You look so good!

I’ve been thinking a lot about the response I got to a picture I posted on FaceBook recently (the picture below). It's a photo of a group of people I was with at a survival course. I am standing in front, so you can see all of me. That photo in particular received some comments about how good I looked. I was surprised, actually, by the number of comments (I mean, it was only 5 or 6, but still…). My weightloss journey has always been aimed at losing about 130 pounds, give or take. At the point the photo was taken I had lost about 70 pounds total, or roughly half of my goal.

The thing is, I think I look the same, mostly. The program I’m on has me taking progress pictures and I have to admit that I do see changes in fatloss, but I also feel like I’m losing it so uniformly, that instead of looking like I’m “reshaping” my body, I think I look like I’m just… deflating; smaller, yes, but the same proportions. Maybe I’m splitting hairs, because fatloss is fatloss and I’m happy to be losing fat period, but my point is how I see myself hasn’t changed all that much.

Well, okay, wait, that’s not entirely true. Actually, the way I see myself HAS changed – enough that I’m writing this blog post, in fact. Maybe I need to make a distinction: the way I see myself physically in the mirror hasn’t changed all the much, but the way I see myself as a person, has changed.

I’ve always had a lot of reasons why I wanted to lose fat. Among them, I’m a little embarrassed to admit, is wanting praise or recognition. I’ve seen so many “transformations” on TV, in magazines, on social media, etc. and those people get tons of attention (and praise) for their accomplishment of losing fat – and I think it’s mostly well deserved praise. But I wanted that too. I wanted to lose fat and have everyone make a big deal about me as well. I’ve even seen motivational posters that say, “Do it for the ‘holy $#!@, you got hot!’” reaction.

Which deep down, I’ve always known is a pretty shallow reason for wanting to lose fat. I mean, yes, we make a big deal about those people, but where are they now? We don’t keep making a big deal out of those individuals, it’s kind of a “hey, cheers, you did great work,” then move on to the next inspirational success story. I’m not suggesting that I think that that motivation is wrong, so much as, I recognize that it’s superficial and somewhat fleeting.

Still, that is something that’s always been a desire of mine and part of what has motivated me to lose fat; until recently. The strange thing about losing fat – for me anyway – is that it has changed (and is changing) my perspective on everything – life, others, myself, what I want for myself, what I want out of life, I mean, all of it. There came a point when I realized that no amount of praise was ever going to be a true measure of success, nor be an accurate measure of my worth. Basically what I was telling myself was that I was worthless because I was fat, but once I lost all the fat, got “hot” and then got all the praise, then it would be okay for me to feel good about myself. The external praise for losing weight was going to be the marker of success and worth. Which, I hope you can infer by now, is not the case, nor should it ever be!

I have learned that I have worth independent of what I look like or what comprises my body composition. I have learned that no amount of losing fat, gaining muscle or praise will ever determine what I’m worth, because my worth is not dependent on that. My worth is inherent to my existence, to just being alive, to being here – to being a creation and son of God.

I’ve always had worth; I just couldn’t see it. I thought my worth was buried under pounds of fat and that I had to lose the fat in order to discover my worth. (In a weird way that totally contradicts my point, that’s actually kind of what happened.) Only I didn’t “find” my worth, I simply understood that I have always had it.

So maybe you can now imagine why it was so jarring to hear people comment on how good I looked. I’m actually getting some of the praise I thought I always wanted; only to realize that I’ve changed. My reasons for why I’m losing weight have changed. My need for praise or recognition has changed, dramatically (which is actually tied to another blog post I’m still working on – stay tuned). It’s also strange because for me, I’m only halfway through my journey. It’s almost as if I want to tell everyone, “wait, hold on, save your compliments, because I’m not quite where I want to be yet – wait until I’ve lost the rest of it, then you can compliment away!”

