Losing Yourself in Giving to Others

When I was going through my second divorce, I decided that I needed some serious counselor to understand why I have seemed to fail so miserably.

Oddly enough, my therapist suggested that I was too much of a "giver" in my relationships. I laughed at her as I remembered all the times that I threw a tantrum when I didn't get the attention that I wanted from my spouse, all the times that I took a nap instead of cleaning the house, and all the times that I focused on my friends, career, and child instead of nurturing my marriage (well, marriages).

Furthermore, there were all the times that I could have been less selfish to my family and peers. During my days as a hooligan, I was often self-serving.

After telling her that she was a couple of sentences shy of being a quack, she convinced me to explore this idea.

I wasn't quite Machiavellian, but I was nowhere close to Mother Teresa. The best way that I can describe it is in terms of Anakin Skywalker.

Life was hard when I was young. I far too aware of the ugly in the world and I was frequently bullied. As fear, anger, and sadness made my heart dark, I turned into a defensive and hateful being at times.

Yet, like Anakin/Vader, I had a love that lingered beneath the chains of the Sith.

I had little moments of giving throughout my life.

For example, my biological father made the trip to Arkansas once and he bought me some new shoes. A little girl who was raised by a single mother in our apartment complex did not have nice things. She admired my new shoes and asked to try them on for a minute. After seeing how happy they made her, I told her to keep them. My mother was floored and touched at the same time. I still wore my ragged shoes until it was time to get new ones.

As a friend, I was always the protector. Because I had no issue being a villain in the cafeteria, I would take out anyone that upset my close friends with either rhetoric or my fist. For many years, I thought that I was doing a noble service.

Eventually, I had a change of heart. After years of watching the women in my family give to those in need (that's just want good Southern women do), I began to slowly make positive changes in my life.

I visualize the change in my heart as that of The Grinch.

This is great, right? Not necessarily. I went from one extreme to the other. When I started teaching, I ended up in situations where I would do the work of others, only to get through under the bus when the lessons weren't so great or to have all credit stripped from me completely. I have had two marriages that where "give and take" wasn't the mentality, but rather an "all or nothing" way of life.

I scrambled often to find a balance and I did not.

After my second marriage finally crumbled, an event that had been coming since before our nuptials, I went overboard on the giving.

None of the giving, gave me what I needed.

I gave tremendously of myself, my time, my heart, and my worry. I gave a handful of friends loans to help them in their struggles. I bought products to help people become more healthy and feel better. I made little crafts, I created little events.

I got nothing in return, nor were the loans ever repaid (even though I am a single mom that lives on a teacher's income).

Pity party time, right? Nah. 

It was lessons well-learned. I have to be wiser with what I give and to whom I give.

There are those that will always prey upon you during low points in your life: divorce, grieving, job loss, etc. They are always dressed up as friends and as people who want to help you in life somehow. These people know how to convince you that you are valued in their life, even if their hand wasn't somehow in your pocket. Yet, it is that "dog-eat-dog" mentality of which many Americans have become so accepting.

After depleting my financial buffer in helping people that I cared about and trying to get repayment for the money that I had given during that time, I realized that those people only cared about themselves in that moment and I simply gave them an opportunity to use. I had done this in various ways for most of my life.

Are there people who appreciate me? Are their people that help me in times of need? Absolutely. In fact, I have some of the most supportive and loving people in my life that one could ask for.

It was new people and the ones that pop in and out that were taking to the point of my emotional and financial detriment. It was never the ones who have consistently been a part of my life.

At the end of the day, I think giving to others is good for the soul. I will continue to find ways to give to others and others who will sincerely benefit from whatever I have to give.

Until Next Time,



LOVE LOUDLY!!!

Out of Context: How Being Fat Made Me a Better Friend

Fat. People do not like that word. They don’t wish to be called fat and they don’t like to hear others refer to themselves as fat. That is my word of choice. I could state that I am morbidly obese, which based on doctor’s measurements, I am. That just sounds like the creeping death and essentially it is. I could say that I am fluffy which has a bit of Southern charm. Still, that isn't an accurate description. Fluffy implies that my obesity is comparable to a kitten.

It’s not.

The first time that clothes at The Limited no longer fit me, I cried. When my friend suggested that we walk across the mall to Lane Bryant, I argued, but went out of desperation for clothes that fit. She and the sales lady were very supportive and picked out several nice things for me to try on that day. I wept in the fitting room for an hour like a baby.

I had been in full denial of what depression and binge-eating had done to me physically.

