy. i wentwentwent all day. i laughed a lot. felt light.

yet.

here i am.

inching closer to midnight, exhausted in theory, but feeling incapable of sleeping.

i wrote this for a variety of reasons.

i wrote this for myself.

i wrote this because it’s okay to own your emotions and thoughts, to acknowledge them as real and worthy of discussing and i needed to prove that to myself.

i wrote this for you, sitting there, lost, unable to explain anything you think or do to anyone, even yourself.

i wrote this to show you’re never alone, even if you think you are.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: now i feel naked. metaphorically speaking.)

(p.p.s: and much lighter. talk about needing to let some stuff out, huh?)

(p.p.p.s: i really need to work on talking to people in my life i can physically touch.)

badvertisements (i’m so clever)

critical thinking comes to me naturally.

(source)
(also: TRUTH.)

if you couldn’t tell.

i ask ‘why’ all the time. i always have. sometimes it gets me in trouble. sometimes it winds up hurting me. sometimes though, it helps in sorting through the bullshit.

like advertising. i am okay with judging the shit out of advertisements. especially those aimed at men, women, weight and appearance. my heart goes fluttery fast whenever i watch television commercials in particular.

like the progresso commercial where a woman calls and speaks with a male chef who, because he is male clearly (clearly) doesn’t care about the customer’s weight loss and the joy she expels. so she asks for a woman, instead. because, obviously, all women turn into dithering piles of giggles and claps whenever one of us loses weight.

or the nutrisystem commercials claiming prepackaged, processed, gnarly foods covered in plastic will help you shed the weight you so-desperately-need-to-lose. maybe it will. but nutrisystem won’t help you develop tools to build a foundation with food not in little boxes. it won’t teach you how to view food as nourishment and as enjoyable. because, for real, boxed food rarely compares to homemade, hand crafted deliciousness.

or how about the workout programs we see in between our shows? the ones showcasing dramatic body transformations? yes, i do believe discovering a healthy weight will increase a person’s confidence as well as health. but no, i don’t think focusing solely on physical appearance as a means to happiness and wholeness is good. it’s superficial. it leaves out the person inside, the one who believes her outsides matter more than the solidity of her character. additionally, what happens when and if you stop the work out regiment? what happens when you lose that “ideal” body and gain your natural one?

or what about proactive commercials? zits are unseemly. be smooth. be clear. be perfect. hide your flaws because they’re offensive.

or, man, the over-the-counter speed pills playing dress up as diet pills?

what the fuck are we selling here?

according to american media, our outsides matter over any other piece of our selves. the size of your waist directly affects the number of friends you have. no one will like you if you’re not thin, wearing straight hair, and a white smile proving your happiness. there is always something to fix. there is always something to improve. we’re never enough.

we’re selling unobtainable ideals. we’re selling body-consciouness and food obsession. we’re selling guilt and shame and depression. we’re selling inauthentic, pitting fake against real.

i am so angry. so frustrated.

because it doesn’t matter how smart you are (i’m pretty smart and i fell for this shit). this type of advertising weasels into all lives. it catches people unguarded. there is a reason western culture breeds eating disorders and self-esteem issues. there is a reason women trade dieting tips like old family recipes and don’t bat an eyelash when a friend complains about her thighs.

what kills me the most is the apathy, the blind acceptance, of the culture we live in. i know people fight against the negativity brought by american media. i know of body acceptance movements and women’s empowerment organizations. but i know intimately the shrugging, the “it is what it is” statements.

during the oscars my aunt kept referring to the “fat lady in the background”. pointing at the screen, at her, like some displaced wild animal in the zoo of perfection. my dad joined in eventually. i simmered. i bubbled. until, eventually, i boiled over, almost yelling as i spilled, “can we not call her fat? she’s a person, in a dress. she’s a person.”

it kills me how easily we attack one another and ourselves. how we judge without reason. how we build self-worth from the surface and stop there.

i encourage you to start asking questions. to start seeing the not-so-subtle messages tucked between dippy dialogue and uppity commercial jingles. further more, i encourage you to share your opinion, even if others think you’re nuts (e.g: my parents think i’m crazy every time i spout off at the t.v.). because, whether american would like to acknowledge it or not, some malicious force is sinking into our conscious. this isn’t okay anymore. this wasn’t okay, ever.

imagine a world in which depression, anxiety, body-shame, and self-esteem were not the biggest personal issues our culture faced. imagine if we started to consider our character, if we started to measure our worth in how much we loved, how much kindness we shared? what would we look like, then?

we have more power than we think. this doesn’t have to be forever “it is what it is”.

this doesn’t have to be shrugged off anymore if we don’t want it to be.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: ironically, i post this the week after nation eating disorder week. yeah. i would)

(p.p.s: i know it’s music monday but i wrote this last night and am still pretty fired up so. music later. and really, does anyone care? eh.).

music monday + monday lessons

mmm monday.

