Forty-six

I decided to turn 46 today. And, honestly, I’m having a bit of a hard time with this one. I’m not sure why really – there is nothing particularly significant about this age for me. Maybe it’s the fact that in the last two weeks I’ve been affected by no less than four deaths (three patients at work [two were mostly expected], and one, a colleague that I admired, which was very much unexpected). But even without that, ever since the Winter Solstice on December 21, 2023 (oh wow, exactly 1 month ago!), I have felt the need to withdraw, to be introspective, to hibernate essentially. Not in a “feeling the blues” kind of way, but more of a feeling the need to protect myself in some way. Protect myself from what, I couldn’t tell you. It feels more like the need to wrap myself up in a safe cocoon and turn inward – to give myself the time, space, and energy to examine what’s there and to decide how I want to move forward with my life.

I’ve been in a bit of a holding pattern. My job is going well. I think I’m fairly good at what I do and I’m happy when I can be there for someone, or be a kind, listening ear, or just brighten their day with a smile. I have not been dating, nor wanting to date, but yes, feeling the sting of loneliness. I haven’t been exercising since last October and I feel the weight I’ve put back on, which makes me sad sometimes. I haven’t been writing or painting or photographing or really pursuing anything creative. I’ve been busy though. I don’t really know what all I’ve been busy with, it just seems to ebb and flow, you know? Probably lots more T.V. than I should admit to watching. I don’t have a bad life. I actually recognize – and I’m grateful every day – for the good life that I have.

But I also just feel like I’m not really living either. I don’t know if that makes sense. I keep asking myself what I’m working toward in life; what I want out of life; what do I want to accomplish; what do I want to be? These questions have been consuming me lately, because I don’t know how to answer them.

If you had asked me when I was 16 what I wanted my life to be like at 46, I might have said the following: “I want to be thin, married, have some kids, have a good job, live in a good ward with a good calling.” You know – the plan! Growing up there was only ever one plan. There was only one path. It was clear that this one way was also the only RIGHT way – anything else, anything that deviated from that in even the slightest way was wrong, and the type of wrong that borders on sin. But I didn’t need to worry about that because I wanted “the plan” right? That’s all I’ve ever wanted, was that plan - to fit in; to be normal; to be like everyone else.

And yet…

I’ve had something inside of me that’s haunted me since I was young, as young as 6. And believe it or not, I’m not talking about being gay. Of course, that plays into it, but there is one struggle that I’ve had throughout my life, that in all honesty, and just for me personally, rivals the excruciating experience of growing up a “closeted gay” in the LDS faith – being fat.

You see, what church gave me was something clear, and something simple – the plan. Grow up, go on a mission, get married, have kids, be a productive, good member of society and serve others. Simple, right? And in a way, this plan gave me a direction so that I no longer really had to think for myself. The plan was laid out and I didn’t have to think too much about it – I just had to follow it. I was promised, in fact, that if I did follow it, that everything would be okay – that all my problems would be addressed, that all my challenges/obstacles would be removed, that I would receive miracles that would change my heart and mind, and a myriad of other promises. I was taught, that when something is right, God prepares a way, he lightens burdens, he makes things possible, and he makes them easy – that’s how you know they are the right things to do.

You might imagine my confusion then, when going to the temple, going on a mission, following the counsel of my priesthood leaders, etc., did not yield the results – the miracles – I was asking for and was told I would receive. I remained fat, ugly, disgusting, unwanted, repulsive, weak, pitied, looked down on, dismissed, devalued, etc. (and yes, gay).

I was 6 years old when I knew that I was fat and that being fat is bad. I still remember the experience, which I won’t relate here. This was also the age where I was molested for the first time (that I can recall, anyway), but I don’t remember how closely these two experiences occurred, though it makes sense that I might feel more self-directed body hatred after having my body violated. In any case, as I say, I knew I was fat and that being fat was bad. From that moment on, I just wanted to be thin, to be normal, to be like everyone else so that I could fit in and be a part of things, and not singled out and picked on as something detestable, gross, unwanted, ridiculed, and unworthy.

So, I prayed. And I promised God that I would be so, so good - perfect even, if that’s what it took, so that I could be worthy of this blessing. This blessing that never came.

Consequently, when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up or what I wanted out of life – I dutifully recited “the plan.” That was after all the only acceptable answer they wanted – whether they voiced that expectation or not. And I said it for so long that I fully believed it myself. But there was also another want there, a deeper want. One that I didn’t think was as acceptable an answer, because compared to “the plan,” this desire of mine was superficial, selfish, vain, prideful, etc. This desire to be thin wasn’t ever really about a bodyfat percentage, mind you. It was about what “being thin” means. It means, being approved of. It means being acceptable to everyone. It means being wanted or desired. It means being attractive and confident. It means being included and being valued. It means being seen as a person worthy of love. But superficial because I also just wanted to be, like, super hot, you know? Hahaha! (*rolls eyes, shrugs shoulders, sighs...*)

Looking back, coming home from my mission and going to college were probably more significant turning points than I realized. Even though I was working my way through “the plan,” suddenly, there were parts of this plan that weren’t established. Yes, get an education and a good job, but a good job doing what? Suddenly there were all these choices that were up to me that I didn’t have “a plan” for. What DO I want to do for work or a career? What are my interests? What do I really want to do?

And I didn’t know, because I had never thought about it. And I never thought about it, because all I could think about was how I wanted to be thin.

Sure, I have a million different interests: writing, photography, cooking, hiking, drawing/painting, music/singing, life sciences – biology, anatomy/physiology, botany, astronomy, etc. But do I love any of those “interests” enough to turn them into a career? Every time I tried something, I found that the answer was, “no, not really.” And to a much greater “unconscious” degree it didn’t really matter what I did - as long as I was thin doing it. Because the reality for me is that anything else I may have wanted didn’t really matter as much as the desire to be thin.

I know, I know – I mean, to hear me talk about it this way makes it sound like I would have put all my heart and soul into making weight loss happen, right? But I couldn’t because, for one, it wasn’t part of “the plan.” The plan doesn’t say you need to be thin to get to the celestial kingdom. So I was left feeling that this one thing, this one important, all encompassing thing to me, was something that I shouldn’t want. And because I tried to be so good, I tried in fact to be perfect, but still didn’t warrant this blessing, I felt that this was God’s way of saying, “no, I’m not going to grant this to you because you don’t deserve it.” And that’s what I’ve believed my whole life – that as much as I wanted thinness (and everything that comes with it), I just didn’t deserve it.

Surely, if I had deserved it, I would either have it as a natural condition (like most everyone else around me it seemed); or I would have been given that condition as a reward for my faithfulness. And not only that – and this point is critically important – but to really have been worthy of it would mean that I had obtained it “easily!” Because, after all, in my spiritual arithmetic, God’s blessings (i.e., his approval) make obtaining blessings easy.

Consequently, I also learned the inverse of this rule – that if good things are easy, then bad things are hard.

Have you ever tried to lose 100 pounds before? Guess what? It’s hard. It’s really, super, f******g, agonizingly hard. Which meant that – because it was so hard – that it wasn’t right for me to achieve. I could WANT it, sure, and I absolutely wanted it, as I said, because of all the desirable things that come with it, but to actually HAVE it? No way. It’s hard, so it must be wrong. It’s hard, so it must not be what God wants for me; it’s not what He thinks I’m worthy or deserving of. If it were, He would have made it easy. Do you see the confusing loop I’ve spent my life in? And most likely why I still feel like I’m spinning my wheels now?

