daphneeck

[daphneeck]

Reclaiming My Body

I’ve done so much healing of my relationship with food and my body over the last year and a half. I feel like I’m undoing a lifetime of body hatred and it’s a lot of work! 

Having professional and group support in my recovery has been life-changing for me. But I know that not everyone has the time, money, or capacity to pursue recovery. So I’m sharing some of the good stuff I’ve learned (mostly from my coach and support group!)

I don’t diet anymore.

If you can mess up, get it wrong, or fail, it’s a diet. 

I don’t diet anymore. 

I give myself total and complete permission to eat. I don’t restrict food physically or emotionally.

I honor both my hunger and my fullness.

I pay attention to what makes me feel good -- and not just food -- also people, places, activities, inner thoughts, etc.

Daily movement helps my moods and makes me feel strong. I choose enjoyable activities. It doesn’t have to be hardcore.

When the eating feels chaotic, I go back to the basics: three meals + two snacks as needed.

I parent myself, feeding myself as I would a child. For me, that’s mostly giving myself balanced meals of protein + fruit and/or veg + carbohydrate and allowing dessert after lunch and dinner if I want it. I keep snacks in my bag. I take time outs and ask “What’s wrong, love?” when I'm acting out. I put myself to bed when I am tired. 

Snacks that include some protein make me feel best.

I try not to fill up on “fun” foods because that makes me feel yucky. But if I do, it’s not a fail. It’s just something to get curious about.

I notice when I’m using food to comfort myself. I am building up an arsenal of coping tools so that food is not the only one.

When I’m struggling, I try to not ruminate on it too much. It’s simpler than it feels right now. If I’m confused it’s time to do something that will get me out of my head! 

I practice connecting to my body. Deep breathing, yoga nidra, stretching, touching my belly, dancing, etc.

I don’t weigh myself and am allowing my body to settle at the weight that’s comfortable for her.

Emotional eating is normal. It is not immoral. One food choice is not more moral than another. 

If I’m eating for comfort, I LET IT COMFORT ME.

Health is a value I hold, but that doesn’t make me better than someone who doesn’t value health. 

I believe that people can pursue health at every size, focusing on behaviors rather than outcomes.

I work on my own internalized fatphobia and don’t bleed it out onto others.

I don’t talk about diets or comment on what others are eating (other than “that looks good!”).

I practice giving non-appearance related compliments. 

I curate my social media feeds to include a wide range of bodies that do not type white-young-thin-ultra fit.

When I’m having a bad body fever moment I ask myself: what is underneath these negative or controlling thoughts about my body? What would I be thinking about if I weren’t thinking about my weight.

I don’t have to be excited about how my body looks, but I do have to give her the respect she deserves. I don’t talk shit about her.

My body is my ally, my vehicle for experiencing every moment of my life, the only thing in this entire fucking world that is truly MINE.

[daphneeck]

Reading the Signs

Caleb and I went to Coldwater Lake yesterday and hiked around. There’s a great little park with a trail, boardwalk, and interpretive signs about the lake. Then beyond it, a narrow dirt trail that hugs the north side of the lake for several miles. It was windy out, so many waves. 

We’ve got some family stuff going on that has been heavy on my mind. I tend to ruminate, carry it around, trying to figure it out. But some things won’t be figured out. 

So I spent the first half hour or so of the walk in a funk—worrying, hating the wind, walking quickly just to get through it all, not even stopping to read the signs or look at the incredible view. I’d been having some “first signs” of panic attack feelings that morning. I know enough now to get out and walk when that happens. So going out was a necessary step for my health. But I didn’t have to like it, right?

The further we hiked out, beyond the park into the solitude, the better I felt. The wind was strong, both pushing and pulling us. It blew straight into my nostrils, breathing for me at times. I leaned into it.

We hiked our bodies tired. As we were walking back to the car, I said, “Can I take another loop around the park to read the signs before we go? I was so out of sorts when we first got here that I feel like I missed out.” 

I circled back and read about how the lake had been born. It is a new lake, formed in the 1980 eruption of Mount St. Helens. Coldwater Creek was basically plugged up by volcanic debris. It backed up, turned into a lake. Then, a tunnel was excavated from Spirit Lake, which had swollen to dangerous levels, and Coldwater Lake grew even more.

