J is for Jello

I love jello! My favorite is the red kind. I could never pinpoint the flavor. It’s not cherry or strawberry, but just… red-flavor-jello, I guess. My love for this shaky, jiggly, yummy dessert didn’t happen until the birth of our first son. As it turns out, not being able to eat for several hours and having a child pulled out of your abdomen, leaves one with quite the appetite. So when the nurse showed up with two bowls of that red stuff, I was thrilled! Dipping my spoon in and grabbing a chunk of the flavor-filled jiggly stuff, I was transformed. No more ice chips for me- bring on the red jello!

As kids, Mom would give us chocolate jello when we were sick…you know the ones- the pudding cups? I remember lying on the couch that she’d lovingly made into a ‘sick bed’ complete with fresh sheets and pillows, watching “The Beverly Hillbillies” and eating chocolate pudding. Sure did make being sick much easier!

But the word that mostly comes to mind when I think about jello and how it jiggles, is the ‘F’ word. A word that has become deeply intertwined with the way I perceive myself. A word laden with judgment, blame, and embarrassment. The word is ‘fat’.

I really admire those people who take pride in their jiggles, but I’m not one of them. I know, I know- this is the era of self-acceptance, standing up against body-shaming, letting our freak flag fly! But I have a lifetime of programming contradicting all of those ideas. Please, don’t judge me. Believe me, I’m doing enough for the both of us. And listen, I get that there’s a slew of factors that influence a person's weight. Societal pressure, family dynamics, genetics, medications, exercise, age, and of course, the food we eat. I'll even cop to experiencing some body dysmorphia. But the recent weight gain I've experienced is significant and undeniable. It's not just the numbers on the scale that bother me. (I don't even own a scale! I just can't avoid them at the doctor's offices.) I really don't like the way my clothes fit me and how my body feels when I'm heavier. And mostly I just don't like the way I look.

I trace the beginning of my struggles with food and body image back to my relationship with Mom. Don’t worry, this isn’t a post filled with mom-bashing. After all, her beliefs were passed down from her mother and her mother’s mother before that. So in some ways, the programming has been inherited on the cellular level.

But Mom’s behavior certainly made an impression on me. Her beliefs around food and body image have never been positive. Even now, at the age of eighty-four, she struggles. So my model was… well, let’s just say it wasn’t very healthy.

Mom has some quirky habits when it comes to food. For example, she rarely has a conversation that doesn’t involve food, eating or body appearance. If you were to meet Mom, one of her first comments would be around your appearance. (For the best effect, read the following in your head with a Jewish accent.) “Oh my goodness, you’ve lost weight.”  Or, “You’re so TI-NY. Sa-rah, look how tiny she is.” Or worse, “Oh, look at that belly. When did that happen?” (And yes, I still shirk in embarrassment each and every time this happens.)

To her credit, Mom is a wealth of information around food. She can tell you how many calories are in every single food in the entire world. And a day wouldn’t be complete until she shares how much (or little) she has eaten, offering a complete breakdown of her every bite. Growing up, I saw her hide food to keep it away from either herself or someone else. And although she prepared a beautiful meal for us every single night of my childhood, she only allowed herself a small salad. The deprivation she endured was obvious and she made sure we all knew how much she sacrificed in her attempt to reach that perfect weight. There were also a lot of mixed messages, like “Sa-rah, have some more. There’s plenty. Have a second helping.” And without missing a beat, she’d follow with, “Sa-rah, have you put on weight?” …Sigh.

(OK, I know, I said no Mom-bashing, but hang with me. You’ll see…)

For the most part, Dad stayed quiet, not involving himself in these conversations.   He dismissed all of mom’s neurotic food behavior. He loved her no matter how she looked. But later, as I became a teenager and went through a very painful period of weight gain, it became clear that Dad had thoughts on my appearance as well, sharing, “You’ll never become an actress because you’re too fat.” Ouch. That one still stings.

But the messages that formed my beliefs didn’t just come from home. From a very early age, I have memories of people judging my body. As a ten year old gymnast, our coach lined up our team and measured the fat on the inside of our thighs. Although I was a very fit, athletic tomboy kinda girl, I learned that remaining thin was of utmost importance.

Sometimes I think about the Renaissance women and how they were prized and praised for being plump. I wonder what my experience would’ve been like if I’d  been alive during that time? But somewhere along the timeline, things shifted and societal expectations became harsh for us women. Because ever since I can remember, I carried the shame of being a fat woman.