I can see now that my rules (easy=good/hard=bad) were flawed, but I’ve been conditioning my brain with these beliefs for 46 f*****g years!! I have made this my default setting. This is just how I approach life; and no wonder I feel stuck, stagnant, and busy but with no real purpose.

Letting go...

Photo by Catalin Pop on Unsplash

I’m scared, I guess. I’m scared to change – I know I need to; I know it will be good to; but I’m scared. I’ve lived my whole life doing what’s “easy” because I thought it was the right thing to do. Facing the prospect of now needing to do hard things challenges every core belief I’ve had ingrained in me for as long as I can remember.

Ugh, the irony, right? Just facing that I need to do hard things is the hardest thing of all! Laaaaaaaammmme!

But letting go of old, ingrained beliefs – even when I know it’s the right thing to do – is still undeniably hard. And I even feel a bit of some shame and embarrassment that it’s taken me 46 years to figure this out.

You know, it’s strange. When I look back over the last 46 years, I reflect on all the hard things I’ve experienced – and I’ve experienced some really hard things (for me personally, I’m not trying to compare to anyone else or win the “who has the worst life award” here!!). But those hard experiences seem to fall into one of two categories: 1 – victimhood; i.e., that the hard things I’ve been through were hard things that were done TO ME; or 2 – expectations; i.e., that the hard things I did do were expectations from being part of “the plan.” For example, going on a mission, or going back to school to get a Master’s degree, which was extremely hard, but because “getting a good job” was part of “the plan,” I didn’t stop to question it.

But now I need to focus on letting go. As hard as it will be. I need to let go of the belief that hard equals bad. I need to let go of the need to be perfect in order to somehow “earn” thinness (approval, love, etc.). I need to know, learn, and accept that sometimes, good things are hard – even really hard, and that’s okay. I also need to acknowledge that sometimes things are good even when they are hard and even when they don’t seem to be a part of “the plan.”

I still don’t really know what I want to do with my life. No matter what I decide, I do still want to be thin doing it. That desire has never gone away, right or wrong. Maybe my journey to find fat loss, weight loss, health, etc. is the training ground I’ve needed in order to challenge my beliefs about things being hard. Maybe, for me personally, and for whatever reason, this is the best condition for me to learn that I can do hard things, that sometimes hard things are good and that I can finally, perhaps, grow into the man I want to become, some day. I don’t know, maybe ask me again when I’m 76…

Self-love and Sacrifice

When I was a child I learned that the most noble act a person could perform was to sacrifice in order to serve others. While I do fundamentally believe this is true, I also know that I erroneously interpreted that to mean that other people come first and I come last. I believed that other people’s needs should come before my own, because that is what sacrifice is, right? It’s sacrificing my needs in order to meet the needs of others. Taking that further I also erroneously believed that because other people’s needs mattered more than my own it meant that, in general, other people mattered more than me - period.

This is problematic on many levels, but one of the unforeseen consequences of always looking out for what other people needed, was that even more than placing their needs before my own, I also placed their thoughts, feelings, and beliefs before my own. The simplest way I can say it is that I cared more about what other people thought than what I thought. Virtually every single choice I made in life – from where to go to school, what work to do, whether or not to come out of the closet, even down to what socks to buy – every choice was accompanied by, “but what will other people think about this…?”

I basically couldn’t do anything in life without being paralyzed by the fear of not getting other’s approval and desperately wanting their approval, because doing so meant I was making the “noble sacrifice” of putting them first. But if I was so good at sacrificing myself and putting other people first, why then has my life been plagued by feeling stuck, depressed, lonely, etc.? I mean, shouldn’t I be the happiest, most contented person in the world from all the “noble sacrifices” I’d been making? Why wasn’t I being blessed for following the second great commandment, which is to “love thy neighbor as thyself?” (Matt 22:39) (I’ll have more to say about this in a moment…) From this passage, it seems pretty clear to me that the order of operations is to love God first, then, love your neighbor. Okay, well – check! Done! That’s what I’ve been doing. So why have I also been so miserable for so long, and more poignantly, why have I felt so powerless in my own life?

I just want to add, that I don’t regret the things I’ve done for others, not one little bit. It does feel good helping others, and it has felt good my entire life to help others, the problem was that all that good feeling never seemed to extend to me. I boxed myself into a trap where taking care of myself and my needs meant putting myself first and if I put myself first, then it meant putting other people last, which then meant I was no longer nobly sacrificing for others – and I would be committing the unpardonable sin of being selfish. I mean, that’s what it boiled down to for me, or at least, that’s how I saw things.

I was taught that selfishness and pride are some of the ultimate evils and – looking back – I can see how this would reinforce the idea that I needed to put other’s first as a sign that I wasn’t selfish, that I wasn’t prideful, to ensure that I wasn’t guilty of these terrible sins.

I had lots of reasons for putting my needs last, for putting other’s first, for relying on the approval of others, and conversely, avoiding the disapproval of others. At the heart of this I’ve just wanted to do the right thing. I’ve just wanted to make my Father in Heaven happy and make other people around me happy – and these are all good things. The problem isn’t sacrifice and the problem isn’t caring for others. The problem is not truly seeing where I fit in, in these acts, i.e., the misinterpretation of how to have love for others in relation to myself.

As I see it, there at least three ways to interpret the commandment in the book of Matthew to “love thy neighbor as thyself.” One way to interpret this, as I’ve tried to outline here and what I believe I’ve done wrong my whole life, is to “love thy neighbor BEFORE thyself.” This comes pretty simply from an order of operations standpoint – “others” are mentioned first, therefore, others should come first in my life.

But another way to interpret this scripture is to NOT ignore the final condition “as thyself.” I infer from this that a certain measure of self-love is ALREADY EXPECTED TO BE PRESENT in this commandment. If I could re-word this in my own way I might rephrase this commandment to say, “love thy neighbor as much as you love yourself.” Maybe the Lord doesn’t need to explicitly command us to love ourselves because that should already be inherent within us.

But for me, it seems, it wasn’t. Or perhaps my life experiences, such as trauma, unhealthy relationships, and even simply the immature understanding that accompanies youth, altered how I related to myself and others in a faulty way.

Briefly, I’ll just mention another possible interpretation, even though unlikely, it can still be beautiful in its implication – which is to “love thy neighbor as [you are].” In other words, love your neighbor from who you are, the way you are, i.e., “as thyself.” Think about that for a second. To “love thy neighbor as thyself” = love thy neighbor from your own unique, beautifully human, flawed, perfectly imperfect self. You don’t need to change who you are to love someone else. Love them in whatever capacity YOU are able to love them, and know that it’s enough.

That’s meaningful for me because, you see, I thought I did need to change. I thought I needed to change who I was in order to get the approval of others around me. Whether that “approval” was friendship, praise/validation, relationship, acceptance, love, etc. I saw myself as fundamentally flawed, literally worth less than others, and the only way I could have worth (or love or success or whatever), was to change from the worthless sack of s--t that I saw myself as, and be perfect – have the perfect face, body, job, bank account, clothes, car, etc. Oh yeah, and doing all of this while “sacrificing” myself to put other’s first.

