PB Ain't Just Peanut Butter Anymore

I met with my new therapist on Friday and I was really pleased with her. Of course the first time was spent catching her up on my past and what I'm trying to do now. She seemed very receptive to my Intuitive or Normal Eating goals and tackling the emotional issues behind my eating. Next time I plan on taking some of my literature in with me (mainly the Food and Feelings workbook and Karen's new book "Nice Girls Finish Fat") and show her what I'd like to focus on with her in sessions.

In the meantime, I have been taking a more serious look at the LAP-Band surgery. First I went to my local hospital/surgeon's web site and went over all of their extensive information about the surgery and what happens after in their program. Then I went exploring on the web and found some blogs by people who have had the surgery. Not "success" stories hand-picked by bariatric surgery offices that only say how wonderful it is, but uncensored, unfiltered accounts by real people.

I have to say I am not convinced to have the procedure done. I learned a new term today -- Productive Burp, or PB as it's abbreviated on all of these blogs. This occurs once the band is in place when you eat food too quickly or the piece is too big to fit through the opening, and it all comes flying back out. Somewhere I read a recommendation to carry plastic bags with you wherever you go to collect these PBs. Bloggers wrote about PBing into an empty bottle and horrifying their friends with what could also be called Projectile Barfing. This didn't sound very fun at all.

But do you want to know what caused the biggest reaction? When I read that I couldn't drink carbonated beverages any more. I love my seltzer water (flavored, but no sugar or artificial sweeteners), and I looked at that information with a huge amount of sadness. There was a list of other foods that could also cause problems -- fibrous foods, beef, peanut butter (hey, I could PB on PB!) among others -- which all added up to me feeling uneasy about the whole thing.

Is that petty? Am I missing out on something that might benefit me because some foods or beverages would have to be eliminated or greatly reduced? I never eat raw onions because they upset my stomach, but I don't feel bad about that, because it benefits me in the long run. Maybe I would eventually feel the same way about seltzer water and steak. I guess I just don't like those decisions being forced on me.

What bothered me the most, though, was the general feeling from these blogs that they couldn't lose weight fast enough, that the band wasn't limiting their food intake enough, and their doctors were in agreement with this. One blogger said the doctor told her she should only be able to eat half of a frozen diet dinner, which just sounded crazy to me. It just smacked of that extremist diet mentality that I've worked so hard to recover from these last few years.

If any of you know more about this, please let me know. I just know I feel great about the future as far as my therapy as involved, but very wary about the surgical route. I should probably listen to my intuition, right? Or am I just afraid of making a serious commitment?

(Not) In Treatment

When I get a chance, I like to watch episodes of HBO's show In Treatment. I have to sneak this viewing in when my husband isn't around, because he doesn't really like the show and calls it "depressing." This makes sense because 1) he's never had a great opinion of psychotherapy and 2) the episodes can be depressing at times. Maybe because I've dealt with depression for the majority of my life I'm somehow drawn to it. Is it because I relate to it so well? I like watching people revealing their inner thoughts to an objective person and often discovering things about themselves they didn't realize before. Yes, it can be sad to see someone falling apart, but I much prefer that emotional/mental drama than some 10-minute fight scene. Which is why I in turn leave the room when my husband turns on a Steven Seagal movie. Gag!

Psychiatrists, psychologists and counselors have played a major role in my life: I just realized I've had more therapists than significant others! I've definitely gone through longer periods in my life without a boyfriend than I have without a therapist.

At the end of May my most recent counselor retired. I was supposed to be referred to another colleague in her office, but I've yet to get a phone call to schedule an appointment. Yes, I've made a phone call to check in, about a week ago. I left a message on the new referral's voice mail, but haven't gotten a reply. I think I may call the person in charge today or tomorrow and see if I can't get any further that way.

This was a tough time for me to go cold turkey. For the last four years summer have been a very chaotic, trying time for me, and I've had major issues with anxiety attacks and difficult bouts of depression over it. Therapy was crucial for me because it was precious "me" time, where I was the focus for once, and I could vent and troubleshoot problem areas in my life. And this summer is no different: yesterday I had a pretty significant melt-down that left me feeling like a fragile, cracked piece of china.