It’s also weird to receive those compliments, because, damn, if it isn’t nice to hear! (and I kind of hate admitting that). When I posted that photo I wasn’t expecting any praise at all. (The whole point was actually just that I did something really hard/challenging and came away with a sense of accomplishment.) But then a few people commented on how I’ve slimmed down and it was surprising to me to have that pointed out. Though, admittedly, I have worked SO hard (throw in joke about literally working my ass off!!). It’s been an emotional roller-coaster; nothing about this process has been steady or controlled, and yet, I’ve persisted, and that persistence is paying off. (To say nothing of how wonderful my coach/trainer/friend, Michael, has been; I can’t imagine how trying I must be as a client!)

So while I’m not seeing much “physical change,” (as I mentioned above, I still have the same proportions) I am seeing more identity change – or how I see who I am, not just what I look like. I may still be a big guy, but, ironically, being fat is just a small part of who I am.

I’m here at the end of my post and I’m not quite sure what I want the “take home” message to be. I don’t want to discourage people from complimenting me (because, hey, I’m human and I have worked hard and the recognition does feel nice!), but I also want people to know that worth isn’t about what we look like – it’s about who we are and even though we may change as people, our worth never will – it can’t.

Maybe it’s more accurate to say that it isn’t the fatloss that taught me this, but the journey to achieving fatloss. Don’t change your body because you think it will make you worth more, but change your body because of what you will learn about yourself in the process of doing so. Do it because of what you’re worth, not because it will make you worth more. Does that make sense?

Lastly, a heartfelt thanks for those that did complement me – after all, no one had to say anything at all, but they did – and I thank you for it! Even though I no longer feel I “need” it; it means the world to me to know that I am supported in this journey – thank you.

Perspective

Was it really just three months ago that I came to St George? How can I be leaving already?! Three months sounds like such a long time – how can it go so quickly?

As I drove into St George it felt so foreign. I had certainly been to St George and/or driven through before, but I didn’t have any connection to anything, so it was always just fleeting associations. But this time, I had to pay attention to everything because I knew I would need to remember how to get around. Far from being intimidating, this is what I love about going to new places – exploring! And I did a lot of exploring! The first few days, I looked at maps and just drove around – I had no idea there were so many suburbs and communities within St George! I don’t really know at what point things became familiar, but over time I started to get a feel for the city. 

I suppose what really had me worried was my work assignment. I knew at the outset that I would only be there for 13 weeks (I eventually extended two weeks, so it ended up being 15 total) and I wondered if the transitory nature of the job would affect whether or not I would fit in. Would people like me? Would they accept me? Would there be a caste system and would I, as a mere “traveler,” be on the bottom? Would they trust me as an SLP? Would they value my insight, when so much of the medical community seems to discount the validity of Speech-Language Pathologists, in general? Would I have to prove my worth to them somehow?

So before I went in on my first day I made a decision: be myself. I decided that worrying about whether or not they accepted me or if I would fit in was pointless and wasted energy. If I was myself and they didn’t like me then I couldn’t do anything about that anyway. At the very least, I would know that I didn’t try to alter myself to please someone else – something that has taken me a lifetime to learn. As I think about those first few days – that period of meeting people and analyzing personalities – I look back and realize something that wasn’t apparent at the time. I think people were more likely to accept me BECAUSE I accepted myself. Accepting myself led me to be honest in my actions, honest in my words, and honest in how I treated others. And I was accepted.

And somehow that acceptance grew into a genuine love for them. Here it is, three months later, and I feel like I’m leaving a family, not just co-workers. There were hugs, tears, gifts, laughter, and promises to keep in touch, but there was also the sense that I had made a home there and that this place – and the people in it – would somehow always be with me. With how busy I was to get everything ready to move back home, it didn’t really catch up to me until I actually drove away.  I had driven to Salt Lake and back several times during my stay there, but this time it hit me that when I went to Salt Lake – I wouldn’t be driving back. I guess perspective is funny that way – how it changes and how it can help you see things you didn’t see before. Perspective made me grateful – grateful for my time in St George, grateful for the people I met, grateful for how they helped me and loved me; grateful for how I changed by being there.