(san francisco on saturday on random street walks with my friend)

a light breeze, fat clouds, sunshine kind of monday.

i woke up intending to work out the whole day because i ate cake last night and militant, dictator zoe ordered it to be done. under strict authority, i laced up tennis shoes after i slipped out of my sheets and dreamy early morning haze. i skipped breakfast too for good measure. funny how plans figure their way out, though.

because the television spazzed out. and my brother came home sick from school. and my stomach grumbled loudly. and i picked up a pen and undid my tennis shoes. and i wrote into my journal. and i realized: “i still think my weight matters in the measure of happiness. so i still chase it as being the problem of all my problems” (journal quotes). silly anxious and negative self. it’s just cake, not the devil. calm yourself.

so i ate some breakfast, ate some more cake, laced up my tennis shoes, and took the walk i actually wanted. i listened to two pod-casts, did some yoga in the park under the sun, felt the grass beneath my feet. three or so hours later i am home, rested and happy and not thinking about that cake from last night or the cake from earlier. just how awesome my legs feel and how settled my heart is in my chest.

and how awesome this song is.

because i am in love with bon iver.

and mondays, for that matter.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: please don’t steal my photos. thanks!)

self-love sunday

i am writing this out of pure sadness and honesty.

(creepy window i photographed on haight street a few weeks ago)

i’ll start here: i don’t know what to do anymore.

i don’t know who to talk to or what to say. i don’t know how to stop cycling. i don’t know how to live in positivity.

parts of me wonder if i don’t know how to do this because i keep telling myself i can’t. then another part of me doesn’t get how i can’t because i want to be different so badly. then i just feel more lost and more confused.

friends keep telling me to just drop it, just move on, just live my fucking life. i want to. i want to with every fiber of my being. i want to love and be loved. i want to treat myself well. i want to release all my anger and resentment. i want to bath in the light of life, not sink into its darkness. but…I DON’T KNOW HOW (i cannot, cannot, cannot express this more. if we were together, in person, i might be screaming this).

i keep asking myself, how did i end up here? how did the younger me, the one who said “i have too much self-respect to starve myself and throw up”, the one who laughed all the time and didn’t take herself so god damn seriously, the one who was fiery and opinionated and talkative — what happened to her? sure, i was an insecure kid. always insecure. but i never used to let it wind up hurting me like its been hurting me for almost two and a half years. (it’s not a lifetime but two and a half years is a lot of time. it’s time i won’t get back and it’s time i could have spent appreciating all the goodness in my life as opposed to all the bleakness).

i’ve forgotten how to feel. physically, emotionally. in yoga, during shavansana, instuctors will ask you to feel your connection to the earth. i can never feel the lower half of my body. my legs feel like nothing. when i want to cry, nothing comes out. if tears do run, they feel crocadile-like: forced. i am paralyzed.

i have so many dreams. so many wants. but some fucking sick monster has me by the ankles and won’t let me float away. i’m afraid that monster is me. and i’m not letting life into my life. just sorrow, fear, and crippling indecision.

i am, for lack of a better description, a lost little girl. i do not feel twenty-two (but, then again, how are twenty-two year olds supposed to feel?). i feel like a dependent, overly-sensitive five-year-old nuisance.

maybe that’s the problem in and of itself.

so. tell me. please, before i explode: how do YOU “let go”?

namaste

zoe

(p.s: just in case you were wondering, self-love was not had this week. just a lot of internal battles in this forever war. and a lot of losing. I AM REACHING MY PERSONAL BOILING POINT.)

resettling

unhappy waves returned.

(a san francisco sunset the other day.)

a few days ago, actually. the high of the early year left my system. reality plucked me up by the head and dropped me on me ass. just to say, “yes, all this shit is still here, and yes, you still need to deal with it.” well, universe, i hear you.

though i feel better today, i am still aware of how delicate this space is. i am still working out balancing, releasing, and moving forward. i am still managing my anxiety too which, honestly, can be a huge battle (one i never really discuss here). to tell you the truth, the past few days saw very little self-love. i definitely back slid a little bit. poor choices made out of the depths of self-doubt served me no purpose, except to unhinge me.