But you know what? Looking back on the day, I actually saw it as a small victory. Instead of shoving down the feelings I was having, which would normally come out later in anger, anxiety and depression, I just left those feelings fly and let myself experience the emotions I was experiencing (frustration, hurt, helplessness). Even better, I didn't go out and comfort myself with overeating after the fact, either. I did go food shopping, but I didn't think once about buying any kind of binge foods. I stocked up on salad fixin's for myself; healthy, energy-packed snacks for my daughter so she can re-fuel after gymnastics practice; and fresh veggies for last night's dinner. Last evening I did find myself attacking my housecleaning with some unusual fervor, but better that than a tub of ice cream!

While it would be nice to have a therapist to tell all of this to, I guess for now I've got enough tools in my mental arsenal to keep me going. However, I've got a lot more summer to tackle, and it would be nice to have that "corner man" (yes, I'm using boxing terminology!) to advise me.

Change and Commitment

As I was going through my morning routines I was thinking about change, or the lack of it, and how I felt about it.

Yesterday I had my final appointment with my therapist, who is retiring. I realized I've been seeing her since 2003, which is the longest I've ever stayed with one therapist. That's saying something, since I've been going to someone off and on since the mid 80s! Some of that has to do with the fact that since I graduated high school (20 years ago today, gulp!) I have made major moves four times, and within those four basic locations, I've lived in 12 different domiciles!

I then realized that other than my time with Dr. Karen and being a mother (for 10 years now), most of my adult "commitments," be they residences, jobs or relationships, have never been longer than 5 years... until now. In July I will have been in my current job five years, and in August I will have known my husband for 5 years. (I am excluding friendships in this list -- I must say the majority of my friends have been very long-term -- some since elementary school!)

I've discovered a strange paradox about myself in this train of thought. As much as I crave control and routine, I've consistently thrown myself into chaos by changing jobs and or locations. In most of the job situations I've seen the "writing on the wall" that I need to get out, move on, or go bonkers. Actually, my one relationship was that way, too. Part of me worries that I ran away from these situations rather than stick it out, but I'm pretty sure that I tried my best and realized when there was nothing more I could do to make it better. And I'm pretty confident that if I had remained in those situations that I would be a miserable soul.

As I ponder the longevity of my current job and relationship, I would like to think that I've managed to learn from past mistakes and was able to search out positive environments. No job or relationship is perfect, but my basic criteria are being met. In my job, I have some independence to work at my own pace, and I've got the flexibility to be able to juggle my job as mother, too. I truly feel appreciated and I believe I can make a difference in people's lives.

In my relationship I am with a person who is not afraid to be affectionate and share his feelings, and he's willing to discuss things and diffuse them before they blow up into big problems. These are so important to me, because it's something I never had before.

But as I move into the long term with many situations in my life, I do have some apprehensions. As much as I like my current stability, I do have these fleeting moments of restlessness. The positive side of that is being a person who is always looking for something new to learn and grow as a person. But I notice this trend I have of not finishing a lot of things in my life: I often start a project or hobby then let it drop. It happens with my efforts at tackling my eating issues, too. Once in a while I may come back to it for a little while, but I don't seem to have the sticktoitiveness to complete a lot of things. Is it fear of commitment, adult ADD? Or maybe something else I haven't even grasped yet. I don't know.

I am starting with a new therapist, probably next month. Maybe I can tackle these issues with her.

Learning to Be Happy

One of my favorite things to do on my vacation was to take pictures of things that struck my fancy. I love art in all its forms: sculpture, painting, stained glass, metal work, architecture, etc., not to mention the written word or music.

We passed the sculpture of the horses above many times when we orbited the Picadilly Circus area. The detail and movement captured in this piece was awesome to me. Plus, my mom's a horse fanatic, so I wanted to show these pictures to her, too.

We didn't go to this restaurant (also in the Picadilly area), but I just loved the stained glass in the entrance. In fact, the whole building was interesting, with interesting sculptures all over it. You just don't see buildings like this where I live, so I'm always spellbound by the history and grandness of them when I'm given the opportunity. Not only because the U.S. is so much younger than the U.K., but in my rural, sparsely populated area, my ancestors just didn't have the money and resources to construct a lot of works of art like this.