They made a valiant effort to keep me, too! I was honest from the beginning that I wanted to travel and I opted not to accept their offer of full-time employment, but I was so flattered that they would want me to stay. Side note: I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I like praise. If I’m being honest, there’s a very selfish reason I liked being in choirs, marching band and the odd play from time to time – I liked the applause! I suppose wanting to be recognized and admired is a fairly human trait, but for me it means something much deeper. Historically, I saw praise/recognition as an indication of my worth – the more people who recognized/praised me meant I was worth more (more than what, I couldn’t have said, but that’s beside the point…). I think for the first time in my life – that I can recall – I truly appreciated that the praise of the world meant nothing and paled in comparison to the love of these 5-6 people who wanted me to stay. That may not sound like such a big deal, but for me it is, because it’s a shift; a BIG shift - in how I see myself, how I see the world and my place in it. It means a shift in my identity and how I choose to define myself. It’s a realization that praise/recognition has no impact on worth, because worth is inherent – not measured in comparisons or praise.

So I say goodbye to my time in St George and more importantly, goodbye to the man I used to be. To my new St George family, I could never really say goodbye – because they, and what I learned from them, will always be with me. But to them, I say, “Thank you;” thank you for accepting me, for helping me grow. I am better for the time I spent with you and better for the influence you’ve had on me. 

Identity's "I AM"

I had an experience recently that brought up some inner turmoil that I thought I had resolved. As it turns out, I hadn’t resolved it completely. I think I needed to understand myself more deeply and so now, looking back, I am grateful that it happened.

I was at Kinstretch class and thought I was doing better. I felt like I noticed slightly more strength in various ranges of motion, but there was also a problem – the guy next to me. He was new – it was his first time ever at Kinstretch and he’d never done anything like this before. Quite honestly, I wondered why he was there in the first place. He was super thin, but very athletic looking. Because of the mirrors, it’s hard not to notice what everyone else is doing, and what I noticed was that this guy was doing awesome.

He was doing every move perfectly and wasn’t even breaking a sweat. I was only mildly annoyed, but I realized that we’re all different and we all have different abilities. Yeah, of course I was jealous; I wished I had the type of body that I could go into a fitness class I’ve never been in and kill it – without even breaking a sweat. But what finally threw me over the edge was what occurred towards the end of class. 

The instructor demonstrated a move where we had to lean forward against one knee with one leg stretched out behind. I tried to get into position, but couldn’t. My belly fat wouldn’t allow me to get into that position. That’s when I got discouraged and mad. It didn’t help that the guy next to me was, of course, “Gumby” and had no problem getting into position or doing the movement. Even more frustratingly, was that not only could I not do the movement, but I couldn’t even get into a position to do the “regression” or the modified/easier version.

I got mad. I was mad at myself for being so fat that I couldn’t even get into the right position to do the “easier” movement. I suddenly felt so stupid. I felt stupid for thinking I could do this. I felt stupid for being the only one in the class that couldn’t do it. I was embarrassed and ashamed of my body. I was sure that everyone who saw me thought I was a f*cking retard. I just wanted to cry. I just wanted to run. Does it seem like my reaction was maybe a little more intense than the situation warranted? I did too.

Afterward, I thought about why and then it dawned on me. Yes, the situation was difficult, but it was more about what the situation meant. It meant I was different. It meant I wasn’t like everyone else. It meant I didn’t fit in. All my life, all I’ve ever wanted was to blend in; to be unnoticeable; to be just “one of the guys.” And this situation was proof that I didn’t fit in; that I stood out for something negative; that I wasn’t just one of the guys. I was different and being different doesn’t measure up, especially when you’re fat.

It didn’t matter how hard I was working, I was never going to be as fit, healthy, or attractive as the guy next to me. And I hated myself for that. I almost quit that night. In fact, I emailed the instructor and told him that I was too fat to do this and I needed to cancel my membership in the class. When he wrote me back, he told me that I wasn’t giving myself enough credit for the hard work I was doing and he assured me that nobody saw me the way I described myself. The next day I talked to my trainer about my experience and we talked about how important self-love is. I understood what she was saying, but in my mind I kept saying, “that’s bullsh*t.” 

