03 Jan Just Numbers on a Scale
Getting lost as a child is terrifying. Being lost as an adult is paralyzing. After one of the happiest moments of my life – at our boys’ B’nai Mitzvah – I looked at my reflection having no idea who the person was staring back at me. She smiled but it wasn’t genuine. She laughed but it was forced. She was going through the motions of living without feeling. Who was she and where did I go?
“I looked at my reflection having no idea
who the person was staring back at me.”
We wait our entire childhood to grow up, gain responsibilities, make our own decisions, and by golly – do what we want! The reality is we work, partner up and get married or live together, have children, and start caring for aging parents. Somewhere along life’s path, we parcel ourselves – always giving.
At our boys’ B’nai Mitzvah.
One day late in February, early March of 2015 I listed out everyone and everything that was a priority on my list: children, husband, parents, faith, friends, teaching, our business, circus, the environment, world peace, re-runs of Seinfeld, and on and on the list went. Around number 13 or 14 possibly even 16th on the list was me. Me – at number fill-in-the-blank teen!
Paper to pen doesn’t lie. It can’t be bent and twisted. It will not kowtow to your illusions. It stares and speaks the truth: You have no self worth. The writing screamed in black and white as my tears spilled onto the page. How did this happen; when did this happen; where did it happen shuffled through my mind like the old-fashioned Rolodex Puppa kept at his desk.
There was not a single moment of a day where I allowed my mind, body or soul to refuel and recharge, and this had been going on for a decade or more. I was lost. Scared as a child but feigning adulthood, I felt there was nowhere for me to turn but within. Books and reading have always brought me solace so I turned to a familiar route. Ms. Oprah, Martha Beck, and Brene Brown were just a few of the coaches whose work guided me.
I surrounded myself with a few close friends who I shared my struggles with, my husband being one of them. There were no personal trainers, chefs, life coaches, or endurance educators to help me along. It was all me.
A week or so into my journey of moving myself up the list towards #1, I received a call from a bone marrow research facility who had my information on file. A few months prior, one of my dearest friend’s step-father, Bernie, was in need of a donor so a search began. A blood drive was setup gathering together family, friends, and strangers to see if there was a match. Unfortunately, Terri’s step-dad lost his battle to Leukemia but I was a match for another person. I was asked if I was still interested in donating and I said, “Yes,” not knowing what it entailed.
The person who needed my bone marrow was in their “final stages” and I was their only hope. (Cue scene from Star Wars: A New Hope where Princess Leia asks Obi-Wan through her faithful droid R2-D2 for help.) What my doctor described to me next sounded like a true twin miracle.
“You both have had to come from the same area of the world, having the same illnesses, genetic makeup, and history; it’s like finding the equivalent of your twin,” Dr. Simon explained.
There was a person somewhere in the United States who is fighting to stay alive and needs part of my body in order to survive. Even though obesity wasn’t a factor in my donation, I promised to be healthier by working on my stressful eating habits and eating addiction, working out, and giving back to myself. The path to well being isn’t lined with miracle diets, nothing is quick or fast, it’s not day-to-day but decision-to-decision, but when you have someone counting on you being healthy so they can live – you keep going. I carved out time to take care of myself.
I walked more, ate less, drank even more water, kept a journal, joined Weight Watchers, and before falling asleep every night imagined my “twin” healing: Their body replenishing critical cells as my body replenished what was needed as well. Soon my walking turned into visits to our local YMCA and trying out new classes: Spin…my butt is a bit larger than the seats on a stationary bike; Barre…transformed my life; Yoga…found my church!; Zumba…dancing like I’m in a club back in the day; Running…an old friend who I’ve missed. I completed a 5K even though no one I knew joined me. I kept pushing for my “twin”.
Several months went by, all my labs were in, and we were closing in on a surgery date at Scripps near San Diego, when I received a call from the facility that was coordinating every detail.
“Samita, we truly appreciate your willingness to help but the patient is not needing a bone marrow transplant,” the young man said. “The recipient has made a recovery and is doing extremely well. Could we please keep your information on file for another person?”
“Of course,” I happily replied.
My twin was on the road to recovery! I looked over my mental list: Twin was at #1 and I was #2. After the call, I moved myself up to #1 and I’ve stayed there for the last two years. Taking care of myself – mind, body and soul is my duty and honor.
Celebrating the new year with a familiar face.
I sleep when I’m tired; eat when my body needs fuel; treat myself in moderation; practice yoga; meditate; write; talk with a therapist; believe in acupuncture; pray; work out my gratitude muscle; engage in the life force around me; genuinely smile; laugh out loud (a lot); feel all emotions even though some scare me; breathe; politely say, “No, I’m unable to do that.” And repeat.
This time of year we will be bombarded with “Before” and “After” shots promising the glory of thinness and beauty, muscles and more, and the false hope of turning back the clock. I’m a woman of 44 who has had three children; I have curves which include my smile, breasts, hips, and butt; I have stretch marks, laugh lines, and facial expressions (which does not include a Poker Face); I am considered “overweight” according to the medical guidelines. Now, I recognize my reflection and finally feel comfortable in my own skin.
“Evolving isn’t sacred to January 1st of every year.”
The real work happens in between the “Before” and “After” pictures, where you make yourself a priority, take inventory of your needs, and fail only to get back up and try again because you are worthy of your own love. No matter if it’s day or night, Spring, Summer, or Fall, you can wake up and make a promise or resolution to do better, live better, and be better. Evolving isn’t sacred to January 1st of every year. If like most Americans weight loss is your resolution, the number on the scale never truly mattered. All along, it was another number that spoke your own personal truth – the #1. You are worthy of being #1 on the list of priorities.
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