Enough

“It’s good enough just being me.”

There may only be a handful of people who remember that Elder Hales spoke those words at a normal, regular Sacrament Meeting in the Holladay 29^th Ward many years ago. (Normal, aside from the fact that a member of the Quorum of the Twelve was speaking to us!) His words had a big impact on me.

This was one of two messages that stood out to me*. Mostly because I didn’t expect an Apostle to be preaching self-acceptance; if anything, I would have expected a message on charity, or selfless service to others, or sacrificing yourself for the sake of others, etc. But his message was, essentially, love yourself.

And this wasn’t just a message, it was instruction. He instructed us to go home that day, look at ourselves in a mirror and say, “it’s good enough just being me.” I felt that I needed to take his counsel. I went home, as instructed. I stood in front of the mirror, as instructed (I’m already feeling uncomfortable at this point). I look at myself, but not in the eyes, and I hear Elder Hales’ voice in my head, telling me what to say, and… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t voice the words that were echoing through my mind. I just couldn’t say it. And I was so disappointed in myself – ashamed, actually.

I couldn’t say those words, because I didn’t believe them. The idea, the concept, was foreign to me. I had tried the experiment in the hopes that by saying it out loud it would help me believe it, but when it came to the actual moment, I couldn’t do it. It felt too false and I didn’t want to voice a lie.

It is many years later, now, and I have learned many things since that time. I have learned that I grew up in a shaming environment. (Side Note: I don’t want you read the word “shame” and hear “bad,” “unloving,” “harsh,” etc. My parents were loving and generous and made enormous sacrifices for our happiness. We did have many, many good times. But in spite of their good intentions, the nature of our interpersonal interactions had the effect of instilling shame in me; unintentionally, certainly, but constantly there, just the same.)

For those who may not really know the difference between guilt and shame, it boils down to this. Guilt says, “I did something bad.” Shame says, “I am bad.”

Shame is concrete. Heavy. Immutable. Immovable. Shame is like a virus on identity, it hijacks it and starts replicating itself, producing more and more until the whole system is overwhelmed, ultimately altering identity. It can lead to breakdown, as in illness, or in some cases, it does lead to death, typically suicide. Shame can become so pervasive that it seems that the only way out from under it, is to destroy the self completely - annihilate the self, altogether. At least, that’s how it felt for me.

Shame became a source of fear. I never felt safe. Shame became a foggy, fun-house mirror. I could never see myself clearly. When I did look in the mirror, what I saw was someone who was ugly; someone deserving of punishment and suffering; someone who was worthless. Someone who was never enough.

I suppose, to be fair, there are lots of reasons why someone might feel like they are “not enough,” but for me, it was shame. So when I tried to follow a prophet’s counsel that day, the reason I couldn’t speak those words was because, when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was shame. I KNEW I wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t just a thought, or a feeling, or a suspicion, or even a belief, it was knowledge – certain, factual knowledge – that I wasn’t good enough. You know what’s really interesting? I don’t even know what I “wasn’t enough” for! If you had asked me, “what is it you’re not good enough for?” I would have looked at you with a dumbfounded, blank stare. “I don’t know... life?” I might’ve said. But that’s kind of why “not good enough” can seem so powerful, because it’s all encompassing. It can apply to anything. Oh, you like to paint? You’re not good enough to be a real artist. Oh, you like to sing? You’re not good enough to be a professional singer. (Heck, you’re not even good enough to sing in the shower, let alone in front of other people.) Oh, you actually like school? You’re not smart enough to get straight A’s like everyone else does. Oh, you like to be active? You’re REALLY not good enough to deserve being thin and athletic. And so on and so on…

But I told myself, there IS a way to be enough, isn’t there? I mean, there just HAS to be. Wait - I know! “Perfection.” (You see where I’m going with this?) If I could just be perfect and not EVER mess up or make a mistake, if I were perfect, then I would be good enough, then I would measure up, then I would be successful and happy and have no trials…, and all the other lies that go along with “being perfect.”

Because for all of us mortals currently kickin’ it here on Earth, perfection isn’t realistic. Earth life IS a place for us to perform, but it is not the “performance” state, it is the “preparatory” state. Essentially, life is one big practice round where we are learning to eventually become perfect one day, long into the future. (Bodies are weird; we need time to learn how to deal with them!) Yet I act like this dress rehearsal is the last game of the season and if I mess up, I’m toast. (Yes, I know I’m mixing metaphors; oh look, another imperfection…!)

The other problem with perfection? Besides not being attainable in this life? I have the idea that it seems to carry the promise of relief. Perfect people don’t have trials, or pain, right? I mean, they’re perfect, so nothing bothers them or gets to them; they never get overwhelmed or frustrated or angry. Life for perfect people is blissfully happy and serene, right? Isn’t that ultimate peace/relief? No pain, no trials, no burdens… no shame? All for the price of just being perfect; just being good enough.

That’s the dynamic that keeps me in a shame loop: Perfection is the antidote to shame, so I try to be perfect. But because I’m a “not perfect” human, I mess up and when I mess up I feel shame for not being perfect, but I know that being perfect will cure the shame because then I won’t have anything to be ashamed of, so I try to be perfect, only to mess up, shame myself and so on and so forth.

But every argument is based on suppositions and I’ve got some doozies here that are quite false. For example, the idea that perfection means the removal of trials/pain. The Savior was the most perfect person to ever walk the earth, and not only was he not spared from experiencing pain, he was actually made to endure a pain that is unfathomable by man. The most perfect man suffered the greatest pain - ever. Also, there is scriptural support for the idea that God, our Heavenly Father (and the Savior), feels sorrow, sadness, jealousy, anger, wrath even. I mean, come on – seriously, wrath? I don’t think I’ve ever felt wrath. But apparently He does, and He IS perfect. So even if I could be perfect, it wouldn’t relieve me of feeling pain and sorrow.