i think though, we all need to be unhinged from time to time. someone is asking you to really consider your reactions. each time i am presented with a difficulty, whether it be an emotion or a situation, i am challenged to respond from a place of self-compassion. as a life-long self-hater, responding gently is not easy. at all. but the fact that i am aware of what triggers me and of how i naturally react allows me to slow down, breathe, and consider my options. i no longer feel like a roaring, whirling hurricane of emotion hellbent on destroying my sanity. one bad day will not offset the rest of my week or the rest of my month anymore. though i fucked up yesterday (really) i love myself enough to be well today. i am not shrugging and telling myself “what’s the use?” i am shrugging and telling myself “that was yesterday, this is today.” every moments offers you a new step in a positive direction.

the more i stumble into hard to swallow emotional situations, the more i see how old habits no longer suit me. i find my body asking for things like yoga, bubble baths, and long walks. and music. somuchmusic. frantic moments don’t leave me standing in front of an open fridge or hunched over a bag of this or a carton of that. i am recreating myself, mindful moment by mindful moment. i am reentering my body, reorienting myself with the space i occupy (who knew it was so hard to feel your body! seriously though.). i am taking control of the things i can control and releasing the idea of controlling the things i cannot control (like the future, outcomes, and expectations.).

this isn’t easy. but this is the work i need to do right now. if i am not centered and okay with myself, i am anxious, critical, edgy, and rash with other people. before i move forward with relationships or big moves or achieving dreams, i first need to deal with myself. i don’t know how long this is going to take but i know that patience is on my side. no matter how dark some days get around here, there is always a light i can focus on. considering how lost i used to be in my tunnel of darkness, i am pretty satisfied with the occasional dimly light day. because i know it’s just that: occasional.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: i totally finished putting together my space last night. best hippie den yet! it’s comfortable, relaxing, and sort of like a little retreat for me. isn’t that what personal spaces are supposed to be? i am trying to take care of the space around me, as i am a firm believer in how much your outer space reflects your inner space. calm and collected = neat and organized. crazy and whirring = messy as all hell.

what you don’t see: john lennon on the back of my door. a wall full of hats. a treadmill (bleh, no where else to put it. it found its home in my room when i left for college). a dresser with a tv (not used. will use for treadmill walks once it starts raining). another tapestry. my jewelry holder. different colored walls. yup. it’s shaping up to be the best room i’ve ever lived in. i love decorating!)

(p.p.s: THANK YOU for the responses yesterday. sososo appreciated. you all are the best. just so you know )

2012 so far

2012 already possesses an energy so unlike 2011.

2011 seemed to carry with it a lot of struggle. nearly every friend i spoke to regarding last year agreed — 2011 tested the limits of our selves. emotional battles were fought. mental hurdles were stumbled over. spiritual patience was tested. everyone i talked to about 2011 appreciated the growth only difficulties can bring, but everyone i talked to is also so ready to move on.

yesterday i had my first therapy appointment in about a month. i discussed with my therapist my current frame of mine. right now, i am really happy. however, i am grounded enough to not disregard the eventual downturn of happy energy. life will always dip down again, no matter how much you attempt to control it. i explained to her that right now, i am not residing in one emotional extreme or the other. rather, i am settled comfortably between the two. i am not jittery happy nor am i numbingly sad. i am balanced, open, and observing. i am accepting of the bad as much as i am the good — i am accepting all facets of life.

the idea of running into unhappiness used to scare me, mainly because i never knew how to deal with the depths of my sadness. i never wanted to feel depression so i fought against it instead of simply accepting it as a natural aspect of every person’s life. the funny thing is, we rarely fight against happiness. yet, we rage against sadness. maybe because sadness peels back our layers to reveal ultimate truths we deem ourselves too fragile to look deeply into. maybe because we see sadness like a cloud, blocking out all the light in our lives. maybe because feeling low cannot compare to feeling high.

but what if we treated life’s depressive points as lessons? honestly, i learned and continue to learn more in my darkest moments. the more i explore objectively the sadness curled up inside, the more i release. 2012 already represents to me a year of letting go, of shifting and changing, of embracing and understanding. i am no longer trembling in anticipation of unhappiness.

i feel it already, this transition. in relationships, in thoughts, in my body. the other day, while posted up in pigeon and breathing ever so deeply, tension slipped out of my right hip, like someone pulled a thread and unraveled a few layers of stitching. it was a complete physical experience, one that totally elated me. additionally, i no longer look at myself and see problems. instead, i see myself truly, happily, without the transparent image of an unrealistic woman clouding my vision. i am not obsessive, controlling, or negative in thought. i am treating myself well on the food front, too. it’s been well over a month since i last binged and well over two months since i last purged. intuition seems to guide me through every meal and i feel calm around food. it feels right to treat myself well. it feels effortless in this moment to do so.

right now, the energy surrounding me feels reassuring. i am moving towards something bigger and greater than myself. i am supported, protected, and provided for. i am trusting, believing, relaxing, and moving on.

truly.

how does 2012 feel so far to you? any different than 2011?

namaste

zoe

(p.s: i cannot get enough of this song…!

turnitupturnitupturnitup! and dance around, if you’re so inclined )

a new year

i am so ready to wrap 2011 up in a box and shelve it.