Does this sound crazy to you? Because seeing it here in black and white, it sure sounds crazy to me too!

I want to reiterate that I do believe sacrifice is noble, but I was never asked to sacrifice loving myself in order to care for someone else. In fact, and I think many of you readers already know this, you probably CAN’T really love another until you do love yourself – because only when you truly love and care for yourself, are you able to offer your best self to others, when needed. The airplane oxygen mask analogy immediately comes to mind!

In spite of the all these realizations that I’m having, it still feels selfish to love myself or to put some of my needs “first.” But I remind myself that if I’m not loving myself (i.e., taking care of my needs), then I’m not keeping the commandment to love my neighbor as myself, because I’m not actually loving myself. It also occurs to me, that as much as I do want to help others, the only person that I can truly have any control over taking care of, is myself. Not only that, taking care of myself is my responsibility only. It is not anyone else’s responsibility to make sure I exercise, eat right, sleep well, etc. I am really the only person I CAN truly take care of.

Maybe what I need to “sacrifice” is not my love for others, but my need for other’s approval. Maybe I need to “sacrifice” placing myself last or thinking of myself as unimportant and learn that the key to loving others is to start with loving me.

 

 

Photo by Bart LaRue on Unsplash

The Beauty of NOT Fixing Things

I had a sweet, yet powerful experience at work on Friday that humbled me and taught me that there is a beautiful freedom in not always fixing things. Because it happened at work, and regarding a patient, I can’t say much due to HIPAA rules, but I think what I can safely say is that this woman, I’ll call her “Regina,” is essentially quadriplegic. (For example, even though she does have some very limited use of her hands/arms, she is unable to feed herself.)

Regina’s been having a rough time. She asked me for a blessing the day previous (Thursday), which I gave her. Then on Friday, I got a message that she wanted to see me. I’m not going to lie here, even though this is going to make me seem like a terrible person, because even though I love Regina, it’s sometimes hard to be around her because it takes a lot of energy to interact with her. I know that sounds horrible, especially when she is clearly not at fault, but it’s important that you know that because it sets the stage for what follows.

In the afternoon I decided it was time for me to go visit with her to see what she needed from me. As I walked to her room, I mentally prepared myself, as I usually do for each patient, in order to ready myself for what I knew would most likely be a draining experience. I gowned up fully, (because, thanks Covid!), and went in.

She started by thanking me for giving her a blessing. She recalled me placing a dab of oil on her head, but didn’t remember much after that. I typically don’t recall much when I give a blessing, but I told her all that I could remember. Then she started talking to me about her fears. These kinds of conversations aren’t new and part of why it takes a lot of energy to be with her, but I always see it as an opportunity to provide a listening ear and to give some words of comfort, if I can. As she was speaking, I remember praying – as I often do – for the guidance/inspiration to know what to say in response and what I can do to “fix” the situation. The feeling that I got in my heart was this, “you don’t need to say anything, just be here.”

Something inside of me became calm and clear. I suddenly felt a great release. I believe it was the feeling of being relieved of a burden. In this case, the burden I felt was that I needed to have the right words or advice in order to make Regina feel better, as in, to fix the situation. I know that my desire to help her is absolutely sincere, which somehow also increases the burden of needing to know what to say in order to help. But when I received the message that I just needed to focus on being there and not worry about what I could say, I felt that burden lift.

I stood next to her bed and reached out and held her hand. And I just listened. She shared how lonely she felt in her trying circumstances, and that she had never said that aloud to anyone and how scary it was to even say it out loud. I continued to listen. I grabbed a tissue and wiped her tears away when she couldn’t hold them back. And I was just there, not trying to fix anything, but just being there. She point blank asked me how much time she had left on this earth. I told her that I couldn’t answer that, but that if she was still here, there’s a reason and that she is not forgotten and that all of her trials, troubles, and fears are known by the Savior who loves her deeply and would compensate for every pain and for every loss, if not in this life, then in the life to come.

She didn’t say much more after that, but did say thank you, and I left.

It struck me profoundly while she was talking to me that she didn’t really need me to fix anything for her. What she needed, more than anything, was just for someone to be there and to listen. I was humbled and grateful for the inspiration to do just that.

When I walked away, I reflected on how many times in my life would I have loved someone to just be there for me in that same way – not to fix anything, but just to let me talk and just to be there. The answer is – often. I would have OFTEN loved just to have someone there to talk to and not try to fix anything, but to just listen and just be there for me. Certainly, there have been times in my life when someone was there for me, and I don’t mean to minimize that. I think it’s just that, however often it did happen, I still would have wanted that more. Maybe that’s just me being selfish. I am deeply grateful for those who have been there for me when I needed someone to talk to.

But for so much of my life, my experience was that people were always trying to fix things. If I came to them with a problem it was just an immediate laundry list of what I needed to do to fix the situation and then just move on. I didn’t know how to say that that isn’t what I really wanted. I didn’t want an immediate fix. Most of the time, I didn’t really need advice anyway. I think I just wanted someone to listen to me and I just wanted to know that someone was there for me.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that because my job is all about “fixing” things. It’s literally my job to rehab people on their cognition, and speech, and swallowing, and whatever. My job is to “fix their problem” and help them be as independent and safe and they can. I also think this can be tough because the desire to fix things is healthy! It’s a reflection of the care and concern that we have for each other; if you come to me with a problem, I want to help you fix it because I care about you and I want you to be happy. But even though the desire to help, i.e., by fixing things, is good, it shouldn’t be underestimated how powerful the desire to help by NOT fixing things – and just being there – can be.

I guess this post is kind of supplement to a previous post about finding value even while broken. Maybe this is just a continuation of that idea. Not only can we have value while being broken, but sometimes there can be great healing in not trying to fix anything.

Maybe this is also an invitation for all of us – myself included. The next time someone comes to you with a problem, maybe you could ask yourself, “does this person really need me to fix anything, or do they just need someone to listen to them and just be there?” Paradoxically, maybe people trying to fix me all the time is what taught me that I was a problem…

What would it be like if we could be a world of just being there for each other, instead of always feeling like we have to fix each other? I think we would find a lot of beauty in not needing to fix everything – and just being there – just like I did with Regina.

 

Photo by Dương Hữu on Unsplash

What You Have Within You

Photo by Katya Azi on Unsplash

There’s a lot on my mind and in my heart right now. My friend’s brother passed away earlier this week and the funeral was today (I'm writing this on a Saturday). It brings up a lot of emotions for various reasons. I don’t know the details surrounding his death. I don’t really want to know the details, though I do know that he took his own life. The first emotions I feel are shock and disbelief. I would never have thought that things were that bad for him and as far as I’m aware there is no mental illness in the family that might explain it. It’s normal to want to know why, but it doesn’t change the fact that it happened. It also brings up feelings of great sadness. Sadness for my friend and their families, for all those who remain to wonder and grieve. Feelings which are all hard, but also a normal part of the process.