My internal argument went something like this, “telling me that I need to love myself is saying that I need to love being fat and I can’t do that, because I hate it. I hate how being fat feels. I hate what I see in the mirror every day and I hate how being fat limits what I can do. Furthermore, all those thin, skinny, athletic, beautiful people who say you just need to love yourself can say that because they ARE already thin, athletic and beautiful. Of course they love themselves – they are practically perfect!!! If I were that fit and attractive, I would love myself too! I am pretty sure that you take any one of those people and if they woke up one morning 100 pounds overweight, like I am, I am damn sure that they would NOT love themselves. I am positive that they would hate themselves being that way as much as I do. So no, I’m sorry, but ‘loving yourself’ when your fat and disgusting just isn’t possible.”

But how can you tell that to a thin, beautiful, athletic person? How could they possibly understand? They can’t.

This really bothered me. I took some time to think, meditate, ponder and pray about why I was feeling this way and how to change it. (Yes, I know positive affirmations can help; as does changing my self-talk; as does giving myself space to react with a different emotion, etc.) I just couldn’t put my finger on why this was so hard to resolve. I did more journaling and that helped me make a connection that I haven’t ever acknowledged before. In evaluating my “internal argument” I realized that my argument was really based on a very simple math equation:

I am = Fat

Essentially, what I believe is that the condition of my being fat is my identity – it’s who I am; It’s all of who I am and nothing else about me matters. Being fat = who I am. (And all of the negative associations I have with being fat or what “fat” represents!) So when someone says, “you just need to love yourself,” all I hear is, “you just need to love being fat.” How can the solution to someone’s problem be being told that they need to love what they hate about themselves? I can’t do that. I can’t love being fat. I hate how it makes me feel. I hate how it makes me look. I hate how much it limits what I can do. I hate how it destroys my confidence the second I step outside my door. All this time I have been agonizing over how to learn to love being fat (which I can’t do), when I have finally realized that that isn’t even the real issue. The real issue is the belief that being fat is who I am.

No one is just one thing. Just like how our bodies are made up of different organs. Our bodies are not our hearts, but our hearts are part of who we are. Our bodies are not our muscles, but our muscles are part of who we are. The truth is, I am fat. I am overweight. I’m carrying more adipose tissue on my body than is healthy. But that’s not ALL of who I am. It’s only a part. I made a list of what I think the “parts” are that make me up.

I AM MY:
Behaviors
Beliefs
Thoughts
Feelings
Perceptions/Senses
Memories
Character traits
Strengths/weaknesses
Body
Spirit

Taken alone, I am not any one of these things; and yet, each one of these things are a part of me. My problem isn’t acknowledging that I’m fat. My problem is thinking that that’s the only thing that matters. Or that “that’s just who I am.”

My Kinstretch instructor was right. I wasn’t giving myself enough credit for all the hard work I am doing in class, because I can’t see that determination and a desire to improve are as much a part of me as being fat. I can’t appreciate the courage it takes to be fat and yet pursue health and fitness – knowing that I’m going to come face to face with people I’m jealous of, and people I’m likely to compare myself to (i.e., my “little-blue-shorts-guy” post…).

The other problem that I had never seen before is – if I do believe that who I am is fat, then who am I without it? That’s a real identity crisis and completely contradictory to my goals. If I am fat, but then I’m trying to lose fat, then I’m losing my identity. If who I am is fat, then I need to be fat in order to be who I am. Is it possible that, in spite of the last 9 months of diet and exercise, I haven’t lost any weight because deep down I’ve been afraid of losing myself?

I think I’ve fundamentally misunderstood the statement I AM as well. To me, that statement is permanent. If I AM something then I have to be that something all the time. For example, if I AM fat, then I have to be fat ALL the time, because that’s who I am!! I think that’s why I can’t say positive things about myself like, “I am smart,” because I’m not always smart – sometimes I do really stupid things!! I can’t say, “I am strong,” because sometimes I’m really weak – physically and spiritually. It doesn’t feel honest to say that I am something, when I’m not that something all the time. But on the other hand, it also means I don’t give myself credit for being those things sometimes. Is there a way to reconcile all of this? Is there a way to say that I am something positive, while acknowledging that I’m not that way ALL the time? I don’t know. I hope so.

