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…

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?

Happy inspite of...

I didn't think I'd make it past the first week and here I am! We're already talking "midterms." I can't say that I've found my groove yet though. That will take some more time. I am at least starting to feel like I'm not going to totally burn out, so for me, that is progress. One of the hardest things I am trying to adjust to is a lack of structure. I mean, there are things I know I need to do, but the order that I get them done is totally up to me and that's unusual. I'm coming from HR where there is (usually) much more structure and I can feel my brain protesting at this new style of schedule. That and the amount of information being thrown at us each day is just overwhelming!

But as I was driving home today, I put on some good music and I was thinking about everything going on and I felt happy. I didn't necessarily feel peaceful or anything, but I was able to recognize on some level that I am happy where I am. Busy, yes. Trying, yes. Struggling, yes. Hard, yes. But I'm hanging in there and that makes me feel good. I think part of the reason I'm happy is because I am being challanged in such a new way and even though it's hard, its being hard doesn't detract from the fact that I love what I'm learning and I'm looking foward to all of the things I'll be able to do and all of the people I'll be able to help. That makes me hopeful and I feel like this time of great struggle is worthwhile.

That and I just finished reading Moby Dick, which I really, really enjoyed! Back to homework...