One might throw in a valid objection here, “…but aside from being capable of feeling sorrow, being perfect means you don’t have to worry about having done anything to feel ashamed of.”And you’d be right. Which leads me to a harsh truth – you ARE going to do things wrong. You aren’t going to do things perfectly because you can’t – you are human and flawed and fallible, and it’s okay!! Heavenly Father allowed you to be this way for a reason. If he wanted you to BE perfect right now, He would make you perfect right now. Because of all these things, the “harsh reality truth” is that, when it comes to perfection you’re best isn’t good enough, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t good enough.

So what does it mean?

I think it means this: you came here to learn how to be perfect, but, much like learning to play an instrument (or a sport or any new skill for that matter), you have to make a lot of wrong notes in order to learn how to play the right ones. With ongoing, long-term, consistent practice, eventually, you learn to play all the right notes, to play it perfectly, but playing it perfectly doesn’t make you any more important or worthy than you already were while you were practicing, it just means you’ve improved your ability in that skill. This life is all about learning to be perfect one day (i.e., through practice) and not to be perfect right now.

There is also the false assumption that perfection equals protection. This is the idea that if I’m good enough, i.e., perfect, I will be protected from having bad things happen to me. I mean, don’t we read that in the scriptures? That when His people are faithful the Lord lightens their burdens so that they can’t feel them? By that definition alone, I’ve never been good enough. I have burdens!! And I feel them!! Far from being removed, they haven’t been lightened (that I’m aware of). I mean how can you go through life, feeling occasionally suicidal and still believe that your burdens have been “lightened?” You can’t! At least, I can’t anyway. But much like feeling “bad” things, perfection, even if I had it, wouldn’t protect me from bad things happening. The Lord may have lightened burdens for his faithful people, but they were still in bondage… Being perfect didn’t protect the Savior from ridicule, hatred and scorn. It didn’t protect him from being crucified.

So it starts to feel hopeless. If being perfect doesn’t prevent bad things from happening, what’s the point of trying? The point is, we were meant to grow to be like our Father in Heaven – some day. Meaning, perfection IS attainable, but it has to be learned and learning takes… you guessed it – trial and error. You may not be good enough to be perfect right now, but you are good enough to be learning how to be perfect some day.

Maybe this is, in part, why President Boyd K. Packer said:

“It was meant to be that life would be a challenge. To suffer some anxiety, some depression, some disappointment, even some failure is normal. Teach our members that if they have a good, miserable day once in a while, or several in a row, to stand steady and face them. Things will straighten out. There is great purpose in our struggle in life” (That All May Be Edified [1982], 94, emphasis added).

I guess my point is this: My best isn’t good enough to be perfect, but it is good enough for just about everything else. In other words, for right now, “it’s good enough just being me.”

*The other message was how strengths can also be weaknesses, which kind of blew my mind, but more on that another time.

Mid-Singles conference and the Strange Chick

So I recently got roped into attended a Mid-Single's Conference here in the Tri-Cities. My first Mid-Single's Conference. Ever.

I have to be honest, I had a good time. I was spiritually fed, met some really great people and came away with some fun memories, like meeting the Strange Chick...

While a friend and I waited in line for lunch a Strange Chick came up behind us:
Me: "Hi ______." (Read her name on her name tag.)
Strange Chick: "Hi." Looks at my name tag.
Pauses, like she's thinking.
Holds up a finger for a second and walks away.
Comes back a second later, scrolling through messages on her smartphone.
Looks up at me.
Reaches out and gives me a great big hug.
Me: "Thank you...?" (In my mind I'm thinking, 'that just happened...')
Strange Chick: "Our mutual friend, David Smiley says (looks down at her phone), 'when you see Micah, give him a great big hug from me.' "
Me: "Who's David Smiley?"


We survived the awkward pause, and then laughed.

Then I made her hug my friend.

Turns out, she wasn't really that strange after all. And I got a great story out my first ever Mid-Single's Conference. Ever.

Time for a little blog update...

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Facing my fears (or Swimming without the devil...)

I faced a fear the other day - I walked into the Columbia River and went for a swim.

Strange to sum up such a momentous occurrence so simply, but there it is.

There is a narrow strip of land that connects Bateman Island to the shore, so it is quite possible to "walk" to the island, which I did. At the far end are a few small stony beaches. I picked one and when I got to the edge of the water I just kept walking. Nearby were several geese, who became very alert at my presence and once they realized I wasn't leaving, all swam out in a line toward another small island further away. Sorry, geese!

It was a strange sensation. As I walked into the river, the water was warm on the surface and colder as it got deeper. There were thousands of little bubbles that floated up from my shoes with each footstep that tickled the hairs on my legs. As I got to waist-deep water, I began to feel lighter, as the water was beginning to carry my weight. I stayed there, for a bit, questioning why I was there and what I was about to do. When I woke up that morning, I had no intention of swimming in the Columbia River. The idea just came to me on a whim and I did it. It felt like a good day for facing fears, I guess.

I watched the fishermen and boaters for awhile. I watched the ripples and waves that formed from the natural river currents, the wind, and the speed-boaters pulling water-skiers in the distance. Where I stood was actually the meeting of two rivers - the Yakima and the Columbia. The location I was at didn't have strong undercurrents this close to shore, however, so I felt this was a good place to "get back" into the water.