I think it may have to do with seeing ourselves completely. Meaning, acknowledging the good and the bad. I think it means acceptance of all of who we are, knowing that we all have various traits that could be "good" or "bad" depending on how we use them. Maybe it just means accepting that we are human and that each of us is constantly evolving. Maybe my self talk needs to be that I question myself and ask, "is this one thing all of who I am? If not, what else am I in this moment? Or, is this one thing something I like about myself, or do I want to change it?"

For example, the next time I'm at Kinstretch and I can't do a move, I can acknowledge it and ask myself, "okay, I can't do this move; is my inability to do this move - due to being fat/inflexible - all of who I am? Is this something that I want to improve? Then I can try to find a way to approximate the move, or I can ask the instructor what other options I can try." It doesn't mean I have to give up. It doesn't mean the being fat is a barrier I'll never be able to cross. It doesn't mean that being fat is all of who I am; nor does it mean that who I am is worthless, or stupid, or any other unkind label I can come up with.

It feels to me like there are different types of acceptance:
1) acceptance can mean something is permanent and unchangeable. "This is the way it is." e.g., "I just have to accept that I'm fat and I always will be."
2) acceptance can also mean something is the way it is - for now. e.g., "I just have to accept that I am fat for now, but I don't have to always be this way."
3) acceptance of uncertainty (is this faith?). "I just have to accept that I am fat for now, and maybe I always will be even though that's not what I want, but even if I am, I still know that I'm okay." Or, "I accept that I may always be fat, because being fat is not all of who I am."

What do you think? How do you define yourself? What is your identity based on?

You're okay, you just don't know it yet...

Well this topic has been a long time coming. Literally. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for over a year. It’s something that I’ve wanted to write down, but just couldn’t and I didn’t really know why. I believe what I’m about to explain was given to me – inspired, I want to say, hopefully without sounding presumptuous.

But look, this is hard for me to say. It has to do with identity. It should be the most freeing thing in the world to say, “I am ______,” whatever; fill in the blank. But for me it’s not that easy.

I come from a very black and white world (i.e., shame-based), where you’re either good or bad; good enough or worthless, etc. In that world, I wasn’t good enough, so I presented a “false” me. The one who was “good enough;” obedient, calm, helpful to others; the one who was happy all the time; got along with everyone – a peacemaker, even; never really had any serious problems; jack of all trades, master of none; etc. Hard to find any downsides to those qualities, right? Maybe not overtly, but subtly, the downside is this: it was just an act. It wasn’t truly who I was. Everything I did, I did out of fear of being evaluated, then judged “unacceptable,” while secretly punishing the real me for NEEDING a façade. The only way I could ever complete the sentence, “I am ______,” was by saying “I am a worthless fraud.” THAT was my identity.

You can’t go through life presenting a false self to the world and expect to be accepted for who you are, let alone happy.

So I’ve spent a significant amount of energy diving into the shades of gray of being me and trying to sort out what I believe about who I am. Which shifted my belief from, “I am a fraud,” to “I am a mess!” (Hey, progress is progress!) Joking aside, though, so much of my identity has been caught up in being the victim. Wow, what a trap to be in! It feels justified in its innocence, as in, “I was innocent, I didn’t cause this trauma, it wasn’t my fault,” etc. But in order to be justified in innocence, you also have to be powerless, because a powerful person wouldn’t have let themselves be victimized (some flawed thinking here, but keep in mind that being hurt as a child doesn’t allow for logical/mature thinking). This is referred to as Locus of Control. Someone who has an External Locus of Control believes that everything that happens in life has a cause that is external to them, such as luck, time, circumstance, etc. This meshes really well with a victim mindset – everything that happens is outside my control; versus an Internal Locus of Control where the person views themselves as being in control of their own life.

I have rarely felt in control of my own life. That includes my identity – how I see myself. I have straddled the line between discovering who I am and creating who I am. And it’s the creation of who I am that I have a hard time with. “What if I fail to maintain that identity?” I ask myself. “What if I say, ‘I am – whatever’ and then find that I’m not?” For example, what if I say, “I’m a writer,” but then fail to be successful as a writer? That word “fail” is hard to get around.