The critical voice inside my head is almost always present. It’s a mean voice. Not loud or angry, but states everything very matter-of-factly, “Being fat is bad. It means I’m lazy, undisciplined and UGLY.  Fat will stop me from ever being successful …or loved. Fat is bad and wrong. I am a failure if I allow myself to get fat.”

For a period of time, these beliefs fueled an eating disorder. Oh, those years…they were hard. I attracted experiences that clearly reflected how I felt inside: ugly, mean and abusive. The psychological and emotional scars left a lasting mark. My worth was tied to my weight. If I was fat, I was unworthy of love or happiness. Period.

I spent a good bit of my twenties (thirties, forties, and fifties) untangling the web of misunderstandings, misinterpretations and judgments I’d taken on as truth. Once I quieted all the noise, I could actually hear what my body was saying. Deprivation doesn’t work for me; in fact, it makes me feel tight and tense inside. As it turns out, once I listened to my very wise body, I not only began to attract much more fulfilling relationships and circumstances, but my body began releasing weight all by its very own, glorious self and I was able to settle at a very natural, healthy weight.

And for a very long time, I enjoyed a life without having to grapple with those mean voices. Sure, there were little flare ups along the way, but I was always able to use my skills and find my way back to a state of balance.

Until now.

Whether it’s the medications, stress of taking care of Mom, dealing with tremendous pain or navigating this midlife transition, it seems the weight keeps adding up on my body, sticking to me like sad reminders of my failure and inability to find my way back to balance. It seems I have two gears. One where I throw my hands up in the air, doing my best to accept this plumper, more rolly version of myself; and the other where I'm hypercritical and harsh with myself. In the end, the mean voices always find a way to permeate my essence and I continue to beat myself up.

That old programming, she’s never too far away. Those beliefs that I’d let go of and moved beyond, they’re back and meaner than ever. Now they’re loaded with additional fodder- with lots of judgments sounding like, "Given the state of the world and the amount of people struggling, focusing on such a trivial thing as weight is ridiculous! You are so very entitled and privileged. And you should be better at this by now, figured it out for good. If you were only more spiritual, more disciplined, more…ugh..EVERYTHING, you still wouldn’t be facing the same issues around weight. The bottom line is that the measure of success is determined by the scale." And because I’m heavier, I’ve failed again.

I do my best to quiet the voices, but it’s tough to escape. I recently caught my reflection in a storefront window and was shocked. I’d confidently left my house in a cute outfit. The thing is, in my head, I’m a healthy, young, vibrant young woman, who still has her own breasts, stands up straight, is a healthy weight and has a head full of hair. (Yes, I am admittedly coming face to face with my midlife journey.) But the reflection that day told another story. I was a fat, hunched over, stringy haired, unhealthy looking older lady. Oof, those voices.

This. Is. Hard.

Sigh, again.

My skills and tools definitely come in handy. I’ve been practicing lots of self-forgiveness for holding onto these judgments and beliefs, and  doing my best to offer myself a little grace. Because on a deeper level, I understand that this really isn’t about the weight, the fat, at all. A voice gently reminds me - how I relate to the issue IS the issue.

It appears I’ve been really hard on myself. And that’s what deserves some attention.

Because the truth is, Spirit doesn’t give a gosh darned about how I look. Why would She? After all, I’m created by and for Her. And from this perspective, I see that everything else- this idea that the weight is a result of any one, any thing, any stress factor or medication, that it’s ugly and represents a failure on my part, that it determines my worth- that’s all just a story. A distraction from the real issue. Something I can point to when I’m feeling sad, lost, angry and lonely.

And I’ve been feeling all of those things lately. A lot. It seems that the weight is serving as a catalyst, a symptom, to get my attention.

So as gently as I can, I consider the following questions: After all of this time, why would this issue resurface now? Why would my body be holding onto weight now? How is this serving me? What does the weight want to say to me? And what can I learn through this experience? I have the wonderful opportunity to explore what is (literally) weighing me down.

The answers begin to trickle in. First, a kind voice inside my head shows up offering loving encouragement. (Oh, how I love her!) She reminds me to stop and focus on the gifts of now. On my breath. On the sun against my skin. On a gentle breeze moving through my hair. Whew, that feels good!

With a break from the constant berating, mean voices, I begin to explore. And after a time of stillness and connection, I recognize how perfect this is! I see how part of my spiritual curriculum obviously deals with learning self-acceptance and how to be gentle with mySelf, nurture mySelf, love mySelf, and honor my own self worth. And what better way to do that than to choose people, situations and events that are going to challenge those beliefs, forcing me to claim my ultimate truth, that I am worthy.