The first year of its existence, the lake was a cesspool of ashy sludge and debris, bubbling methane, garbage smells. Birds, wind, and humans helped to stock the lake with plankton, bacteria, insects, fish. By year three the water was clear. By year five its habitat was that of a thousand-year-old lake. All the crap had been transformed into something beautiful. Balance had been achieved.

Waves were lapping up onto the boardwalk. Earlier in the day, I had done a little jog to get through them. It almost felt scary to be out there, like you were on the rough water itself, in danger of being swept away by the waves. 

When I stopped to read the signs, I learned that as the lake ages, its steep walls will smooth out into a more gradual shoreline. Marshy ground will replace what are now deep waters. The boardwalk will eventually be lined with tall grasses and shade trees. The waves won’t always crash onto this boardwalk, only for a while here. Now. 

After our hike, we went home and I did a little work. I made some treats and we took them over to our new neighbors to introduce ourselves. We came home, had dinner and turned the music up while we cleared the table; we slow danced, he twirled me, a fast song came on and we danced up a little sweat. Then he poured me a drink and challenged me to a game of ping-pong.  

At the end of the evening, as we were getting ready for bed, I could feel my spirits had lifted considerably. I was ready for tomorrow to come. I said, “See, this is why I married you!” We often joke about how his biggest motivation in life is to avoid pain and mine is to dive right into it. His gift makes him well-suited for pulling me out of myself; I need him and rely on him for that. 

I am the driver of our partnership in a lot of ways; but in this area, he leads. He can get me out of over-ruminating mode if I will follow him. And I have to—for my own happiness and health. Because my way doesn’t work in situations like the one I’m in now. Some things can’t be figured out or solved. Some things can’t be talked through or strategized, at least not today. Sometimes you gotta let it just sit a while. Sometimes you gotta let the wind blow and let the waves crash and try to enjoy the ride. Sometimes you gotta choose to have fun while life plays itself out.

[daphneeck]

10 Tips Before You Fly The Nest

A friend is taking her daughter (who is also my friend) on an epic trip to the beach before she leaves for college. They are going to review all the things that they’ve talked about from birth to age 18. Today she asked another friend and I if we had anything to add to her already-extensive list. 

This was my contribution, and by coincidence, it was an even Ten Things.

Don’t over-give at the expense of your own self-care. The instinct toward generosity is sweet. But I was the teen who got scammed by a lady at the ATM, the one who let a friend borrow my truck and when she totaled it said, “It’s okay, you don't have to pay me back.” I was the 20-something who gave like 20% of my income to charity but didn’t have a retirement account. I was the one who burned myself out with service and had to take a year off work. I was the grown-ass adult who loaned money out without keeping any backup savings for herself. It’s been said a million times because it’s solid advice; put your own oxygen mask on first.

You are not obliged to help. You don't have to be nice to men who approach you. You don’t have to give money to everyone who asks. You don't have to help if your gut tells you no. Give when it feels like a privilege (not a burden) to help—when you really want to and it's safe to do so. Giving out of true desire is one of life’s greatest joys.

Get good roommates. Communicate with them and build rapport. Live with people you respect -- or even like! -- and who pay their bills on time. I've had great luck with this and it makes life with roommates so great. You don't have to hang out with your roommates all the time but it's so fun when you have great ones that you want to spend time with. 

Living alone is really cool, too. You might go in and out of living alone and living with roommates. Be sensitive to each phase of life. Listen to your needs and wants, balanced with your budget realities. 

Be open to changing your mind. Don't think that your thoughts, beliefs, or even your values are static. You're gonna grow and change your mind about things and that is only natural and right. Allow others in your life to change, too. 

Don't get too attached or involved. Don’t worry too much about what your friends and family do or think or how they live. We all get our own lives to live. We all have the right to choose for ourselves, make mistakes, learn, and grow. Don’t try to steal those experiences from the people in your life. 

Keep it body positive. It's best to like (or at least accept) your body. You don't have to diet to be a woman. You don't have to judge yourself or anyone on the basis of their weight or attractiveness. Value people for who they are, not what they look like.

Go to class. As a general rule of thumb, not going to class = D/F and repeating classes (been there!). Showing up for class = C. Showing up for class and doing the work = A.