I walked a little further. When the water got up to my shoulders I felt the weight of the water on my chest, making it hard to breath. My footholds were less and less secure as I bobbed more and more with the gentle waves rolling past me. Was I really doing this? Wasn't this far enough and maybe I shouldn't push my luck and just head back to shore already? Did I really have anything to prove here? I was alone after all. What if something did happen and I couldn't get help? Was I tempting fate, or worse... the devil? All of these fears and doubts pressed upon me more acutely than the water pressing on my chest, or perhaps, they somehow coincided.

The thought that I was tempting the devil may not make sense at first. But there's a reason I have a fear of the water.

When I was about nine or ten years old, my family went to a rec center to swim. That was unusual in and of itself, first, because we rarely went swimming as a family, and second, because if I recall, it was a weekday or at least some "off" day when there virtually no other people there. Although I had had some minor scares swimming in the past, they weren't too serious and I was actually looking forward to practicing what little swimming I had learned.

At one point I found myself nearing the deep end, holding on to the edge of the pool because I wasn't nearly tall enough to reach the bottom. I looked around. Deserted. No one was anywhere close to me. I let go of the side and doggy-paddled for a bit to tread water before practicing kicking. That's when someone grabbed my legs just above the ankles and pulled me down. I had no warning and didn't take in enough air. My arms were flailing, trying to bring myself back up to the surface. Instinctively, I suppose, I looked up and opened my eyes. Full of chlorinated water, I couldn't make out any detail, but I could just make out that I was near the surface. In fact, I was so close that my hands could reach out of the water. But in all of my flailing, I wasn't getting any nearer to the surface - I was held fast. I felt the pressure in my face from holding what little breath I had, knowing that any moment I would need to open my mouth to try to breathe - I was losing the fight over the primitive instinct to breathe at all costs.

In my mind, my thoughts turned to Heavenly Father and in desperation I pleaded, "please help me." Immediately my legs were freed and I felt myself being pulled up to the surface. I gasped for breath and sputtered, trying to press the water out of my eyes so that I could look around to see who had done that. I figured that someone had swam over to me without my seeing them and played a trick on me. But as my vision cleared, I looked around and saw no one. Not even someone swimming nearby under the water.

I suppose I was in shock for a while. I pretended like it hadn't happened. I didn't know how to explain what'd just happened. But I clung to the edge of the pool for dear life and worked my way over to the very, very shallow end and stayed there the rest of the time. I vowed I would never go back. As it turned out, there were two times I did get back into the water, once at a young men's activity and once while at a scout camp. Both times I was injured and could have drowned.

Message received Satan - I won't ever go swimming again.

Until recently, I guess. I've been working on changing my beliefs about myself and what I think I'm worth or capable of. This just felt like one more way to challenge old beliefs and fears. As if to say to myself, "I'm not going to let this get the better of me and I'm not going to live my life in fear, or live my life reacting to fear." And so I found myself standing in the Columbia River, nothing more than just a head, bobbing in the water. Looking westward toward the descending sun and squinting from the sharp reflections off the water's sparkling surface, I pondered which was greater, my fear or my faith.

I took a deep breath, and dove.

The fact that I'm writing this should tell you that I did, in fact, make it out alive. I wasn't there too long and I never went far enough to have my feet leave the bottom, but I did it. I dove and I swam and I conquered. I also learned that swimming is NOT like riding a bike, I quickly realized I had NO idea what I was doing. I probably wasn't even really swimming, I think was more like "nordic-tracking" under water?! Anyway, I could do with a few lessons, is my point, but I still consider it a "win!"

Faith - 1 :: Fear - 0

Life is a game of...

Let me tell you a story. This is a story about you.

You are around 11 years old. You’re sitting with the rest of your class in the gymnasium. It also doubles as the cafeteria, but the tables and benches have been carefully folded and put away and the lacquered floor swept and mopped to its highly reflective sheen. You are nervous and distracted. You are unintentionally eavesdropping on the hushed conversations going on around you, jealous of everyone else’s apparent calm. P.E. is NOT your favorite class. You hate that you are literally the fattest kid in school, let alone your class. You hate that no matter how good you do, you can’t ever keep up with the other kids; they are all faster, stronger, smarter and way more agile than you. You hate P.E. and you hate where you are. You hate the cavernous quality of the gym, where even the slightest sounds echo off the walls, floor and ceiling. You try not to even think too loud for fear that your thoughts will begin to echo around the room. And if it’s so open, why is it so hard to breathe?

You hear the door click and you whip your head around with everyone else, all conversations immediately stopping so that even the silence seems to echo around you. Your senses are sharpening and your breathing increases almost imperceptibly. You watch your 60 year old, past his prime – but probably still more athletic than you give him credit for – P.E. teacher walking in, pulling some gym equipment behind him.  As comprehension of what he’s dragging behind him hits you, you feel like a trap door underneath your stomach has suddenly been released; your heart jumps up into your throat and you are barely aware of how your muscles have tensed up as your heart rate steadily increases. You see that he’s pulling a wire cart loaded with balls - big, red, rubber balls with small hash marks stamped across the surface, increasing their grip, but making them feel rough. Tiny beads of sweat begin to form on your forehead as your thoughts are dominated by the one word that spells your imminent destruction – Dodgeball.

You look around at your class and you see the familiar range of expressions. Some kids are rolling their eyes, as if to say, “dodgeball? again? it’s so boring, don’t you have anything new for us to do?” Some kids are looking around, as if they too are uncertain what to think, apparently apprehensive. And then there’s always one or two kids that are looking around the class with hungry, greedy eyes. They’re already evaluating everyone in the class and deciding who are the easy targets - the weak links. They look at you and they smile an ominous, “grinchy” smile that can’t – and doesn’t – mean anything good. Your anxiety gives way to panic as the blood rushes out of your head into who knows where.