Even the taxis were works of art in London! We got to ride in one of these famous black cabs during our stay, and I must say it was one of the most comfortable and stress-free rides I've ever paid for. Unlike other cities and countries I've been in, the driver didn't scare the bejesus out of me with his erratic, nerve-rattling driving. The vehicle was clean and roomy and the seats weren't lumpy and nasty. On a side note, I must say the National Rail train ride was also a wonderful experience, and Amtrak could really take some hints from them.

A few days before I left for this trip I visited my therapist Dr. K., and we came to a real eye-opening realization for me. She asked me how excited I was about my upcoming vacation, and I had to admit that for a number of reasons I wasn't really feeling it. Some of it was not feeling well, but a goodly portion of it was guilt: guilty that I was leaving my husband and daughter to fend for themselves; guilty that I was able to take the time and spend the money to do this frivolous, indulgent thing when so many people can't. And the flak I took months ago definitely put a damper on my anticipation, too.

I then realized that throughout my life I've often had trouble enjoying, anticipating or being happy about the good things in my life. Whether it was good grades in school, graduating college with honors, buying a house, adopting my child or falling in love, there was always something inside of me that kept me from feeling unbridled joy, or that I even deserved it. Some of it goes back to my childhood. Every Christmas I can remember being sat down by my grandmother and instructed not to "brag" about what presents I received that year. I was told other kids might not have been as fortunate as me and that I shouldn't make them feel bad. So I always downplayed or didn't say a word about what I got for Christmas, which bled over to birthdays or other times I might have received something special. Even now -- this very day -- when someone asks me how my England trip was, I get gripped with that rule in my head to not brag and rub people's noses in my good fortune, and I find myself fighting the urge to downplay my enjoyment.

But some of it definitely comes from my self esteem and weight issues. Every day in this society we are bombarded by the demonization, minimalization and ridicule of fat people. Fat people get inadequate medical care, get paid less in their jobs, and have often been the victim of bullies throughout their lives. We're stereotyped as lazy, slovenly, low-class and stupid. For years we didn't deserve decent clothing, and heaven forbid someone fall in love with a fat person, lest they be called a Chubby Chaser and suspected to have some ulterior motive.

This has all evolved into the dysfunctional, messed up way of thinking that I have. The biggest "aha" moment during my therapy session was that because I wouldn't let myself enjoy these material or emotional things in my life, I wound up turning to food to find those feelings of enjoyment and satisfaction. But of course, the sad truth was that the more I turned to food, the lower my self-esteem became and harder it became to enjoy the rest of my life.

The important thing my therapist told me was that even though I have been surrounded by these fattist attitudes and taught by my family to feel guilty about the good things in my life, I'm a free-thinking adult now. I don't have to follow the old rules and agree with the negative ideas anymore. I do deserve to be happy. And I deserve to feel good about myself.

An instance of this skewed thinking came up on our London trip. We stopped at a coffee shop with Internet access, and while my one travel companion got online to track down a British friend's phone number, the rest of us ordered coffee. I was the last one to order, and when I asked for a Mocha, the guy behind the counter seemed to smirk at me. When he walked away I looked over at my fellow female companion and she smiled and said, "He thinks you're cute."

"No," I scoffed. "He must have thought I sounded ridiculous with my hillbilly American accent."

A minute later he came back with our coffees, and when he handed me my mocha, he said, "Here's your coffee, darling."

We walked out of the shop and my friend immediately jumped on me. "He was into you! He didn't call me darling!"

We then got into a discussion how we both tend to dismiss flirtations and deny someone could actually be attracted to us. Funnily enough, when our Internet surfer returned and joined in our conversation, he said he was the exact opposite; he tends to think people are hitting on him when they actually aren't! I guess that just goes to show how differently our self-image can affect our perceptions of the world around us.

More pictures and England recollections are on their way. And in between some more morsels of wisdom -- if I can muster them up!