Wednesday, January 7, 2015

So, I'll Eat Crow

This should, perhaps, be the title of my memoir.
Or at least story of my life today.
Of what has happened the past few years, and this past year in particular.
Wikipedia (and yes, I donated) states:
Eating crow is an American colloquial idiom,[1] meaning humiliation by admitting wrongness or having been proven wrong after taking a strong position.[2] Crow is presumably foul-tasting in the same way that being proven wrong might be emotionally hard to swallow.
Today, I went to a therapist.
A first for me.
A very few had encouraged me, for months, to "get therapy". To see it as a way of help and self-care.
A few more people, who had done therapy, had tried to get me to come up with "what I wanted to accomplish" during my session(s).
A few others felt therapy was a useless money trap and wouldn't accomplish anything and my money could be better spent elsewhere.
Dear Ones, I am over my head and need help. Help: not to run away from my life, but rather I need another human being-- someone experienced in big life issues and helping people with them-- to help me navigate what is going on in my own life. Navigate and come out on the other side of this particular storm safe and strong and a better person. And, no, I do not want to talk to you about them. If I did, you would have already heard from me. Truly. Don't call me. You can pray for me, but don't pry, because that is how I will take your inquisitive "Are you o.k.?" I'm telling you that I am in therapy. That, in and by itself means that I do not consider myself "o.k.". I will be o.k., in time, and in that, I am quite confident. So, in advance, I ask your forgiveness, because I am not going there with you. With practically anybody.
We all, if we look back, we probably all knew this day was coming. After all, no matter what people said, there were reasons why I ate. Yes, it became an addiction, but I ate because I was afraid. I ate because I couldn't handle the truth of something. Or somethings. Or my limited understanding of what the truth was made me even more afraid. I have, until quite recently, lived most of my life in fear. As a child, it was the Communists or kidnappers or sex slaves (what???). As a young adult, other scary, grown-up things. As a more mature adult, more fears/dragons of even greater size. I built huge buffers around these fears, including a fat padding of a hundred extra pounds of bulk on my frame. Today, I don't pacify myself with food. Don't use food, or shopping, or other compulsive behaviors to "survive" life. And so, having cleaned my internal house, and cleaned some more, I come to this day. This day where I stand stripped naked, defenseless among you. Completely and utterly vulnerable and exposed. I stand in this furnace and all my pretenses are burned away.
All the self-righteousness.
All the walls of perfection.
All the judgements against those I considered myself "better than" or morally superior to are now set before me on an overflowing platter and Honesty demands truth of me. Not a parroting of what I say I believe or what I want to believe or what I want my children to believe, but what do I believe, deep, deep down in the places none but God and I can see.
This daily act of TRUTH takes great courage, bravery and authenticity. Truth which I have been learning and doing, in some ways simply by weighing and measuring my food for the past two and a half years. But, internally, over the past year, in particular, I have and am, facing fear-- sword of truth in hand-- daily.
My hope today rests in Grace. In Mercy. In Love.
Ultimately, my hope is that through this process, I will become more of a true human: full to overflowing of those good things myself.