You already know the outcome. Everyone will be gunning for you because you are the easy mark. You stand out no matter where you stand. It doesn’t matter how you turn, there’s ample mass to target. Because you’re fatter than everyone else you’re also slower than everyone else, which means it doesn’t matter if you try to hide behind someone else, they’ll be able to move out of the way faster than you. You know you can’t back up to the wall because the opposing team can still see you and 9 times out of 10 the coach will call you out anyway. You toy with the idea of making a kamikaze play – walking right up to the line with no one else around and just stand there – exposing yourself for the easy target that you are and just wait for the sting of the rubber as multiple balls slam into you like heat seeking missiles.  But exposing yourself hurts more because you know the other kids will be aiming for your head and face, not just your massive gut. Clearly, no one seems to understand that you have feelings. Maybe they think that your extra layer of lard protects you from physical and verbal threats, but it doesn’t; if anything, the opposite is true. Not that they’d care about that anyway. It’s kill or be killed in dodgeball.

All you can do is lumber around in a panic, bracing yourself in fear for that inevitable rubber smack stinging your skin and being “out” for most of the game, i.e., the pathetic loser. Ever since your first game you’ve known that life is like a game of dodgball and you end up in life just where you end up in dodgeball…

The End

Okay, this isn’t a story about you. This is a story about me and it’s actually a true story. This really was my experience and it I share it here to illustrate one thing – fear. While the feelings I felt during dodgeball were clearly amped up, those feelings are and have been constantly with me. I feel that anxiety every day. Every morning I wake up with the panic of not knowing what’s going to “hit” me that day. Being terrified of the uncertainty of what will come, but knowing that something will indeed come – something always comes to knock me down. And while I may not know what it is that’s going to happen, I do know one thing – it’s going to hurt!

I have recently come to understand that I fear pain above all else. In my flawed thinking the presence of pain means that I’m not safe, that something is wrong and that I’m not okay. The condition of not being okay is so painful that I will do just about anything to avoid it – including (as illogical as it sounds) enduring a lesser pain to avoid the greater pain. And what’s even better is being able to “control” that lesser pain to remove uncertainty.  Therefore, I can binge on chips, cookies and other luscious carbs any time I want. It may not make me feel good in the long run (i.e., is the lesser pain), but it satisfies my emotional/physical need to be safe (i.e., avoiding a greater pain). It makes me feel like everything is right and that I’m okay – even if it is just temporary.

The problem is, of course, that this is no way to live. Living this way leads to misery, depression, weight gain and decreased health. It leads to emotional breakdowns as well. These conditions are not how God intended His children to live. It is said that fear is the antithesis of faith and I truly believe that.  My life has reflected more of fear than of faith, which only gives me one more thing to feel bad about! (It’s kind of a bad cycle.)

I’m reading a book called “Self-Compassion” by Kristin Neff, which I highly recommend. One of the points she makes is something she learned from a Buddist teacher, Shinzen Young, that “we can distinguish between the normal pain of life – difficult emotions, physical discomfort, and so on – and actual suffering, which is the mental anguish caused by fighting against the fact that life is sometimes painful.” (pp 93-94) As he taught her, “we can’t avoid pain in life… the key to happiness [is] understanding that suffering is caused by resisting pain.”

The take-away message for me is that the majority of my problems are caused by my resistance to pain and not necessarily the pain itself. I would be much happier if I allowed myself to experience pain WITHOUT interpreting that to mean that “I’m not okay.” The truth is, I can be “in pain” and still be “okay.”

This is supported in the scriptures when Lehi says, “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.” There was no exclusionary clause to this statement. He didn’t say there must be opposition – except for righteous/obedient people, then everything is smooth sailing. He said there MUST be opposition in ALL things. (Must is actually a very strong word here - not “may” be, or “might” be, but MUST.) In other words, it is essential that opposition be present, which means – I’m going to experience pain at times and since I’m supposed to experience pain to some degree, there’s no reason to fear it or resist it (i.e., suffer).

As Jesus said in Matthew 5:45 “…for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.” In other words, no one is exempt.  Of course, a greater understanding of the Atonement leads one to acknowledge that all pains are swallowed up in Christ and, therefore, need not be feared at all.

The irony is not lost on me – how much pain I’ve caused myself by trying to avoid pain. Which is where self-compassion comes in. Offering myself forgiveness and understanding can overcome the guilt I feel for how poorly I treated myself over the years, all as a result of trying to avoid pain. Then acknowledging that pain is inevitable and that’s okay!! The hardest thing for me to do is to “sit” with bad emotions and tell myself that I’m okay. I feel the autonomic response of fight-or-flight kick in and I panic. Since I have nothing to fight, I choose “flight” or avoidance, e.g. drowning my sorrows in a bag of oreos, and the cycle continues.

This process of sitting with bad emotions and still being okay is going to be tough to learn, but I also have hope that it will help me end the cycle of pain I cause myself, that I can be free from fear and that ultimately, I can stop believing that life is a game of dodgeball. 

Happy Mother's Day! (Not every mom is a pop-star!!)

It occurred to me today that I probably post more often about my dad and not quite so much about my mom. So today this is about my mom. (And I know I can say whatever I want because she doesn't read my blog!!!) :)

My mom's life would make a great movie, I think. She's been through quite a lot and accomplished quite a lot and what I love most about her is that her past has never impacted her generosity. She's always giving something away, or buying food for people, or cooking food for people, etc. She's a great example to me of what selfless service means.