What is unexpected is how quickly it brought me back to the times in my life when I’ve been suicidal. I’ve never attempted suicide formally, but I had planned how I would do it, I’ve written suicide notes, etc. I know that darkness. I know that pain. I know that despair. I know that desire for escape, for just wanting the pain to end.

But along with all that grief, there is also, deep within, a feeling of relief. I can look back and see where I have been. Where I am now is in such a better, healthier place than I’ve ever been. I’m immensely grateful. I’m grateful that I survived. I’m grateful that I am no longer in those dark places. I’m grateful to be in a much healthier place, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I’m not lucky. I’m not special. I’m not favored. While I can’t go into all the details, the reason I’m still here is because my Heavenly Father let me know that He was aware of me, that He was aware of my pain, and that He wasn’t going to let me go without a fight. So I’m still here. With lots of questions, but I’m still here!

I have been reflecting on this distance between the here and now and the past – really the difference in who I am now from who I was in the past. I haven’t shied away from sharing that I was a victim of abuse. I’ve mentioned – without going into detail – that I’ve had my share of addictions. I was traumatized in many ways, which left me believing that I was inherently damaged, broken, and worthless as a result of all of these things happening in my life. And I was resentful. Not only was I resentful that these things happened to me, but I was resentful that I wasn’t given what I needed as a child to combat these terrible events/circumstances. I wasn’t given confidence. I wasn’t given the affection I longed for; the praise I sought so desperately from my parents; the comfort and understanding I wanted from my mother; and the sense of worth, importance, and “mattering” that I longed for from my father.

I’m not criticizing my parents here, even though it sounds like it. They did the best they could, and from the little I know, they did better by me than what they had been given from their own parents.

But that’s the idea I’ve focused on my whole life – what I should have been given from my parents; or what I expected them to give me. Which, on the surface, seems accurate – parents “give” their children a sense of belonging, a sense of comfort, and sense of pride/confidence, a sense of mattering to someone, as well as a sense of being loved, of worth, of safety, etc.

And for most of my adult life, I believed those were things I did NOT get from my parents. Which only added to feeling empty, worthless, damaged, not good enough, etc. As if I’ve been walking through life with these holes in me, these absences, that were supposed to be filled by my parents, but weren’t. And I have felt despair, believing that filling those holes was a one-shot deal, either they are “filled” in by your parents, or they are not; and if they are not, well then, you’ve missed your chance and they are going to remain empty for the rest of your life, because they could ONLY be filled at a certain time in your life (i.e., childhood) and in a certain way (i.e., by parents).

But my reflections today on who I am and who I have been, has changed my perspective on that.

For the last few years, I’ve been working on “filling those missing pieces of myself.” I had finally decided that even if I wasn’t given the things I felt I needed from my parents in order to feel whole, complete, and a sense of worth, I could “resign” myself to learning how to fill those pieces in for myself. This, in and of itself, is a monumental shift in changing my way of thinking. I still felt some resentment at needing to fill in those missing pieces on my own, but it was the first time I felt hope at being able to fill in those pieces, i.e., have my needs met – even if I did have to do it on my own!

Overall, I would say that it has been working. It has helped me to reach a better place where I know I have to do what I’m doing to help myself, because I am the only one who can help myself right now, and that’s okay – in fact, this has been a really important lesson for me to learn. 

In order to make another point here, I want to relate a work experience I had several years ago. For a time I was working as a Home Health Speech-Language Pathologist, which meant going to people’s homes to provide rehab on speech, language, voice, swallowing, etc. I recall one particular time, where I had gone to an Assisted Living Facility in Bountiful to treat a lady that had been having some swallowing issues. She was a sweet lady, but my heart went out to her – she was in her late 60’s, very overweight, living in an electric wheelchair and I could just see that life had been hard for her. Sometimes, when you’ve been through a certain kind of darkness, you recognize it in others.

We had met for a couple of sessions, and I had been teaching her some exercises for swallowing. On this particular visit, we went through the routine exercises and I could see some improvement, which I always make a point to recognize for my patients. I told her, fairly simply, though sincere, “hey, you did really well with those exercises, I can tell that you’ve been practicing.” I paused for just a second, and then added, “I’m really proud of you.”

She reacted almost as if she was startled, and then started to cry – which startled me! I asked her if I did or said something wrong, and through her sweet, innocent tears said something that broke my heart. She said, “no one’s ever said that to me before.” I jumped up out of my chair and gave her a big hug; I mean, what else could I do?!

It broke my heart to think that this sweet woman had lived her whole life, never hearing that she had made anyone proud. And it sounds like such a simple thing, but it also broke my heart for another reason – I had lived my whole life never hearing anyone say that to me either. I wanted so much to make my dad proud, or my mom, and I had never, ever felt like I did. Partially because I knew what terrible choices I had made, but also because I believed who I was, was inherently disappointing. I mean, how could any parent be proud of a son who is overweight, ugly, unaccomplished at anything, and gay? I actually have a vivid memory of my dad telling me once that he was disappointed in me. It was only once, but I knew it was how he truly felt about me, because I never heard him say otherwise. And if that’s how my own father felt about me, then what else was I to believe?

I really couldn’t have known what impact the words I spoke would have on this woman, but my words were sincere and I think that’s why they were powerful for her.

Today, as I reflected on that experience, I saw something else in it that I had never considered before: I gave this woman something that had never been given to me. How is that possible? If I never made anyone proud, and I had that as an emptiness within me, then how could I have given that to her? The only answer that makes sense to me, is that I wasn’t empty of this thing, as I had led myself to believe. I suddenly realized that it’s also possible that I never really have been “empty” of anything. That maybe, just maybe, all of those “needs” that I thought could only be granted by loving parents, were not really missing from me after all. Maybe they’ve been there all along, but I just couldn’t see them, because I “thought” they were missing.

Maybe it isn’t that parents are supposed to give you those things that are part of your identity, but maybe they are supposed to help you discover them within yourself. Yes, it is just as unfortunate and sad for anyone who doesn’t have parents or an upbringing that can help them see their worth and value and importance, but it’s not because those things are missing. Would I have wanted my parents to show me those parts of myself? Of course! I will always look back and I will always have wanted that, but for the first time in my life, I don’t feel empty.

I need to say that again: For the first time in my life, I don’t feel empty.

The irony is not lost on me. I have felt empty my whole life and I now believe that I have been perpetually trying to “fill” those needs with anything that would make me feel good – and what better way to feel good than to eat? So I ate. A lot. (It’s also not lost on me how ironic it is that feeling so empty inside would result in me gaining so much on the outside! As if my waistline were trying to compensate for the void I felt within.)

If I had it within me to be able to tell this woman that I was proud of her, then I suppose I have it within me to tell myself that I am proud of me. And just to be clear, I’m not talking about “comparison-pride.” I’m not talking about the pride that makes a comparison and says, “I’m better than…” No, I’m talking about “confidence-pride,” or maybe a better word is “assurance-pride.” The kind of pride that comes from the confidence, or the assurance, that you have inherent worth and value, simply for being who you are, and not in comparison to someone else.

It's hard in this world we live in. It’s hard to not compare. It’s hard to look at someone else’s life and NOT make some kind of comparison. Everything in the world invites that comparison; wants you to believe that you aren’t good enough, smart enough, talented enough, accomplished enough, strong enough, good looking enough, etc. I certainly bought into that idea. I wholeheartedly bought into that idea. And lived in misery and despair because of it; because I compared myself and was always lacking.