Do things you're not good at. Don't be a poor sport or too good to look dumb. If that's hard for you, make friends who will push you out of your comfort zone and make it fun. I was lucky to have friends who pushed me beyond my deep insecurities to do things like acting and dancing and playing games.

Have fun! I know, life feels complicated right now. But it’s probably as easy as it’s gonna get. Stay up late while you still can. Be wild and spontaneous. Get loud. Don’t worry about your job. Laugh ‘til your stomach hurts. Your college years and twenties are SO GOOD FOR THAT!

[daphneeck]

Get Low

While walking on the trail yesterday, I resigned myself to the fact that there is no waterfall in our new neighborhood. I’ve been looking for one since we moved in. I am such a sucker for a good waterfall! But alas, there are none here. It’s not mountainous enough and the stream doesn’t flow strong enough to create a stunning fall.

Having given up the search, Caleb and I started to notice the spots on the trail that we like the most.

This area feels nice.

See, this one, too.

We wondered, what makes a place feel good?

It was quieter in the nicest spots. It seemed to always be near a fallen redwood tree. I wondered if it had to do with the Spirit of the redwoods. To me, there was a quiet crackle, a presence that felt divine. Caleb, ever the agnostic, was like, “Nah.”

After a while, we started seeing that we liked the places where pine needles carpeted the trail. The ferns grew more thickly and were greener in these spots. Multiple types of moss would be growing on the decomposing stumps. You’d see a mushroom or two. And again, it was quieter there.

And then upon further looking, it seemed that there was always a dip in the trail at these most-beautiful spots. This was interesting to me. The dip created that sound barrier and a protected little space to enjoy. 

It was nothing like bells and whistles; you had to pay attention to it.

On most of our hikes, we are headed to a destination, always up. If it’s not a waterfall I’m looking for, I want to be able to look down on a majestic view of the ocean from a high-up cliff or to see the valley spread out below me from way up somewhere. Here, the low places are not only the most serene but also the most beautiful. It’s just a fact that I have to allow and accept. It’s my choice to enjoy it or not.

Here’s what the Spirit of the redwood whispered to me, even if Caleb doesn’t believe it so: Don’t always go for a higher high. It’s not natural to always be going up up up or to always grow grow grow. I fell down a while ago and look at the beauty I made in my dying, here in this most-low place. Sometimes the low points are the sweetest spots. It’s where we’ll spend most of our lives and all of our deaths, after all. The quiet places, doing the boring things or nothing at all. Pay attention. Maybe the low points need your gaze and your appreciation today.

[daphneeck]

One of the sad things today is that so many people are frightened by the wonder of their own presence. They are dying to tie themselves into a system, a role, or to an image, or to a predetermined identity that other people have actually settled on for them. This identity may be totally at variance with the wild energies that are rising inside in their souls. Many of us get very afraid and we eventually compromise. We settle for something that is safe, rather than engaging the danger and the wildness that is in our own hearts.

John O’Donohue

[daphneeck]

Big Space

The weather changes quickly here. This morning the sunrise was bangin' so I ran into the bedroom to get Caleb's phone and take a photo of it (the camera on mine is broken). By the time I had posted it on Instagram—I had to brag, right?—all the colors were gone. A wispy film of fog had gathered over the lake. The sky had turned from pink and blue and purple to a solid sheath of dove gray. Then it started to rain. And now, a few minutes later, the rain has stopped.

I feel the same quick shifts inside me, too. Caleb and I are always surprised by how immediate the peace comes to us when our feet hit a trail. A softening, a deep exhale. I don’t understand it but it’s real. It’s the same way I felt the day we moved out here. It was an immediate but obvious shift.

It’s the lake, the trees, the quietness, the dark nights, even the rain and the fog that settles in almost every day. And maybe it’s more than that. I don’t know yet. I do know there is Big Space for me here.

Big Space to breathe in deeply, to exhale out to the bottom of my lungs. Big Space to stretch my legs, to reach my arms up and out with a yawn. Big Space for my imagination, to tap the well, to mine the gems, to follow to spark. 

[daphneeck]

Smiling’s My Favorite

I confessed to my friend Caron that I hadn’t been outside yet today and she gave me the weather equivalent of “Eat your green beans, there are kids starving in China.” 

