The last several days have flown by. I've been a bit busy and had to stop and ask myself or consult my phone to remember what day it was. Anyway, I have been out of the house a lot, helping some friends run errands and taking them to appointments. It kind of caught up with me yesterday. Last night I had pain from the middle of my back down to my toes and it hurt to breathe. I had to take a pain pill and go to bed early. However, it didn't do me much good because I couldn't get comfortable and ended up only sleeping two hours. I've spent the last three surfing the internet with that groggy, hungover, heavy feeling from the pain pill.
I am too fucking young for this shit.
But it brings me to something that is uncomfortable: the disconnect between myself and my body. My therapist is moving me toward addressing it since I've had the hysterectomy and my new depression meds seem to be working out for me. She also has me reading The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown. The books is basically about learning to let go of all the crap and learning to be self accepting and 'enough'. The second chapter has been difficult for me, it's about cultivating self compassion. That seems to be a theme of sorts that keeps popping up.
Yesterday a friend of mine shared this video by Dove about 'real beauty'.
In it the woman talks about a disconnection of her with her body and love affair she'd been missing. It made me cry because I have the desire to love my body, to be happy with it, to be 'enough', but I hate it. I feel that my body has betrayed me. When I look at myself in the mirror I see me but I don't feel connected to it. It's like I see myself but I think that's not my body. It doesn't feel right. It's complicated, compounded by years of PCOS, Fibromyalgia, and a herniated disk in my lower back. I feel as if my body has stolen so much time and life from me. It has ripped dreams from my hopeful hands and laughed in my face replacing them with pain and blood. I hate it. I want to punish my body for being a monstrous, vicious whore bitch. I have punished it before. I've been so angry that I've beaten myself with my fists. I've cut myself. I've fantasized about taking a gardening trowel and raking my skin off or just cutting chunks of me off. And all the while I hear my Grandpa's voice in my head saying "you used to be such a pretty girl".
I told Amanda yesterday that I really would be content being heavier if I could wear the clothes I dream of wearing. I don't need to be a size 10 or less. I would be happy at size 18-20. I don't need perfect. I need functional. I need to be able to live, to go places and do things and not be afraid to do so. I don't even care about being pain free, I can deal with pain, I have for a long time, we are old friends. I know how to navigate the fibro and bad back days. I just want to enjoy life, to love myself and be connected to all of me, to kick ass in my own unique way not struggle through anymore.
All of that said, there is some light in all of this. I've let go of trying to be the 1950s house wife with a career and kids and avid church goer that my Grandma wanted me to be. I'm a house wife for sure, but I'm slowly letting the expressions of me come out and saying fuck all to anyone who has a problem with it. That's progress for a people pleaser I think.