I understand, now, that my formative years contained experiences that prevented me from seeing what I had within myself, from seeing my worth, in fact. But I also now see that I wasn’t ever really lacking anything within, I just couldn’t see it.

I don’t know if this insight that I’ve had will help anyone else. I don’t know if anyone else will really even understand it, but I hope that if someone reading this feels empty inside, I want you to know that you aren’t. You already have everything within you that you need to heal, and to be whole, and to feel your own worth and value. It will take some faith and it will take some practice, but you can do it.

Because you have it within you.

Photo by Flavia Carpio on Unsplash

Broken Value

 

I was speaking with someone recently who, at one point in our conversation, just flat out asked me, “do you feel that you have worth the way you are right now?”

My answer was, “no.” I said it easily, with no hesitation; almost nonchalantly, even. Me? Have worth? Of course not? I thought it went without saying…

I have been thinking a lot about why that answer came so easily to me, virtually automatically. My first thought was, “well, just look at me! I’m fat and overweight! Being fat and overweight makes you worth less, i.e., “worthless,” than thin/skinny people because fat is ugly; in other words, being fat means being ugly and no one wants to be either (we all know it, even if we don’t have the courage to admit it!).

I’ve held these beliefs about being fat and worthless my whole life, it would seem. And on the surface, that would be enough to explain why I have felt worthless my whole life, because I’ve been fat my whole life.

But that’s just the surface. Something else has been there my whole life too, but deep; much, much deeper than even I was able to see. It was a feeling, a belief, a profound knowledge that has evaded being known or seen. It’s like an indescribable leviathan, living so deep in the ocean that it’s never been seen, but every so often, evidenced of its existence emerges. It remains unseen, but deeply sensed. And it is just always there. Relentless, tireless, watchful and aware of all that goes on above it. It never sleeps. It never stops. This thing that is powerful enough to move the currents of my life, my behaviors and actions, and yet, stealthy enough to remain “unknown.”

It’s a treacherous journey to dive so deep, but dive I must. This is my journey, to know myself, to know who I am, and what moves me, to know what makes me the way I am. To know what makes me such a problem.

And there it was – the thing that didn’t want to be seen or known, but that I had to enter the dark places of my mind and heart to find. 

I am a problem.

Not just that I have problems, but that I AM a problem. In my mind there is no difference between having problems and being a problem – it is one and the same: If I have a problem, then I AM a problem.

“But why?” I continued to ask myself. My logical brain knows that having a problem and being a problem are not the same thing. “Then why do I see myself as such a problem?”

The answer is equally simple, yet as deeply profound: “Because I am broken.”

It’s hard for me to move past that sentence. It’s hard because it’s true. I believe I am broken. My heart has been broken, my spirit has been broken, my body has been broken, even my mind, in many ways, has been broken. It is a fact that I almost died at birth (asphyxiation in the womb). It’s a fact that I was molested. It is a fact that I felt neglected, judged, and criticized at a very young age. It is a fact that I gained weight, which resulted in being teased, hazed, rejected, ignored, and minimized – for years. I was traumatized in so many ways and those multiple, repeated traumas broke me.

I have felt broken from birth. Everything in my life that happened after, seemed to confirm that I was broken and that I didn’t deserve to be any other way.

You know what else is a fact? That when something in this world is broken, it becomes worthless. We throw it away, because when something is broken it is no longer useful and no longer has value.

The equation I have in my mind is that all the things I am – such as a problem, broken, fat/ugly, etc., equals being worthless.

It’s why I could answer that question so easily and so quickly. 

And it’s why I have such a hard time changing. I tend to resist change because I haven’t found a reason or an argument that is stronger than “broken = worthless.”

I tend to self-sabotage, whether relationships, diet/exercise plans, work, etc. because deep down, I never feel like I’m worth it.

As an example, here’s a loop I often find myself caught in: I want to lose weight in order to feel like I have worth (i.e., when I lose weight, then I’ll be worth something), so I embark on a fat loss/fitness journey, only to very quickly derail my efforts, because as soon as dieting/exercise gets hard (and it’s always hard!), then I give up, or sabotage my effort, because – deep down – I’m not worth it anyway. But then I desperately want to have worth, so I desperately want to lose weight and the cycle continues. 

I get angry when I see how easy health and fitness is for some people. I get angry that they can diet down for a few weeks and look great. I get angry that there are men who are already genetically prone to good health and fitness and pursue that lifestyle, then get on Instagram and give advice, like, “hey, you just gotta eat less and move more and if I can you do it, so can you,” when they’re clearly genetically gifted, and/or already prone to being healthy and active. As my last trainer kept telling me, “it’s just a choice you decide to make.” I hate how simple that makes it sound. I hate it because he’s not wrong, but there are so many other factors, the biggest one being, “do you think you’re worth it?”

Even when some of my previous trainers have been supportive and said, “I believe in you,” I still sabotaged the diet or exercise plan they gave me as a way of saying, “see, I told you I was broken and that you couldn’t help me.” Doing that helps me live in the safety of being right, but also keeps me in the misery of being broken. They all make it sound so easy, or so simple, because it seems to be that way for them. 

And that’s what really gets my goat! These “fitness gurus” all seem to have an inherent sense of their self-worth. They don’t doubt themselves. They don’t stay awake at night wondering if they’re worth it. They seem to be born with confidence. They seem to be born just knowing that they have worth, and yes, that makes me angry. It makes me angry that I’m not like them. It makes me angry that they are allowed to have confidence in themselves because they’ve never had anything happen to them that made them feel small, weak, …or broken. I hate that they aren’t broken, but that I am.

Dieting, health, fitness, relationships, etc., are all so much harder when you feel worthless.

All of which, brings me to the million dollar question: “Can that be changed?”

On second thought, maybe that’s not the million dollar question, because for most of my life, the answer has been a resounding “no!”

I guess the question I need to ask myself here is, “can something that is broken also still have worth?”

It might be true that in this world we devalue things that are broken. We esteem them as worthless and only good for being tossed out. But while this rule may hold true for “things,” maybe there is a different rule for people, because people are not things.

It seems to be quite a paradox to me – to live in a world that is in a constant state of change and decay – entropy, we call it. And yet, this constantly breaking down world is full of people who are full of worth, no matter how much they break down.

I do believe we are eternal beings. I do believe we are the spirit children of God, and maybe, as a child of God, I just need to embrace the paradox that people are full of worth, no matter how they are broken. Maybe it’s why the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 18:10] says, “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God,” and not, “the worth of things…”.

Other paradoxes might be – yes, I have a body, but my body is not ALL of who I am; yes, I’m fat, but being fat is not ALL of who I am – it may be a condition I’m in, but it’s not WHO I AM; yes, I have problems, but that doesn’t mean that I AM a problem, because my problems are not who I am; yes, I have been broken – repeatedly, but being broken is what’s happened TO ME, it’s not WHO I AM. 

Maybe the hardest paradox to accept is: I can be broken and still have value.

Can I accept that? I think so.