“You know,” she said, “The midwest is enduring sub-zero temperatures. I can’t talk a walk but you can.”

The guilt! I was already running to the bedroom to find my socks. I grabbed a big cozy pair and pulled them up to my knees, over my leggings, which, let’s be honest are the same ones I wore to bed last night. Threw on my coat, my knit hat, my duck boots. And I was out!

I got on the trail, right behind the house. Decided to go up the hill, rather than down toward the lake. It was only 4pm but already getting a little darker. This would be a quick one, but good.

The trail is kinda squishy here and there. Not puddly, just soft with mud and moss and disintegrating leaves. I picked up two fists of Medusa hair moss that were lying in the middle of the trail, to carry back with me. 

I got to the top of the hill. Going down the other side, I started running. It was too fun, too easy not to, right? It felt so good. My moss arms swung wildly on each side. My knee-high socks bunched down a bit. My boots slid a smidge in the mud. I jumped a tree that had fallen across the path. That hurdle was a ten!

It started to rain. I threw my head back, eyes open, big grin. Even my bottom row of crooked teeth were bared with joy, glinting wet and white in the fading day. 

[daphneeck]

Winter Solstice

It’s winter solstice, the darkest, quietest night of the year they say. 

Don’t bypass it with Christmas cheer. 

Allow it into your bones. Do you feel it yet? It can be hard for us to get. 

It’s not the star perched at the top of your tree. It’s the oil that seeps through the driveway cracks. It’s the trickle of blood, pumping in your veins. It’s the gray-hot charcoal under the pile of ash. You have to get low, put your ear on it, sniff around a bit. 

Sometimes lighting a candle, or sipping a drink, or just sitting in the dark will help. But even then you might not put your finger on it. It’s like a cat–you never look it straight in the eye. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t want to be seen.

It’s the flicker of a memory ghost, the periphery you need to let go, the papers you’re inclined to burn for no good reason at all. 

It’s the no in your throat, the poison you swallowed by accident, that you all of a sudden need to purge.

It’s the beat your own heart makes when you stop the jingle bells, the terror and grief that comes in waves, that batters you too-long before any peace.

It’s the tears, the gratitude, the gift that opens when you let silence breathe.

[daphneeck]

My Holiday Philosophy

My friend, Donna, says of holidays: “I’m not going anywhere and no one's invited.” She’s self-employed and works a ton. Holidays are a time for her to rest and recharge, quietly. With her husband and her pets. I never knew you could have such a blanket philosophy on the holidays. But she did. 

I’ve kind of adopted it for myself, too. “Going nowhere and inviting nobody” is how I have spent the majority of the last few holidays, too.

Some of it was due to circumstances beyond my control. My husband was depressed for a couple years and one of those years was declared a no-holiday zone. It forced me to re-think what the holidays mean to me. I was never one to go all gung-ho on Christmas anyway. But my family is very traditional and there is a way you did things. 

So when I let it all go, I was surprised by the relief I felt to opt out of all the things we usually do. I’ve reached a point now where I’d rather spend time with family in the spring, summer, or fall—when the weather’s great. When the kids and adults can go outside and play. When travel schedules and prices aren’t cray.

Caleb and I were talking about our recent favorite holiday activities. Here is a short list.

Going Nowhere and Nobody’s Invited

The hike we took on Christmas Eve last year. 

When I made clam chowder for Thanksgiving and we had our meal just the two of us. Then went over to our neighbors’ house for dessert afterward.

The time we were snowed in on Christmas Day and spent the whole day making a weird game/sculpture thingie for our niece and nephews.

Going Somewhere, Maybe With (or Without) Somebody

The time we traveled to a weird hotel in the middle of nowhere and had Thanksgiving dinner at a Denny’s or Perkins or some such diner.

Lazing around before (or after?) Christmas, watching endless episodes of Project Runway with Caleb’s family.

The time Caleb and I spent Christmas apart, him alone in Omaha and me in California helping my mom get ready to host her family for Christmas. The hosting part was not my favorite part. It was the days leading up to it when I spent time helping and loving my mom.

The time we got engaged in San Francisco’s Yerba Buena Garden the day after Christmas. I can’t forget that!