(source)
2011, in summation, has a one word description: struggle.

in 2011 i:
got cheated on
gained back all the weight i lost plus more
developed a binge eating problem
developed bulimia in response to said bingeing problem
self-harmed
fell into a deep depression
got sick more than i did in the past two years

in 2011 i:
found myself again
fell in love with life again
crawled out of the darkness
started seeing a therapist
started feeling and processing my emotions
started eating meat again (!)
broke out of my restrictive eating habits
broke out of my exercise compulsion
went deeper into my yoga practice
learned how to balance again (literally and figuratively)
made beautiful, solid friendships
got out of my comfort zone (hello, burning man!)
found my soul on the dance floor

i never laughed and cried so much in one year. i never felt more inspired and more stuck. i never felt more confident and more uncomfortable. talk about a crazy emotional, crazy hectic — just crazy period — year.

though i’m definitely not one to make new years resolutions, i somehow decided to make one last year. looking at it makes me smile. in only 12 short months so much has changed…

(last year’s list)
GO DEEPER INTO MY YOGA PRACTICE (already happening!)
START AND COMPLETE MY FIRST 200 HOURS OF YOGA SCHOOL
GO TO CULINARY SCHOOL
GET MY TATTOO (making the appointment tomorrow, actually!)
RUN A HALF MARATHON
RUN A MARATHON
COOK AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE
FINISH THE NOVEL I STARTED THIS PAST SEMESTER
CUT WHITE SUGAR OUT OF MY DIET COMPLETELy (seriously you guys, this shit just does not jive with me and i kind of need to accept it.)
ATTEND COUNSELING UNTIL I FEEL STRONG ENOUGH TO STAND ON MY OWN
LOVE MYSELF. COMPLETELY.

in review, how did i expect to accomplish any of that in one year! what a ridiculous set up for ultimate failure! i went deeper in my yoga practice and totally garnered a bottomless self-love. i cooked, but not as much as i hoped. about the only other thing i accomplished on that list was seeing a counselor. still happening! but me? running a marathon and a half marathon? whaaaaat a flippin’ joke!

this year, i have much more simple goals…

continue on my path of wellness
continue on my journey of self-love
continue to deepen my yoga practice
continue with therapy
go back to school for naturopathic medicine
read a little more
write a little more
step back from the screen a lot more
play around with and learn my camera more
say ‘yes‘ to everything i can manage, especially those things that scare me the most
laugh more
love more
play more
cook more
reach a natural, healthy weight

in the past few years i feel like i started every year by saying “this year is going to be a good year.” in my heart of hearts though, i know i never really believed it. i lived with too much foreboding, too much sadness, too much hatred to ever really believe it.

this year though…

this year is going to be the year i’ve been waiting for. i can feel it. for real this time.

do you make new years resolutions? did you accomplish any this year? what are yours for this coming year, if you make them?

namaste

zoe

ch-ch-ch-chaaaanges

so much to say.

so, so much.

almost too much. because now i am sitting here trying to hammer it all out at once. which can be overwhelming. i guess i’ll just come out with it. explanations can come later, right?

change is coming. change is here:

i put in my two weeks at REI yesterday.
i am moving home, to my parents, in two weeks.

and if that wasn’t enough:

i am (hopefully) starting summer school courses ’round june.

because i am:

(hopefully) attempting to have a stab at naturopathy medicine.

you see, a few weeks ago i cracked open a book my mama picked up for me at the library (dig this gig) in an attempt to steer me toward a more solid career path. and nevermind the fact i opened it up the day before it was due. in it, i read up on jobs in medicine. i never knew naturopathy existed — i only know i believe in and love natural, preventative medicine. i’ve always known i love caring for people and i’ve always known how much i’ve wanted to help people (i loved when i was 19 and told everyone i was going to become a social service worker and everyone told me “there’s no money in that!”.) putting together something i love and believe in with my career dreams and goals felt magical. i then promptly called my mom and told her thanks for the book.