I think about all the people I’ve known, especially those who “have been through what I’ve been through,” and I ask myself, “do I see them as having less value because they are broken?” Truthfully, I do not! In fact, maybe even the opposite. I see those people as having a great deal of value because they are broken. To my way of thinking they are people who need even more love and compassion and friendship and I would never deny them that simply because they are broken. The real question is, can I see myself that way? Can I offer myself that same compassion? Can I see myself as someone who is broken, and yet, still full of worth?

I think have to.

I mean, I think that is the challenge for me – now that I have had this realization, what will I do with it? Okay, maybe this inherent sense of self-worth is not something I was born with (or maybe I was and life beat it out of me!), BUT that doesn’t mean it can’t be learned, right?

There’s another paradox about this world we live in: that even despite the inevitable entropy, this life was meant for growth. And growth can only come from resistance. Maybe I don’t automatically think that I have worth, but I can practice resisting that thought and practice growing new thoughts where I DO have worth, even with having been broken. It seems like that process is really what this world was meant for – to use resistance to grow.

And maybe, just maybe, instead of despairing over how broken I am, for the first time in my life I can feel grateful for being broken, because, in yet another paradoxical way, being broken is how I’ll find my value.

A Year in Review

Photo by Paul Skorupskas on Unsplash

So it’s been a while since I’ve written anything for my blog, which was an active choice on my part, and incidentally, had nothing to do with Covid.

October 2019 I was feeling very lonely. For all intents and purposes, life was pretty good. But I was lonely. I was struggling with more than just loneliness, however, because I also felt even more restricted by being active in the church, which I really loved, but also wanting companionship with a man. I just couldn’t figure out how to reconcile wanting to have a more “intimate” relationship with a man while “being active” in the church. It felt like too much of a contradiction – I suppose we call it Cognitive Dissonance these days, and that’s an apt description. I felt out of balance, out of harmony.

I was slowly coming to the conclusion that maybe the answer was that I needed to pause my activity in the church and pursue finding a relationship. Not with the intention of turning my back on the church, but to actually honor the sacredness with which I hold church doctrines and not feel like I was being duplicitous or living a double standard by dating men while being active in church. I didn’t know if those two things could co-exist, and I guess in my heart, I felt like I didn’t want to offend God by saying, “yes, I believe in and with agree with your teachings, but then I’m just going to flaunt them by living ‘contrary’ to those teachings.” That would be lying to God and to myself, and I just couldn’t do that.

This was an intense period of inner turmoil. How could I actually be contemplating doing something I said I would never do and leave church activity? There was a part of me that felt like if I left the church and started dating men – with everything that it might entail – then I would never go back. That broke my heart, but such is the power of the need for connection and companionship. I literally felt like I was starving for a man’s touch and affection.

Can I just be real here for a second? Please don’t misread what I’m saying as me looking for an excuse to have sex – because that isn’t what I’m talking about. To be perfectly frank, sex was never – and still isn’t – a part of the equation. I would be fine without sex [I mean I’m 43 years old, I’ve made it this far…]. What I’m talking about IS literally companionship – affection, tenderness, kindness, caring, being with someone when I’m happy, sad, scared, lonely, etc. My love language is touch. To be without touch feels like I am a withering plant or like I’m dying inside. It’s more than just loneliness – it’s emptiness, darkness, hopelessness, starvation, and yes, even death. None of which is going to be filled with sex, which I believe is true for anyone, regardless of your “sexual” orientation.

I spent a great deal of time in prayer. I did not make this decision lightly. I wrestled for weeks with what I wanted and what I felt like I needed to do. At times it felt like it was the only course of action and inevitable. At other times it felt like the ultimate betrayal to God and that I would be forever damned for taking this course of action. As I prayed, I did feel that I received multiple responses from Heavenly Father. I did not hear a voice, or have a vision – nothing so grandiose or profound, but I did get answers – eventually. While I can’t relate everything I felt in my heart, I just want to share the gist of the message I did receive.

Not once did I ever feel the Lord giving me permission to leave the church, nor did I feel Him giving me direction to leave the church, but what I felt was His support with whatever choice I decided to make. It was as if He was saying, “I can’t really tell you what to do here – this has to be up to you. But Micah, if you decide to leave the church, I know you aren’t leaving me and I’m not leaving you. Do what you need to do, but I’m still here.” I still get emotional thinking about it. It wasn’t so much that He was supporting my course of action as it was he was supporting me. For me personally, it was a confirmation that my journey is my own, and that whatever road I might be walking, He’s still here walking it with me.

I called my Bishop, who is also my ministering brother, and he came over and we had a good talk. I could never say enough good things about how loving and supportive he was. While he couldn’t know it, his response echoed Heavenly Father’s message to me – “we love you, we support you; do what you need to do, but we’re still here.” He honored my request to be released from my callings at the end of the year and then, beginning January 2020, I would stop going to church. I was about to say, “leave the church,” but that’s not entirely true. I did keep my ministering assignments, because I love my families and didn’t want to lose connection with them.

My next big task was to go about finding “my community.” Not just dating, but actually looking for more friends in the LGBTQ community. I did not have any close gay friends and I was feeling very isolated from the queer community in general. It was like wanting to go to a foreign country, but not knowing the language or the customs and I found that it was a much more daunting task than I anticipated. I signed up to be a volunteer with the Utah Pride Center, thinking that at least I could make some connections there.

Then the world imploded.

Covid-19 swept the globe and everything shut down. It was hard not to take that personally. After all the emotional turmoil I went through, suddenly all avenues of making connections in the gay community were gone.

A couple months prior, as I was planning to stop going to church, I was speaking with a friend about it and he said, “you know, maybe you should be blogging about what you’re going through.” I agreed with him, I thought it was a great idea. But somehow, I just couldn’t. To this day, I still don’t really know why I couldn’t. I attempted to several times, but ultimately, I just couldn’t. That, in and of itself, was strange because writing has always been so therapeutic for me.

Then everything shut down and it was taking all I had just to get through each day. Work was changing rapidly as the nursing home I work in rapidly shut down all non-essential personnel and instituted a host of isolation and contact precautions, which was necessary, but incredibly stressful – for us as employees as well as my patients.

In the first couple of months of the shut down – I would say from about March through April – I gained about 30 pounds; essentially all of the weight I had worked so hard the last year to lose.

I was heartbroken on so many levels. Mentally, emotionally, physically, socially, etc. It was an incredibly dark period for me and the only thing that made it worse was not having anyone to turn to. It wasn’t that I didn’t have people in my life to reach out to, but who could I talk to that would really understand my situation? I had no one that I felt I could relate to and I didn’t know anyone that I felt could relate to me.

So I ate. I gained weight. I stopped working out (gyms were closed anyway!). I struggled to wake up each day. I struggled to have any purpose. In a way, looking back, I think my patient’s helped me more than I ever helped them, because I was glad that there were people who needed me. Or at the very least, were happy to see me each day, and that was something.

All around us other facilities were having outbreaks and we were just waiting for our turn. As our director kept saying, “it’s not a matter of if, but when.” For us, “when” turned out to be mid-December. I got Covid right at the cusp of the outbreak in our facility. It was the week before Christmas, which meant I would be quarantining in my apartment for the next two weeks and would not be able to see my family for Christmas. I was mad, and again, heartbroken. I am extremely grateful for technology that allowed me to be with my family over Zoom and we could still “open presents together,” but it just wasn’t the same as being there, obviously.