I’m remembering how part of my weight gain in the past was my body’s way of responding to the belief that I was invisible. It’s like my body said, “Ok, you’re feeling like nobody can see you, well, we’re gonna make ourself bigger. We’ll hold onto weight. That way everyone will be forced to see you.” Sounds logical to me. Now, as our boys grow and my relationship with them shifts, I’m having a similar experience. I’m feeling unseen. I go back to my box of tools and begin to forgive myself for ever buying into the belief that I was invisible. I also have a conversation with that person inside myself who feels unseen. I let her know that she is not only visible, but incredibly powerful, and that she is loved. I remind her of the truth: I am worthy of all the love, prosperity and joy that life has to offer.

An image of a big ball being pushed down in the water comes to mind. It's being forced further and further down, into depths that it has never been before. There's incredible pressure building up, pushing hard against it, testing it's durability. And just when it's about to implode, it gets released! It shoots through the water and breaks through the surface, exploding into the sky. I picture myself as that ball, flying high in the sky, to a place further than I’d ever imagined I could go, where I am living on purpose, feeling aligned, happy, joyful, and expansive.

Mind you, as I write this, I’m still deep in process, searching for answers. Spiritual awakening is about letting go, so maybe this weight is a metaphor for letting go of where I am in my life and stepping forward into a new chapter. But the pages haven't been written and moving into the unknown can be scary and uncomfortable. I see I'm being given the opportunity to learn how to sit in that discomfort. (I squirm. I don't like it.)

I get another, similar visual where I'm struggling through a vat of fat, an ocean of murkiness. (If you've ever bought a rotisserie chicken, I'm picturing that brown stuff- the fat that sits at the bottom of the bag. That's what I'm swimming through.) But I look different, like a newer version of myself. As I swim, I'm doing my best to reach the surface, but I'm stuck deep in the murk right now, feeling ugly, sad, and angry. If I can only get to the top, I’ll be able to express and experience myself in a new way. But that struggle to emerge is hard and I want to understand, right now, who I will be. How will I best serve? Will I ever find the thing that makes me feel on purpose again? Or am I destined to feel lost, unhealthy, and fat for the rest of my life? I really wish I could skip this step and just pop up to the surface, but (with gritted teeth) I remind myself (again!) that this murkiness is where the learning happens. And one of the gifts is that I'm not doing this alone. I have all sorts of angels and guides assisting me along the way, throwing me lifelines, helping me remember that everything is temporary. The struggle does end. Eventually I’ll surface with a new understanding and clarity. This weight will be lifted.

And on days when I feel like it’s too much, when it gets too heavy for me to carry on my own, I ask Spirit for help. I unload it right there in front of Her, humbly asking to be released of it all. Because grace is always available.

On good days, I feel gratitude for this body, my body. It’s serving as a magnificent vessel for my soul and I’m so grateful for the short blip of time I get to inhabit it. I feel compassion for myself and a tender loving for my body. It has brought me to this point, gifting me the privilege of bringing children into the world and nourishing them, allowing me to hear, see, smell, taste and feel...to breathe. I’m flooded with gratitude for all of the people and experiences that have led me to this point. Thank you, Mom! You provided me with exactly what I needed in order to learn this part of my spiritual curriculum. (See Dear Reader, I told you I’d get there!)

I’m even willing to consider that there are gifts in this extra weight. I’ve been feeling so foggy and floaty lately, with my life up in the air as I move through this transition. So maybe the weight is showing up to assist me in feeling more grounded, connected and anchored. There may also be all sorts of other reasons that my body is holding onto weight that I will never understand. Maybe it’s in service to something much larger than anything I’m capable of understanding right now. I'm trusting that my soul is ready to give birth to characteristics or qualities that it couldn't until all of this unfolded. Something is being born in me and it is wonderful!

I was on a very early walk this morning, before the heat set in. It was wonderful. I felt the summer air against my face, heard the songs of the birds and watched the squirrels gather their food. And as I noticed my heart expanding with every breath, I heard a whisper, an answer to a request, "Spirit, please show me a path of service moving forward." And the whisper offered me a clear response, "I am already on my path. Right now, what I'm doing in this moment, I am enough. This breath, this thought, this feeling. It is enough. This connection is enough." And then, as I felt a smile emerge, "I am beautiful."

So I'll continue to use this opportunity to see myself through the lens of love, surrendering to that absolute truth, that we are all worthy.

Because in the end, jello- with all of its jiggles- is an amazing thing, isn’t it?

In loving,

Sarah