I know it's definitely part of her Hispanic heritage, but she's also very spiritual, which has made for some pretty entertaining stories and, I'll be honest, some embarrassing moments with friends. I never quite knew how to deal with seeing the expression on my friend's faces when they'd hear her nonchalantly talking about some heavenly being she either saw or spoke to, like it was common and no big deal (which for her it was/is).

Things haven't always been great between us, but mostly because of me. It was easy for me to misinterpret her behavior due to my lack of maturity/life experience, as well as a lack of understanding her. She's very protective and I often interpreted that as a lack of trust in me. She has a very strong sense of justice and I know I get my "everything has to be black or white" from her because something is either right or wrong, period. That was harmful to me because I would consider my faults and then interpret "myself" as either being right or wrong... and I was always wrong! Hence my need to punish myself for everything!

It's strange to love someone so much who also drives you a little (or a lot!) crazy, but I do love her. Her support and encouragement have meant the world to me!

Tina Neira-Vilches was born in Los Andes, Chile, the youngest of 4 girls. Her mother ran a restaurant and her father was a high ranking military official. When she was 10, her mother died due to complications from diabetes. Her father had several mistresses and was not in a position to care for them, so they lived off and on with relatives, however were mostly orphaned. A year later, when my mom was 11, she met the missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and their message just felt right and as if everything they said just made sense. She often remarked that what they taught was also the way her own mother lived and she felt a connection to her through truly Christ-centered teachings. At the time she was the only member of her family to be baptized. While her sisters soon followed suit, her oldest sister struggled to remain active.

At the age of 12, a friend of hers from school (p.s. my mom's outspoken nature didn't mix well with the strictness of catholic school!), begged her to go with her for moral support while she tried out for a radio contest. My mom didn't want to go, though she was no stranger to singing herself. To her friends chagrin, my mom ended up winning the contest and was awarded a singing contract. She was a pop-star until the age of 17. She wasn't a fan of the lifestyle and didn't feel it was conducive to life in the church, so she ended her short, but memorable career. (She was only kidnapped once and it was by college kids who wanted tickets to her concert, which they got!)

On expressing her desire to come to the United States, one of the missionaries she knew at the time contacted his family and they said they were willing to put her up for a while until she could figure out a more permanent situation. At the age of 18 she embarked on a journey to a completely foreign country and knew no English, that, to me, is true bravery! At any rate, they took her in, fell in love with her and became her family (the only maternal grandparents I knew). The missionary became my uncle! Her new sister, my aunt, was writing to a boy stationed in the army in Germany. He had a friend that didn't "have a girl" to write to and so my mom struck up a correspondence with him. They must have been some great letters, I guess, because he proposed - in a letter; she accepted - in a letter and they didn't actually meet until 10 days before their wedding. (This would be a fairy tale story if they hadn't divorced 22 years later, but such is life and, quite frankly, I'm surprised they lasted as long as they did!)

I suppose life really started for them with their third child, the little boy she had been dreaming of, when I came along! :) In around 1980 her father died, whom, beyond spending a summer or two with him in Vina Del Mar as a teenager, she never really truly reconciled with. In addition to his philandering, he was an alcoholic and abusive to her mother and oldest sisters. She wasn't a big fan of his, to say the least.

When I was about 5 (1983 or so) our family had the chance to visit Chile. It was still very militaristic and she was interrogated at the airport for over an hour about how and why she left Chile. It was terrifying. We didn't know what was happening. The rest of the trip was uneventful as far as that kind of thing, but very memorable in other ways. (To this day I still have nightmares of having my cheek pinched while hearing "Hay, que lindo!" multiple times a day!!)

When my mom came to the U.S. she was a U.S. citizen, end of story. She didn't do much to teach us of her culture. Most of what we knew was that she would occasionally call her sisters on the phone and "talk funny" as well as made food that my friends thought was "weird." Otherwise, we were American and that was that! (Still mad that we didn't learn Spanish when it would have been "easier," but se la vie!)

She's amazing and her life is amazing. I don't know how such an amazing woman turned out such a mediocre son, but I have a great legacy in her faith and fortitude. Love you mom! Happy Mother's Day!

p.s. you can hear some of her music on YouTube if you search for "Tina Vilches" or here is a link to a video of her songs that my sister posted onto YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TR69t3QYmKg

Thou shalt be unhappy...

I feel like I have to prove to the world that I’m worthless. It’s like, that’s how I see myself and nobody else seems to agree; no one else seems to be buying into that idea. Which I really don’t get, because for about seven years, I was made fun of everyday. I’m not exaggerating. I was literally made fun of every single day from, like, 4^th grade until I was a junior in High School. Life was hell. Every day I woke up with a knot in my stomach wondering “where it was going to come from today,” or “who’s going to be making fun of me today?” or “how many people are going to laugh when I break another chair again…?” The message of all the insults, ridicule and bullying was loud and clear – “Micah, you don’t fit in here; you don’t fit in anywhere. You’re fat and disgusting and no one wants anything to do with you. We’d all be better off if we didn’t have to look at you.” And I accepted that. They were right. I WAS fat and disgusting. I knew that. I could see it myself when I looked in the mirror. I agreed with them.

Then, little by little, during my junior year of high school, there were less and less insults. Fewer and fewer people seemed to be interested in teasing me. Maybe they were just bored with it. Or maybe they were “growing up.” The strange thing is, while the insults stopped, the message that I wasn’t acceptable didn’t. Okay, so people were no longer making fun of me outright, but there seemed to be a whole new method of reminding me that I wasn’t worth much. It was typified in conversations that I overheard from girls, mostly. They frequently talked about boys they liked and it was always the thin, athletic, good-looking guys they were fawning over. Okay, message received – girls aren’t into fat guys, got it. Being avoided and excluded can be just as isolating and hurtful as being pointed at and laughed at.