I also credit my Bishop, again, and several other people from my ward, who checked in on me and brought me food and treats. They kept me alive in more ways than one. As I said, it was a really dark time.

Perhaps it was the coincidental timing of having Covid resolve for me and my facility at the same time the year was winding down. In an unexpected way, I felt like some semblance of “closure,” and I felt hopeful for 2021. While I can’t say that I felt like everything would “return to normal,” (I don’t think anything will truly be “normal”) I did feel like everything was going to be okay. I maintain my testimony that Heavenly Father is in charge, and that nothing that happens is a surprise to Him or catches Him off guard. He isn’t just watching us go through this, He’s going through it with us. And I know He has the power to make everything okay, even when it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be.

And now here we are. I’m typing this on the last day of the first month of the new year. I found a new doctor months ago who put me on some helpful meds. I’m back at the gym working with a trainer and down about 15 pounds (only 120 more pounds to go… haha!). I turned 43 this month, which doesn’t seem possible, but there it is. And I’m finally able to reflect on what I’ve been through this last year.

I still have plans to find community and companionship this year. I still only go to church once in a while. I still struggle with knowing my purpose in life. I still have amazing friends and family. I am incredibly blessed. And yeah, I still get lonely, but I have realized a few things.

I know now that as much as I need companionship and affectionate, masculine touch, it won’t “heal” me or make everything okay (i.e., “perfect”). The problem is not that I need a man to be whole (or even just another person), the problem is that I believe that I am incomplete as I am.

Nothing I have been through has been as hard as recognizing the need, and then learning how, to change how I see myself along with how I think and feel about myself – which I know now is absolutely crucial to my growth, development, and progress. Nothing is so damaging as believing that I am worthless, ugly, and undeserving, which I have believed my whole life.

My identity has centered around all of the things I am not; or all of the things I have failed to be – attractive, desirable, fit, athletic, masculine, strong, etc. My focus has always been on what I lack. I must be the exact opposite of the rich young ruler in the Bible, who asked the Savior, “what lack I yet?” If it were me in his shoes, I’d be asking the Savior, “what do I even have to offer?”

I read and hear so many people say that you need to find your passion, you need to find your purpose, you need to follow your heart and do what makes your heart sing, and so on. To the point that now I feel like an absolute failure because I’m NOT living with “purpose” or “passion.” I’m good at my job, but I can’t say that I’m doing what makes my heart sing. For everyday that I wake up and don’t feel like I really have a purpose that day, I feel like a failure; which is not a great way to start the day.

I agree that people should do what they love, but what do you do when you have so many “passions” that you can’t possibly follow them all? I love art, music, photography, graphic design, singing, writing, exercising, traveling, hiking, tennis, volleyball, astrophysics, cellular biology, anatomy and physiology of the human body, marine biology, gardening and horticulture, movies, television, and the list goes on and on. All of them make my heart sing in one way or another. I could spend a hundred lifetimes deep diving into every single one of those topics, but… I have to pay rent. I have to buy food, and clothes, and drive a car that requires gas and insurance coverage, and pay bills for electricity, gas, and internet, etc. Sure, I could pursue a career out of any one of those things, but then how do I pick one? They all feel like they could be my purpose!!

I have come to the conclusion that all people will have their own purpose, which will look different for everyone. Maybe I have been so focused on what I’m doing – or not doing, as the case may be – that I’ve ignored the possibility that maybe my purpose should be on what I’m becoming. I am not a person whose purpose is to start a non-profit, or even a multi-billion dollar company, that changes the world, but why does it have to be? Why does my purpose have to be defined by an accomplishment? Can’t my purpose be that I worked on becoming a better human being? That I worked on not only living through some pretty traumatic events, but that I was able to overcome those traumas and make something of myself that also helps me to be a benefit to the people around me, even in some small way?

My hope is that by believing my purpose to be self-improvement that a natural outgrowth of that process will be that I am able to do something meaningful in life. And that when I do find companionship that I will be able to offer my best self – flawed and human as they come, sure – but still my best self, without placing pressure on that person to “fill my needs,” or “make me whole,” because I’m already okay with who I am.

I don’t know what this new year will bring, but perhaps for the first time in my life, for real, I am hopeful that I will end the year a better man than when I started. Not just a changed man, but someone who is becoming the best version of myself that I can be. That being said, I DO hope I change! I do hope I lose more weight this year; I do hope that I find the companionship I seek; I do hope I find my life’s mission; and I do have hope that I can learn to think and feel about myself with more love, compassion, and acceptance; that I will change my perspective from one of “pre-determined worthlessness and inevitable failure,” to “I have within me the pre-determined ability to CREATE the life I want.”

So here’s to the future – all the great things yet to come and all the great things yet to be made.

Unanswered Questions

I was asked to share my thoughts today in church during an Elder’s Quorum lesson about “where our choices lead.” At first, I didn’t know what to say. This is actually a very difficult question to answer for someone like me. As a gay and active member of the Church, I am constantly considering this question because I am straddling two paths – both of which would lead me to very different destinations. If I were to embrace a completely homosexual lifestyle, I would give up many of the blessings I enjoy by being an active member of the church. On the other hand, by embracing the standards of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, I miss out on the possibility of a romantic/intimate companionship that all human beings need. I can’t have both.

But this post isn’t about the conflict I feel, living between two worlds. This post is not about justice, equality, or fairness – religious or otherwise. This post isn’t even about me asking “why.” I could delve into a myriad of questions I’ve had over the course of my life, not the least of which is, why have I been burdened with being gay in a hetero-family-oriented church? No, this post isn’t about all of that. This post is about living with unanswered questions.

I won’t go into detail about what I shared with the brothers in the Elders’ Quorum lesson today, mostly because I’m pretty sure I was bawling like a baby through all of it, even though it only lasted about 5 minutes. But, I do want to share one thing I said, which is the foundation of what I want to share in this post. Regarding my circumstances, as stated above, I shared this, “The Lord knows me. He knows this is hard for me. But I know there is a reason to have faith; even if I don’t know the reason yet – I know there is one.”

Essentially, I am choosing to live a faith-centered, abstinent lifestyle, without really knowing why. I have no proof that my faith will be rewarded. I have no proof that I’m making the right choice. But I am making that choice. I am choosing to abstain from a fully gay lifestyle, in order to remain a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in good standing. (I know many people in my situation have opted to leave the church and I fully support them in their decision – we all have a different path and we all deserve to be loved and accepted for who we are regardless of the path we choose.)

I guess that’s what I think faith is – moving forward when we don’t yet have all the answers. Which is, as I’ve come to realize, unbelievably ironic for me. You see, I seem to have a great deal of faith when it comes to religious/spiritual matters. But I have recently come to know that I don’t seem to have much faith anywhere else in my life.

When I look in the mirror, I hate what I see. When I look in the mirror, I see how fat I am and I hate it. I hate how it looks, I hate how it feels and I hate the burden that it creates in my life on every level – physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. I hate that I can’t physically do things I want to do; I hate that I can’t wear clothes I want to wear; I hate how self-conscious I am and every time I go out in public, I worry that people are going to laugh at me, make fun of me, or look down on me. I worry that they will think about me the way I think about myself – weak, lazy, ugly, and stupid.