[daphneeck]

Anxiety

It was Valentine’s Day, and I was in the dentist’s chair. Actually, it was the chair of a “specialist.” I was having a root canal procedure done. Caleb had quit his job, quite suddenly, the day before. I was our primary breadwinner as of that day, February 14, 2017. Money has been a trigger issue for me and our relationship throughout the years. 

I had an anxiety attack in the chair. I told the specialist to stop, I couldn’t go through with it. This 50- or 60-year-old man, he obeyed my request.

I was ashamed. This had never happened to me before. As a kid, I loved going to the dentist. I had a rapport with him and the entire office, which I visited every six months. My mom’s best friend was my dental hygienist. I fancied myself their favorite patient and acted that way. Such confidence. Not that day.

The dental assistant was signing me out after the doctor had left the room. I was murmuring my embarrassment to her. She said, “It’s strange and I’m not sure why it is, but this happens quite frequently with women in their forties." She ended it with, "I don't know, maybe it's a hormonal thing."

HORMONAL?! What the hell was that supposed to mean? I glowered at her 20-something back, walked out the door without saying goodbye. I was spent. I had no time for her. Caleb saw it on my face, he scurried to get me to the car without incident.

I had another panic attack, this one much worse, a week or so later. I thought of that dental assistant again while I was in the shower, letting the hot-hot water wash over my back, crouched in the child’s pose in the dirty tub. Trying to calm myself. I hated her. And I wondered if God had revealed something to me through her. Something about myself, and maybe even about my generation. At the time, I decided: no. Fuck her.

I read this today. 

Your anxiety is a sacred sign from your body that you’re anticipating a threat to a boundary or your sense of emotional or physical safety. If you feel that way, please know that you aren’t making it up. The good news is that you can use anxiety as a way of beginning an inquiry around what you need. When that gross gut-feeling comes up, rather than trying to ignore it ask yourself “What is this anxiety telling me about what I’m afraid of? What concrete things do I need to do in order to take care of myself? — Virgie Tovar

Reading this brought me back to that day, viscerally. I am going to write about this more in the future, but you’re getting to see it in its most infantile stage. Are you interested in topics such as this? If so, who are you? And what are you struggling with? 

[daphneeck]

Do Something

You know those "See something, say something" signs at the airport? Let's change them to "See something, do something" then put 'em up at work, in bars, on construction sites, in locker rooms, at the movies, on every router and computer box, all over The White House walls.

[daphneeck]

New York to Oregon: We’re all screwed

Today was a doozy. I spent two and a half hours on the phone with a healthcare specialist. This is after waiting on hold for 40 minutes yesterday, then never getting a callback. We lost our COBRA after 9 months, with no warning, no notice until we went to fill a prescription at the pharmacy. I thought we had 18 months, that was what we’d been told. So now we have one month of 2017 we have to get covered for via a short-term policy. Then get a real plan through healthcare.gov for 2018. Someone in our family has three medications to deal with each month. One of them is $300/month and there’s no way we’re getting covered for that on this short-term policy. I’m so thankful for Barry, said healthcare specialist. He’s the nicest guy, from Hillsboro, Oregon. 

Daphne: I’m frustrated. I need some help.

Barry: I’m here to help. (then some chatting about the weather while taking my info, establishing rapport. A very cheerful and calming voice)

Daphne: We need a plan that covers x medication.

Barry: Oh, I know about that one. No. Not gonna happen.

Daphne: I feel screwed. I wanna cry.

Barry: You are screwed. We all are. Also, I usually deal with New Yorkers and they are screaming, not crying.

Daphne: You must have been excited to see an Oregon call come through. Did you think maybe you’d talk to someone nice?

Barry: Yeah! I have gone through special training to deal with New Yorkers. Because they’re basically crazy. You have to know how to deal with them. 

Moral: The current health care situation sucks balls. We all deal with it in different ways. Crying is not better than cursing and vice versa. We’re all doing the best we can.

Outcome: We’re screwed. Is it even worth it to be self-employed? Seriously considering working at Apple for 20 hours a week just to get health insurance. Are corporations the ones who are gonna end up taking care of us? Please say it ain’t so.