I’m trying create some context for you to understand why what I’m about to share is so hard to say. There is so much fear in just trying to be me, when being me for so long just wasn’t good enough. I also know that I’m stalling. I don’t want to type it. I don’t want to say it out loud. Once I hit “publish” on this post, it’s out there. I don’t want to admit it because it means a monumental shift MUST take place accordingly. It means I must change how I think, how I feel, how I see myself, how I define myself, how I think of myself, how I present myself, how I interact with the world. It means I can never go back to being who I was. It means the death of the false self (who protected me for so long!) and the emergence of the real me…

Enough stalling.

Here it is:


I am okay.


Wow, that was hard! Can you just let that sink in for a minute? For me, the fear and doubt immediately come creeping in. “But what if I say I’m okay only to find that I’m not? What if I say I’m okay and then everyone expects me to be okay, but what if I’m really not? What if I just lied to myself? What if I can’t keep being okay? What if the real me really isn’t good enough?”

You know, one of the major problems with trauma and victimhood is that it creates an internal rule – I am not okay. (Variations are: I can’t be okay, I never will be okay, I don’t deserve to be okay, I’m not worth being okay, etc.) This rule is formed at such a young age that it seems immutable. Set in stone. Just the way things are.

You may not believe this, but I’m kind of lightheaded all of a sudden and feel inexplicably tired. I know this feeling. It’s resistance. It’s the struggle within myself that is taking so much energy that I want to shut down.

But I can’t.

I mustn’t.

I won’t.

“Come on, Micah, fight it!” I can hear a voice within me saying. “Keep going.” And now I’m nauseous. My brain is – foggy; I’m having a hard time concentrating. I just keep typing because I know I can’t stop. It feels like someone has invisible magnets all around me and I can feel the magnetic pull shifting in different directions, but I can’t see anything. [Is this what the moon feels like?! Oh crap, and now the lame jokes have started, that’s not a good sign…]

Okay, I just took a drink and some deep breaths.

Being okay is scary. It’s not at all familiar. It’s a paradox. Being okay actually means you can mess up, once in a while. Because even when you mess up, you’re still okay. Even when you make a mistake, you’re still okay. Even when you look stupid (especially looking stupid trying something new for the first time), you’re still okay. What a foreign concept for me!!

The message I received a year ago was really this: “Micah, you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

It was true. I received it, but I couldn’t admit it to myself. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to “be okay” in light of everything I’ve been through. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve prayed and asked Heavenly Father to tell me how to be okay with the things I’m not okay with! I’m not okay with being fat, yet I’m I supposed to be okay with myself that way? Not a chance!

But here I am. Letting whoever is reading this know – I’m okay.

I trust the Lord’s timing, but I wish I had been told this from the very beginning.

When I almost died at birth: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was sexually traumatized: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was neglected and criticized: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was rejected socially for being too fat: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was lonely and scared: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

When I was suicidal: “you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.”

I have always been okay, I just didn’t know it. I’m laughing and crying at the same time.

As much as I’ve needed this message – and continue to need it – I also want to share it with you. I don’t know who’s reading this. I don’t know what you’re going through in your life. Maybe things are great, and if so, I’m genuinely glad. Or maybe you’re just having a hard time with something and don’t know how to let anyone know. To you I want to say - you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.

I’m sorry for whatever hardship or trial you might be going through. Maybe you feel weighed down and hopeless, maybe you feel helpless and like a victim! Maybe you feel lonely and afraid. I promise you – you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet. It’s hard to wait for the sun when you’re in the middle of a storm, but I want you to know – you’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.

This is my first post of the year. I felt like this was the message that needed to be out there right now. May it guide all that I accomplish this year, but more than that, I hope this phrase will come to you IN THOSE MOMENTS when you feel afraid; when you feel out of your comfort zone; when you attempt to improve your life and encounter setbacks; when you experience uncertainty, doubt, and fear; when you’re doing all the right things, but challenges overwhelm you; when you’re feeling lonely and forgotten; I pray you’ll remember what I absolutely know in my heart is true:

You’re okay, you just don’t know it yet.