Progress

Different kinds of progress this week. So far I've lost 6 pounds since the beginning of the month. I like my chances of winning the challenge for weightloss. Yeah, I'm a bit hungry, but it's definitely manageable. I've rewarded myself with a couple of Girl Scout cookies at the end of good eating days and I even had half of a fast food meal. My therapist suggested that as a compromise because my husband and I eat out a lot and like to eat out a lot, so we simply share a meal.

I've been drinking a protein smoothie in the morning, sticking to my batch-made meals, and healthy snacking when the hunger got to rumbly territory. The water weight is just falling right off, which is nice. I have returned to my former highest weight (about 243.5 lbs.) and I can really see myself making major progress by the end of the month.

As always, I've also taken this opportunity to think about my psychological health. I continue to take my anti-depressant, but I know there are some deep-seated issues to work on. This week the subject of my fierce independence has come up. In the past, I've been weak and helpless to the bigger, more powerful people around me. I grew into a young adult who was constantly looking for validation and advice. When I finally got myself into therapy and then found a loving and supportive relationship, I made a decision: never again. I will never be that weak again. I will never be that dependent again. I will never be that weak again.

This manifested itself this week in a misunderstanding between myself and a friend who was trying to offer me advice that I didn't ask for. In my response, I was simply letting him know that when I need advice, I ask for it, but most of the time I just need validation. As with most text-based communication, my tone and intention was lost. It was unpleasant. I don't think I was wrong, but I do think some of my response is based on this hangup I have about where I've come from. I don't want anyone to treat me like a idiot, like a weakling, like lesser than them. The problem with this is that I can be overly protective and end up shutting people out. For some people, giving advice is the way they give love. Still, I need them to know that this is not the way I prefer to receive love and share how I do like to receive it: validation, support, hugs, kisses, coffee dates, movie dates, and thoughtful messages.

So yeah, progress made on at least two different fronts. Keeping the progress train moving.

Challenge

I've been going to the gym at least three times per week since we got back from our honeymoon around November. It's been great. It's really helped my stress, depression, anxiety, and general frustrations of everyday living. What's more, it's just become a part of my day. At one point my husband asked me, "How are you feeling about working out so often?" and I responded that I didn't really feel much about it. It was just a habit now, a part of my day. I go to work, I leave at noon, I work out, rinse off, and come back. It's a real no-brainer for the girl who has a hard time getting up in the morning in the winter and can't will herself to leave the house after returning from work.

The only problem with all of this is that it hasn't stopped me from eating like a monster. My weight has crept up into the 250s, which is of course an all-time high for me. My engagement ring is uncomfortably tight. Maybe part of it is the anti-depressant I'm taking (which is working well, by the way), but my eating is definitely out of control. My husband has asked me a few times if I'm motivated to lose weight and the answer has been no. Would I like to be healthier? Yes. Would I like to wear my engagement ring comfortably again? Yes. Am I motivated enough to deny my food cravings? Nope.

So, today during R.I.P.P.E.D. class, my trainer said this month they'll be doing essentially a "Biggest Loser" challenge. You pay in $50, top 3 get the cash. They're already up to $600. Okay. This might be the thing I need to get me motivated. Here's what I'm willing to do:

1. Commit to eating prepared meals and shakes at least 90% of the week.
2. Work out 4-7 times per week between classes and personal workout sessions.
3. Limit my snacking to healthy options.
4. Limit my indulgences to measured, logged foods.
5. Log my food.
6. Wear my FitBit again.
7. Optional: After daylight savings time, run 3 times per week.

As always, I'm not looking for your advice based on this article you read or this thing you heard. Some support is always welcome. Wish me luck!

Safe Harbor

I don't think people always "get" me and my husband. I do think that people think we're boring, and that we are somehow deprived for not having some hot-and-heavy, dramatic, super romantic kind of love you see in TV shows and movies. Part of this is because I'd describe Alex as "perfectly safe." I see how that sounds boring, but for a person who comes from a lot of trauma inflicted by people who were supposed to love me, "perfectly safe" is perfectly perfect.