I’m pretty sure part of me is writing this so people will feel sorry for me, which has been my “go to” coping mechanism for quite some time. It’s why/how I became addicted to self-pity. It felt great to say, “See? I’m the victim. I was innocent and the ‘world’ did this to me – so everyone should feel sorry for me and even admire me for what I’ve been through,” as if my suffering has been a nobly endured self-sacrifice. What a load of crap! Basically it was me saying, I was hurt, therefore, I’m not responsible for anything that happens in my life.

But then who’s to blame for all this hurt? Who’s to blame for everything going wrong? Paradoxically - Me. It has to be my fault, because I’m the only one that I can truly punish. I can’t punish my parents. I can’t punish my friends. I can’t punish Heavenly Father. But me? “Me” I can punish. “Me” I can blame. After all, I never would have been made fun of if I had been thin. I would have been one of the guys the girls wanted to be with if I had been athletic and attractive. So it WAS my fault. I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t measure up and I had no one to blame for that but me. “Oh, but you have such a great personality,” people have said. Uh… yeah, sure, whatever. Too bad a good personality wasn’t enough to be acceptable, otherwise why would I have been teased so mercilessly? Clearly, appearances are much more important than people are willing to admit.

So… I learned to be a worthless victim, which helped me to survive, but it also made me miserable. It also led me to establish a pattern of reacting to everything in life with a negative mindset. Life is a series of obstacles that are too hard for me. My focus is always on what I can’t do or why I can’t do it – i.e., making excuses (to stay safe). You see, I learned in church that if something was right, then Heavenly Father would help you by lifting the burden and making it light, i.e., making it easy. So if something in my life was too hard, it meant I was doing something wrong, because I wasn’t receiving help. Or, for whatever reason, I wasn’t deserving of help. And the “I’m worthless…” cycle continued. Made all the more painful at the thought that I have a loving Father in Heaven who doesn’t think I’m worth enough to help.

Of course, nobody likes a wet blanket, so I learned pretty quick to “have the appearance” that everything is okay and not to let anyone know that I’m really suffering. So I became a pretty good liar, for the most part. Fast forward to today when I’ve played my part so well that I’ve completely snowed everyone into thinking that I’m confident and capable.  So much so that people actually treat me that way and it’s just weird. People actually treat me like I’m capable and are even complementary at times. What?!? When did this happen? Don’t we still live in a world where I’m the fat loser that everyone hates and is disgusted by? How is it that the same world that beat me down as a little kid, grew up and now treats me with respect? And what, I’m supposed to just change all that overnight? No way! They hurt me. They can’t just change their minds and say, “oh, so now we think you are pretty awesome and we want you to believe in yourself.” What?!? Excuse me?!? You can’t just change your mind like that. If you’re gonna hate me, then hate me and keep hating me, but don’t hate me for a little bit, then decide that you want to change your mind and start treating me like I’m someone deserving of respect. It’s like the worst joke you can play on someone – make them believe they are one thing, then once they have fully embraced that, make a complete reversal and tell them they’re something else.

There are so many hard things about being in this situation, but one of, if not, THE hardest thing to deal with is what’s going on inside of me. There’s that guy inside of me asking, “okay, so the world is giving you mixed signals – but what do YOU want to believe? Who do YOU want to be?” And right now, I don’t know. I’m struggling to know how to answer those questions. I’ve relied on outside opinions to tell me who I am for so long that I’ve lost the ability to choose that for myself. Or maybe it’s in there somewhere, but just atrophied from lack of use.

I’ve believed for so long that I was meant to be unhappy, as if it were an unspoken commandment meant only for people like me – “…but thou? Thou shalt be unhappy.” “Men are that they might have joy… unless you’re fat, then all bets are off!”

The other thing that’s hard is that I played the victim in order to avoid responsibility, when in reality, I am the only one who can be responsible for me, including being responsible for what I believe. Talk about a cruel irony! Being fat wasn’t/isn’t the problem. Being made fun of wasn’t the problem. Being told I was “worthless” wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I chose to believe it. It was MY choice. No one forced me to internalize that belief. When someone made fun of me, I could just as easily have said, “you’re wrong.” But I didn’t. I was/am far too sensitive. I want people to be happy and I’m willing to “be wrong” if it means making someone else happy to be right. But discounting myself has a cost and I’ve been paying that price my whole life.

I was so busy looking for someone else to tell me that I was okay, that I never learned how to tell myself that I’m okay. And no, Heavenly Father doesn’t help by making things easy, but He does help. And He isn’t up there, sitting His throne, waiting for me to mess up so that he can either punish me or intervene, He’s right here with me, encouraging me and doing all He can, in spite of the limitations I put on Him, to help me. Men ARE that they might have joy, but they also have to have bad days. I don’t think that scripture meant that we should only be feeling joy and if we don’t, then we’re doing something wrong. I think it just means that joy is a worthwhile endeavor – that it’s okay to live in such a way that produces joy. This world was created to hold all the good AND the bad and it was a part of the plan to experience both. Things aren’t hard for me because I’m worthless and undeserving, things are hard because I’m human and mortal. Things aren’t hard because I made some horrible mistake by being born fallible; they are hard because that’s just how it was designed. Just because something is hard, doesn’t mean I’ve done something wrong. And besides, from the very beginning, help was there – promised even.