additionally, about two days ago a very close, very pragmatic friend and i shared a conversation. i tend to get so lost in decisions and indecision that i require an outsiders perspective to sort me out. my very close friend is usually one of the ones to pull me out of my own mess. basically, we talked at length about my struggles. she urged me to move home. and, to be honest, my intuition has been screaming at me to go home for months upon months upon months. when i first started to fall apart i should have gone home. my gut told me so. when i needed support and protection in my most vulnerable moment, i did not move toward support and protection. i am fortunate enough to have two unbelievably supportive, loving, understand, compassionate parents. it’s time i listen to my self. home will be grounding, centering, and rebuilding. creepier still? my tarot cards told me to go home, too. so i am. in two weeks time i will be in my old bedroom, the one i slept in from seven to seventeen. it will be challenging almost as much as it will be rewarding.

i quit my job because i felt no connection to it anymore. i felt under appreciated and like “just another vest” (it was silly of me to think i would be anything else. retail is retail is retail.). which sucks, because i will miss a few people. i will miss a lot of people, actually. but i can’t work right now, not when my head is still a mess and my needs are continually not being met. so for the first month i am home, i will not be working. i plan on joining a yoga studio and yoga-ing my heart out. i plan on cooking daily for my family. i plan on writing, doing arts and crafts, and enjoying health. i plan on feeling supported and protected.

i’m incredibly excited. i feel like i am finally leaving this chapter of my life behind and starting the one i’ve been wanting to write for a year.

oh, and just cause this has been random enough:

i ate chocolate-banana pancakes today with coconut cream. #bestwaytostartoffathursdayever.

namaste

zoe

sixteen hours alone

last week shook me off the tight rope.

(source)
the weirdness started on wednesday. i woke up thinly veiled in sadness. i spent the majority of the day working my mind around the reasons why. nothing really came up. i got frustrated and panicky and desperate.

soo i up and drove eight some odd hours to san diego to stay the weekend with my best friend. it was a much needed get away. much.

unfortunately, i’m still sad. but. now i know why.

eight hours there and eight hours back gave me a lot of time to think and sing really loudly and really obnoxiously. something like sixteen or so hours. i thought some funny thoughts. some sorrowful thoughts. weird thoughts. insightful thoughts.

the insightful thoughts are what i want to share. i spent a lot of time working over my emotions. the full moon fucked with some energy. PMS too (you guys. i cycled up with the moon cycle. wtf?) also, recently, the urge to binge has returned. the effortlessness of the past month and a half stalled, easy happiness right along with with it. i understand happiness cannot be constant (in fact, i don’t think it should be. that’s a thought for later.). however, the lack of enthusiasm and the sinking sadness are way too familiar and kind of scare me. troublesome thoughts that kind of scare me float into my consciousness sometimes now. that tightness is back, the one where it feel like i am a step away from the edge of some terrible uncontrollable, unknown. it’s like i’m hunkering down for the next storm.

the truth is this: i did not treat myself well last week. at all. far too little movement despite my body’s asking for it. far too many indulgences. far too many “steps back”. as a result, i am jumpy, unsettled, confused, and totally scared (on top of scared and deeply frustrated).

on the ride home today, i kept thinking about my body. some days i don’t feel it, but today i felt it. i still feel it. all the extra weight. all the emotion i am holding onto. often when i think about my body, i get angry. i get sad. i get weepy reminiscent. thinking about my body always triggers the urge to binge. i am so caught up in body-hatred sometimes. it stresses me out. i am tired of thinking about my body. i am tired of keeping tabs on it. i am tired of not trusting my intuition. i am tired of being angry, of continually fighting an impossible war.

then, a follow up thought:

I AM NOT MAD AT MY BODY: I AM MAD AT WHAT I DID TO IT. WHAT I DID TO IT. I AM MAD AT MY SELF.

you guys.

this is big. (for me anyway).

my therapist likes to tell me the body is neutral, that it reacts to your actions. it didn’t do anything but listen to you. you guys, why am i fighting myself? why am i continually choosing to hurt my body and my self? quite clearly, i am holding onto my past and punishing myself. i am sad i allowed myself to gain so much weight. i’m angry i lost all any sort of control. i’m frustrated and keep taking it out on myself.

i think that, in order to move forward, i need to truly forgive myself. i need to accept that what happened, happened, that every thing i am mad at already happened and i can’t change it. not a single thing. i need to meet myself where i am, now, and not where i dream to be (i don’t know that woman’s needs because i am not that woman. i only know the woman i am, right now). really though, i need to forgive me, just like i might forgive a friend who unintentionally hurt me. i need to stop being so hard on myself and be instead unbelievably kind. it’s time i relax. release. and move on.

this is going to be hard.

namaste

zoe

(p.s: always feel free to weigh in. i am a fan of honest feedback. it’s like a different perspective i can’t see, you know?)