I have been on a multi-year journey to fix this – to lose weight, to feel better about myself and my life. I’ve had some successes, but many, many failures and every failure gets harder and harder to get back up from. The problem, if I can oversimplify, isn’t about knowledge or opportunity – I’ve had an abundance of both. The problem is that I tried to move forward without faith. Maybe it seems ridiculous to you, but I think it takes faith to change nutrition and exercise habits. Every time I started a new diet, or a new exercise program, or hired a new trainer, I struggled to put faith into the process or the person who was coaching me. I struggled with cutting things out of my diet, restricting calories, trying new exercises, needing to modify exercises to my ability level and so on, because I didn’t really know if it was going to work or not. The outcome of changing lifestyle habits was my unanswered question – was this really going to work for me this time?

Paradoxically, there were times when I did put my faith in the process and several times it did pay off – it paid off in increased strength, flexibility, weightloss, increased energy, and so on. But then I had a set-back. Several circumstances made me question my faith in the process, so much so, that I gave up on it. I gave up on eating right; I gave up on exercise. And it took its toll. I lost the energy I had gained. I gained back the weight I had lost. I lost strength, flexibility; and probably the worst part – I lost believing in myself.

As I’ve contemplated the things I’ve lost and as I’ve pondered on the seemingly inexhaustible supply of self-loathing I experience on a daily basis, and especially in light of what I was reminded of in church today – I realize that the one  thing I’ve never had any faith in – is me. When I had faith in the process of weightloss, it worked, I did lose weight, and it felt great. But I didn’t believe that I was worth it. I didn’t have faith that I could sustain the progress I had made because I didn’t have faith in myself. And I inevitably gave up on the process of weightloss.

I have spent thousands of hours, years even, money, tears, and whatever energy I could muster to try to understand why I am the way I am. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bagging on therapy – I love therapy and I’m a huge advocate for it. But after so much time and energy trying to understand why, I think I’m at a place where I realize that some questions just aren’t going to be answered. I don’t know why my first, visceral reaction is to hate myself; I don’t know why I have an aversion to doing anything “hard,” or that will make me look stupid; I don’t know why a good body and self-confidence come so easily to others and not to me. I don’t know why I have to fight my own brain every single day just to function in this world, let alone improve myself. And maybe I won’t ever know. Maybe that’s what faith is – to not know, but to move forward anyway. Maybe what I have needed, more than “answers” is just to have faith that I am worth it; that I can do it; that regardless of how successful I am (I really want to lose that “last” 100 pounds!!), that I’ll be better off for even trying.

Going back to a point I wanted to make – it seems strange that I have no problem having faith in an omniscient/omnipotent being that I can’t see, hear, smell, or touch and yet I can’t have faith in the very physical, tangible experience of being me. I can’t help but ask myself, “what would having faith in myself look like?”

I literally just spent the last 10 minutes looking off into space because I don’t know how to answer that question…

I guess it would mean pursuing health and fitness without having to defend or justify myself. I would do it because it would make me happy. I think it would mean being willing to make sacrifices of junk food/binge eating because I know those things don’t really make me happy long-term. I think it would mean being willing to accept all the bad things that come with life – being willing to be in pain, to be uncomfortable, to sacrifice or go without something I may want in the moment; and knowing that life doesn’t present hardships as a punishment – it’s just a part of life and it’s okay. I think it would mean accepting that some things are just hard, and that it doesn’t mean it’s wrong, or that I’ve done something wrong.

It has been difficult to face hard things because I haven’t felt that I was worth it. I also just realized that when something gets hard, I immediately react with feelings of indignation. When I face something hard, I hear my inner voice saying, “this isn’t fair…” And you know what? It isn’t. It isn’t fair that I have to work so hard to lose weight when it comes so easily to other men. It isn’t fair that I have to sacrifice enjoyable food when other men can eat whatever they want and not gain weight. It isn’t fair that I’ve been through so much trauma, only to have to work even harder at changing my thoughts/beliefs as a result. It isn’t fair that I have to deal with the fallout of things that happened to me, that I didn’t cause, that I didn’t want and that I never would have chosen. It isn’t fair that I have to suffer the consequences of other people’s bad choices/behavior. Yes, I know that makes me sound like a brat – and maybe that’s all I’ve ever been. But I’ve avoided and I’ve retreated and I’ve hid myself away because I just can’t face dealing with hard things when it wasn’t my fault to begin with. Well that also sounds like a victim talking…

Okay, so it isn’t fair. I am absolutely, 100% right – it’s not fair.

Now what?

Where does “it’s not fair” actually get me? Nowhere!!

Focusing on “it’s not fair” just leaves me stuck. I don’t have the answer, but maybe, just maybe, one way to get past “it’s not fair” is to realize that what it is, is an opportunity.

No, I didn’t want to be molested. And it isn’t fair. But it is an opportunity to forgive. No, I didn’t want to be morbidly obese. And it isn’t fair. But it is an opportunity to learn to appreciate the body God has given me. No, I didn’t want to live my life hating myself because other people hurt me. And it isn’t fair. But it is an opportunity to triumph in the face of adversity.

Maybe what “isn’t fair” is also an opportunity for faith. I think having faith in myself is trusting that what I want is okay to want; that I am worth achieving and maintaining improved health and fitness; that it’s okay that the process will be hard at times, but that the outcome will be worth it.

I think having faith in myself will mean doing the hardest thing possible: accept myself for who I am, the way I am, fat and all.

I have gotten used to beating myself up and I have gotten used to misery. I think it will be just as hard to admit that I’m okay, as it will be to accept that I’m okay. I have never allowed myself to be truly happy. I thought I needed to change, to achieve an ideal body/success, in order to matter, in order to be happy. So I’ve never allowed myself to really be happy. I was afraid that if I was happy then something bad would happen to “balance it out.” I was afraid that being happy meant I was being selfish. I was afraid that being happy meant taking happiness away from others, because there’s only so much to go around. I was afraid that being happy meant that I couldn’t change my circumstances, that I had to give up my dreams of improving myself physically or otherwise, because if I’m happy, then what else do I need?

It’s just occurred to me that I don’t think of happiness as an outcome of choices I make (i.e., a side effect); I think of happiness as THE destination – the whole end goal. Once you’re happy, that’s it – you’ve made it. You’re happy and there’s nothing else to want or do because you don’t need anything because you’re happy.

But what if happiness is NOT a final destination? What if happiness is NOT an end, in and of itself?

What if happiness is like a jacket. You aren’t meant to wear jackets all the time, but for some kinds of weather it’s the perfect comfort. In that way, maybe fulfillment doesn’t come FROM simply “being happy,” but maybe fulfillment comes from growth and achievement, and happiness just sometimes comes along for the ride…?

Well this post just kind of went everywhere, didn’t it? Sorry if it’s been all over the place. I didn’t realize until I started typing this that the concept of happiness was such a contributing factor to my lack of self-worth.

Ultimately, I don’t know what will come from all of the realizations I’ve had today. I still have so many unanswered questions. But I suppose that was really the whole point of this post in the first place: Faith is just living life with unanswered questions – and unanswered questions are no reason to stop living.