And there’s no denying that I’ve been helped. There’s no denying that I’m still here. After all the crap I’ve been through and all the times I contemplated being done with this world and my miserable existence, I’m still here. (And trust me when I say that the teasing was a walk in the park compared to some other things I’ve been through, it’s just that the other things are far too personal to share at this point!) I’m learning, I’m changing, I'm messing up sometimes and getting things right sometimes, I have good days and bad days, and so on and so forth, and isn't that what this life is really all about?

Anniversary and I quit!

Today is my dad's Birthday.  I feel bad that I didn't remember until this morning when I woke up. This time of year is hard because my thoughts turn to my dad and our relationship, which was good, then rocky, then good again. Next week, the 11th to be exact, will be the anniversary of his passing (7 years ago!).  It's always a hard time of year - my thoughts and moods are like a pendulum as I swing from things I miss (and things I will miss in the future), to gratitude for the time we had.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

The fact that I hadn't remembered my dad's birthday is only a reflection of how difficult things have been for me recently. Mostly internal struggles about what I want out of life and what I think I'm worth having. I've never been good about putting my needs first - it feels selfish and prideful. But little by litte I'm discovering that a rusty, broken tool is useless. A tool needs to be maintained in order to work effectively. I can't be a benefit to those around me if I'm broken and rusty. I have not been healthy, maybe ever, but certainly more recently. I have found a great career that is service-oriented, but at the expense of my health.

So I've done something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid - and submitted my resignation. I've given 60 days notice so I will be done by the end of April. I will meet the requirements to garner my national certification, which is a milestone I would greatly regret missing. But after that...? I have no back-up plan. I don't even know that I want to continue with Speech-Language Pathology.

I am terrified. I believe I've done the right thing, but I don't know if I have. I worry that I'm being irresponsible, or that I'm making a rash decision, but ultimately, I don't think so. I hope that what I've done is an expression of faith. Faith in myself that it's time to give myself a chance to be healthy, faith that I'm worth it, and faith that I have a loving Father in Heaven who will support me in my decision and will provide for my needs, as well as my health and happiness. Ultimately, I hope that in so doing I will find that I am well enough to be of service to Him.

Happiness

It's been a little over a month since I've been participating in the Precision Nutrition Lean Eating program. It's been an interesting month. I signed up for the program to get some help losing weight (yay! I can finally admit it now!!), but already, what I've gotten is so much more.

The program has really challenged me to look at my habits/lifestyle and question it. Is it healthy? Yes or no. If not, why not and what can I do to change it? It's not just dealing with mechanics of losing weight, it's dealing with me - as a person - and getting (cutting!) to the core of what I believe and why I do what I do. It's not psychotherapy by any means, but some of the insights I've gained have felt like coming out of an intense therapy session. I like that it's focus is on behaviors, as well. Maybe you can't change someone's attitudes, but you can ask them to behave differently and see what happens. That's what this program does.

I have a coach I can contact if I'm having doubts, concerns, or questions, or just not sure how to complete assignments, etc. And he's been really great at getting to the core of what my concerns are and knowing what to suggest to help me along. One (of the many) things he's done for me is to help me understand the nature of happiness a little better. I've often been annoyed stymied by people who say, "happiness is a choice, if you want to be happy, just choose to be happy." Hmmm.... Okay, well, it's not bad advice, nor do I think it's wrong, but for me the question is, if it's just that easy, wouldn't I have done that by now?

My coach had this to say: "Happiness is a tricky one. It's not that we can just sit in a chair, want to become happy, and be happy. Happiness is a side effect that comes and goes in life. It's not something that can be pursued, rather, it ensues based on how we are living."

Related to that, he said that happiness can increase... "When you live according to what you value. If you value your body and health, and you exhibit behaviors that follow suit, that can build self-worth [happiness]."

I think I wasted a lot of time pursuing happiness instead of pursuing a life that generates happiness. I think I just had the wrong priorities because I had the wrong idea about what would bring me happiness. Consequently, true happines has eluded me for most of my life. I still have a way to go on changing my habits and living according to what I value, but at least I feel that I'm on the right track now and that happiness is attainable.

I made it!

Here's some background:

As I sat contemplating my life - what I have versus what I want versus what I think I want, etc., etc., I came to the realization that I wasn't really being honest with myself. In a renewed effort to correct my self-deception, I realized that I would have to do one of the hardest things ever - ask for help. Which also meant being really honest with myself about what I really want out of life.

Two things resulted - one, I submitted my name to an online weightloss coaching program, which is a little pricey and only takes an unspecified number of clients a couple of times per year, in the hopes that I might be accepted on their next go-round. Second result, my previous blog post (My Dirty Little Secret...) where I came shame-facedly clean.

Let me just pause a moment and say,"thank you," to all those who have contacted me and offered support. It means a lot to me that you would reach out to me and it's comforting to know that there's always somebody out there who cares and is able/willing to help. It surprised me how many people have contacted me to tell me that they seem to be able to relate. (I'm constantly amazed when someone else identifies with a struggle I'm having...) I guess we really all are in this together and all the more reason not to be afraid to reach out.

In any case, the program I submitted my name to just opened their registration today and I got a spot! So it's official - I'm in! I made it!! After getting confirmation that I had been accepted I realized just how anxious I had been to be accepted. I have a lot of faith in those who run the program and they guarantee their results 100%. Which means, as long as I follow their directions as well as I can, I'm sure to get some measure of improved health. I really can't even tell you how excited I am to be a part of this program!! I'll include a link to the website in case anyone is interested in learning more about it. It's not just a weightloss program. It's not a diet and not a temporary fix. This program is 12 months long with personalized coaching and advice.

I am so elated right now that I don't what else to say, except that I'm absolutely chuffed. (There, I had to go to the UK to even find the right words!!)