Still to do: Get covered for 2018. Done! Thanks to Barry for making it relatively painless and over in 45 minutes. (lol it sounds like I'm talking about a zero-sex-drive person doing it with a long-lasting hunkahunka burning love)

[daphneeck]

Personality Switch

I’m reading an entertainingly light mystery novel right now. It takes place in Transylvania, at a health spa in the 90s—the same era in which I spent six months in Romania. The main character is a lesbian, a translator of literature. She was raised in America but travels the world with an Irish passport. She is definitely gonna solve the mystery of who killed Dr. Pustulescu. I’m enjoying the Romanian setting and a bit of the history that you get from the book. And a few phrases that I can decipher every now and again, though my Romanian is really rusty by now. 

There is a beautiful little passage tucked into the story, about travel and language. I’ve never spoken a second language to the degree that this character does. But I’ve had tiny glimpses of the linguistic-based personality change that she writes about:

“It is one of the remarkable aspects of language that we can appear to take on different personalities simply by making different sounds than the ones to which we are accustomed. For those who are truly bilingual, this seems so obvious as to hardly bear mentioning: they flit easily between tongues—an English set of vowels and mannerisms flows into Urdu patterns and intonations with scarcely a ripple—thought they will talk casually about “my Pakistani self” and “my English persona.” But for those of us who came late to another language, it is always something of an odd experience to see and feel it happen, the moment when you notice another personality overtaking your familiar one, the moment when you become “Italian” or “Japanese.” It’s the moment when you stop worrying about grammar and accent and allow the other language to possess you, to pass through you, to transform you....to speak another language is to lead a parallel life.” (Barbara Wilson, Trouble in Transylvania)

My body language changes in Romanian. I walk straighter and tighter, with a proverbial pole up my ass. I speak more sharply, with a more forceful cadence and attitude. My voice is louder; my tongue is at the front of my mouth; I talk with my teeth. I have more swagger, I’m more confident. I make eye contact more directly, that is, if I’m at least somewhat sure about what I want to say and how to say it. I’m rarely sure. Because, like I said, I’ve never made a complete transition the “Romanian” self. I have only had the smallest tastes of inhabiting another personality, of leading a parallel life, back in my twenties, during the same time period as this book. 

It’s been so long. I want to try it again sometime. For real.

[daphneeck]

Wife

Everyone wants a wife, especially at the holidays, right? 

Who else would eagerly oversee the holiday activities? Who would buy and wrap the gifts, take them to the post office, decorate the house, trim the tree, send the cards, write the letter, make the sweets, put them in a tin, distribute them, coordinate the parties, plan and shop for and cook the big meal? All with a smile!

Too bad wives don’t get paid extra for working holiday time.

Incidentally, we don’t do much of the holiday “stuff” around here! :)

[daphneeck]

Yes!!!

Amandla Stenberg: Vulnerability Is the Key to Authenticity | SuperSoul Sessions | Oprah Winfrey Network

[daphneeck]

Are you an adult?

Then you are your own primary caregiver.

Congrats!

[daphneeck]

A Nothing Day

So much of our current age is anxiety-inducing. Technology. All the information coming at us. Our awareness of everything that goes on everywhere around the world. Our belief that we should be able to make sense of it all and respond in a way that makes a difference, somehow. Our current president (WTF?!?!?!?). Our distrust of institutions—religious, corporate, academic, political, law enforcement, the justice system. Who is on our side? Wall Street? Banks? Insurance companies? The current government? Nope. People are tired, angry, and financially screwed.

This article speaks to me and my generation:

http://www.oprah.com/sp/new-midlife-crisis.html

Read it, especially if you’re a Gen X woman!

So. What’s new? Life is hard.

But unlike previous generations who trusted their government, their churches, their employers, their clubs, we feel bereft. There is no refuge from the storm, aside from the safe places we create for ourselves: our homes, families, friends, and chosen communities. And that, of course, takes energy, too. 

In the midst of this, remember to give yourself a break. Be gentle with yourself, my friend.

Sometimes you need a nothing day. I had one today.

We lounged in bed until after noon. I read and watched Netflix. He watched soccer and made music. We drank a bit of coffee. We took turns saying how cute our cat, Nancy, was as she lounged and napped alongside us.

We needed it. We wanted it. We enjoyed it. No guilt.