No matter how far I wander away from shore, I can always look back to my safe harbor and there he is, like a lighthouse beaming out across the water no matter how foggy things get. "Hey," he says in that specific tone, the way he has throughout our five-and-a-half year relationship. That "hey" is the light. He calls out to me to look back at the shore. "Hey," he says, "I'm here." "Hey," he says, "you're safe." "Hey," he says, "I love you."

Those are the most crazy romantic moments for us. I feel a warmth blossom in my chest and I'm smiling inside and out because I'm safe, really and truly safe with him. Always.

"What ARE you?"

A write-up of my first Toastmasters speech, to be presented tonight:

Often when people meet me for the first time their initial impression or expression is, “What are you?” which I love. I know what they mean, but it’s as if I’m some sort of new species of human, some exotic animal, or perhaps an extraterrestrial. That’s a fun thought. I know what they mean, though. “Are you Hawaiian? Native? Oh, I know! You’re Filipino!” No, no, and no. I’m actually half Korean, but I think that a person’s first impression of me is indicative of their experience of me overall. Growing up, I found that people had a difficult time understanding me. This is a common experience for the children of alcoholic parents. This is also a common experience for the children of immigrant parents. For the former, what you have to understand about ACoA, or the adult children of alcoholics, is that they grow up with lies as a part of their culture. I would often lie about things that didn’t matter and I didn’t feel like this was morally wrong. After all, it didn’t seem to be hurting anyone except me when the people I cared about learned that I’d been lying to their face for no discernible reason. This problem was compounded by being the child of an immigrant. My mother had all sorts of traditions and ideas about child-rearing that seemed strange or even wrong to my white peers. No one ever knew what to make of me. Was I happy with my life? Was there too much pressure on me? Was I somehow abused because of my mother’s strict standards? Well, as it turns out, I was abused but not because of my mother’s cultural background. Instead, it was more likely her mental health and substance abuse that played a part in that. This also plays a part in a person’s misunderstanding of me. Sometimes I can be very standoffish and I might even isolate myself at times. I’ve come to understand this as a natural reaction and maladaptive habit from growing up in a physically abusive household. As an adult who has processed through this painful experience, I often come off as stern, powerful, and even severe. You see, it’s not uncommon for children who grow up in abusive household to use anger as a tool to obtain power as they have seen that at work firsthand. For instance, you might see such a child become a bully because they mimic this powerful use of anger that was modeled for them. Luckily, I didn’t have such a reaction; quite the opposite, in fact. From a young age, I found myself standing up for the bullied and oppressed. My painful experiences made me especially sensitive and empathetic to the suffering of those around me. While this often led to intensified chaos as a loved one’s instability added to my own, eventually this also led to my career. I am a marriage and family therapist and while there are a lot of big and small things that led me to this path, I think that my identity and the way it was shaped play a major role in my life’s work. I currently work with substance dependent clients, an often maligned and misunderstood group. I was surprised by how much I could relate to their experiences. You see, I am fortunate to have been born without the brain chemistry that would pre-dispose me to addiction. In addition, the chronic, inescapable stress and the alcoholic environment of my upbringing were not enough to force such a brain chemistry problem and that was due in part to those who loved and protected me whether or not they could truly understand me. Unconditional love is something I have been seeking my entire life: in my mother, in God, and in relationships both platonic and romantic. You see, it shouldn’t matter what I am or what you are. It can be a tantalizing mystery, to be sure, but the first question I wish people would ask me is not, “What are you?” but “How can I love you?” I wish more people would ask that question when meeting new people in general. Working in my field, I’ve found that there are stories behind every behavior you come across; stories you can’t even imagine. My story begins with the meaning of my name. Amanda has its roots in Latin. “Ama” means “love” and so “Amanda” means “loveable” or “worthy of love.” For so long I thought that who I was made me difficult to love, and so the meaning of my name seemed like a cruel joke. This is not so. I am a complex human being, just like you, and just like us all. “What are you?” I am Amanda. Get to know me for a little while, and discover how you can love me.