Oh, and I'm scared! But it's not fear that stems from a "fear of failure" this time - which feeling I'm extremely well acquanted with; but it's the "excitement" fear - the fear of uncertainty of the journey, but the confidence that the outcome will be worth it. Does that make sense? Because it doesn't to me; I guess that feeling is just too new.

So here's to the future and to the journey - it's gonna be great!! (Oh! And wish me luck!!)

Wellness Coaching Website:
Precision Nutrition - http://www.precisionnutrition.com/

My dirty little secret…

I’ve been debating for a long time whether or not to share my dirty little secret. I hid this part of me for most of my life, but I’ve felt the need to come clean. Perhaps it’s just the timing of the new year – with constant talk about goals and resolutions, with looking back and looking forward, etc. The last year has been filled with so many changes, and more than its share of challenges, that it’s hard to fathom what this year may bring. One thing I do know – I don’t want to spend another year hiding. So what am I hiding? What’s my dirty little secret…?

I want to lose weight.

That’s it. That’s my dirty little secret. Not what you were expecting me to say? Is that a bit of a let down? It may not seem like such a profound announcement, but in its way, that is one of the hardest things I’ve ever put in writing. Let me explain.

It’s true that I have been overweight most of my life. I can’t recall a time when I was thin, at any rate. I was teased and made fun of; I was looked down on and ridiculed. I was betrayed and hurt by friends and family. I learned at a very young age, that being fat (“different”) was bad and that I was worth less than those who were thin and attractive. I literally didn’t fit in, and the world let me know in so many ways. Under those circumstances, it would be perfectly logical for me to want to lose weight, right? So that I could fit in and feel normal.

On the surface, it wasn’t unusual for me to admit that I was on a diet. I would often remark that I knew I needed to exercise more, or be more active (sometimes I actually tried!). But all of these things were superficial and, ultimately, to please others. I knew what I SHOULD say/do – because being fat is bad/unacceptable and I SHOULD do all I can to lose weight. But deep down, I felt so bad about myself, that I secretly believed I deserved to be fat and all the bad things that went with it. So, publicly, I kept up the façade. Privately, I was dying of desperation. It is a nightmarish reality to live a life wanting something that is ultimately good, but denying yourself because you think you don’t deserve it.

I guess what it boils down to is that I’ve been too embarrassed to admit that I want to lose weight, because I’m so ashamed of being overweight. Admitting that I desperately want to lose weight is admitting how unhappy I am this way; how unhappy I’ve been for a long time. Making the admission public is also passing a point of no return. If I say this out loud, that “I want to lose weight,” then there’s no going back. People are going to ask, “how’s it going with the weight loss thing?” They’re going to EXPECT me to lose weight and what happens if I don’t? What happens if I fail miserably and don’t lose any weight? Then every time someone asks me about it, I’m going to feel like a failure. I’m only going to be reminded of how disappointed I am in myself; especially how disappointed I am in myself for making poor lifestyle choices that keep me overweight.

People are going to look down on me and I’m going to hear that little voice in the back of my head that says, “see, I knew you couldn’t do it.” Then I’m just going to go on being ashamed and disappointed. Then there’s the condescending voice that says “oh, you want to lose weight? Yeah, good luck with that. You could work out for 8 hours a day and it still wouldn’t make a dent, but if you want to put in your 30 minutes of walking, you go right ahead. Just don’t be surprised when nothing happens because it’s not nearly going to be enough…” and so on. And I haven’t really even addressed shame yet! I’m ashamed of wanting to do something selfish. I’m ashamed of putting myself first. I’m ashamed of taking care of myself physically because I think anything physical is temporary and not what the Lord wants me to focus on. (Can someone help me out with making sense of “self-care vs. putting God first,” because this is still a hard one for me?) Another barrier was the feeling that I HAD to lose weight just to be acceptable or to have any worth. Which I know now is a lie, but for most of my life, this was true. The popular kids were thin and athletic. The people who got invited to parties and had tons of friends were thin and attractive.

With all those negative connotations, is it any wonder that I haven’t wanted to verbalize just how much I want to lose weight?  (If you can relate to any of this, then maybe you can see why it was so hard for me to openly admit that I want to lose weight.)

Maybe this year isn’t really about weight loss, so much as being honest with myself.  Maybe the thing I want from 2014 is to stop living according to what I think other people think I should do or want. Or maybe it’s about finally having the humility (courage?) to admit that I need help and to actually reach out and ask for it. (I know it’s a guy thing, but asking for help is quite possibly the hardest thing for me to do…) Asking for help feels the same as admitting defeat. It’s like saying, “yep, I failed… again. I wasn’t good enough… again.” I guess that’s just pride/self-pity talking.

So I want to lose weight. And not because I think it’s what fat people are supposed to want, but because I want it for myself. I’m tired of feeling bad about myself all the time. I’m tired of daily discouragement and disappointment. I’m tired of being uncomfortable in my skin (not to mention clothing!).

Lastly, I want to apologize to all the people I COULD have asked for help. I realize that many friends I’ve had would have been more than willing to help, should I have asked for it. And to those people I say, “thanks. I’m sorry I wasn’t emotionally mature enough to ask for your help – I was too embarrassed and ashamed of myself.  I also hope that if someone else comes to you and asks for help that you take a minute to recognize and congratulate that person on having the courage to ask for help, because it’s not an easy thing for some of us to do. (And I hope that you feel flattered that they look up to you enough to even want to ask you for your help.)”

Even though I feel like it ripped my heart out, I feel better getting that off my chest. I really am looking forward to 2014. I have a lot of hope for this year (regardless of how much weight I lose!).