I tried to accentuate my figure, but I looked more like a stuffed sausage than a statuesque bombshell. In hindsight, it was embarrassing. After that, I hid behind clothes that were very somber with little strain. That turned to letting myself go completely because what was the purpose? I felt like I was just trying to sell a rag doll as a porcelain rarity.

I noticed that people treated me differently as time went passed.

After crossing the threshold of a plus-size woman, any attempt to buy clothing for my younger and smaller framed sisters was immediately met with a saleswoman who would say, “Clothing for full-figured women are over there.” At first, I lashed out and let them have it like I was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman and they had just lost some great commission. Realizing that places like Dillard’s didn't make commission, I eventually started to sulk away instead of stating my purpose.

I have hidden behind these smaller beauties for years in pictures. 

I eventually began to accept that I was a big girl. I dealt with it through self-deprecating jokes and comments about how I was a real woman. I was no more a real woman than any other woman, but it was how I masked the shame of walking in my skin.

Going out with my husband presented problems as well. On three occasions, as I was much larger than The Ex Husband and The New Husband, waitresses have made flirtatious passes towards whom I was with at dinner. I know that some waitresses are a bit flirty with the man because they assume they will get a bigger tip. This is not what I am talking about in regards to the three incidences. Nope. These were outright attempts to get dates. Once I flashed my wedding ring (okay, I made a scene and cussed the girl out the first time it happened), the waitress became very sheepish. One even said, “I didn't realize that you were together.” The prevailing attitude appeared to be that a thinner guy must be with a larger woman for fetish reasons or for pity; it did not seem to occur to some that I could be loved.

I had been called many names in my life. I had even been called fat. However, when you become a teacher of teenagers, everything about your outward appearance, expressions, and mannerism can easily be turned into an insult. It isn't because teenagers are awful people who want to hurt everyone on a deeply personal level; it is that they have raging hormones and a lack of control that turns their fits of anger full into pure vitriol. Fat, ugly, and dumb seem to be the favorite adjectives to add an unflattering name when a teenager is triggered.

Teachers, avoiding this facial expression and the use of a pointer finger while explaining instructions that were plainly listed will save you from triggering a teenage tantrum. 

Yet, adults have called me worse with the same adjective, most recently a neighbor who happens to be much larger than I am.  People like my neighbor are just hateful, but some of the best meant comments hit the proverbial gut even harder. People would randomly say things to me like, “You have such a pretty face. You should try to be a plus-size model.” Plus-size models are actually the size of the average American woman and I was way larger than that.

If these models are considered Plus Size, then I must be Super-Sized.

I also suffered years of unsolicited dieting advice. I have even had co-workers who would make commentary on what I was eating. During a meeting a couple of years ago, one of my co-workers said, “That salad would be healthy if you didn't have cheese in it.” Maybe so, but I was so embarrassed and hurt. Meanwhile, the hypocrisy was that several of my co-workers were using fad products or starving themselves while “helping” me.

At an art show once, I noticed that a lady kept staring at me. It was a very uncomfortable stare and I could feel that this person was full of rage. When she approached me, she said, “Do you remember me?” I did not and this turned her rage into full wrath. She said, “You were the cruelest person that I ever met and you made fun of my every day in junior high and you don’t even remember me?” She was very beautiful, articulate, and fit; she shredded every ounce of dignity that I had left.

Having lost the things that allowed me to be a wannabe Barbie, I had to reevaluate who I was and who I had been in life. I had not been kind to others. I could easily find someone’s weakness or insecurity and I would use it to tear them down to somehow make myself feel better. As I mentioned in How Blondes Made Me Fat, I had no love for myself. It is easy to see and hard to accept.

Yet, this is when I stopped suppressing the things about myself that were truly valuable and could not be built from plastic. I started to allow myself to stop acting like I was a bimbo. 

I actually began to engage in intellectual conversations and to explore my options in life. Deep down, I had wanted to be an educator since I was in 2^nd grade. 

I mean it when I say that teaching is my dream job. I love it!

I was also a closet geek lover. I was not necessarily a full-blown fan girl, but I loved Sci-Fi and Fantasy. I only got to experience that through the guys in my life when I was on Mission Barbie (Fun Loud Fact: Every serious relationship that I have ever had has required frequent trips to the comic book store). I was also very serious and tried my hardest to not be goofy. In reality, I am an extremely goofy and playful soul. It wasn't until I became fat, that I allowed myself to embrace these things about myself.

It is rumored that The Honey Island Swamp Monster is my real father.

It did not bode well with me when I realized that I was a D.U.F.F. (Designated Ugly Fat Friend) that was used to enhance the attractiveness of an already beautiful friend. I became a walking character foil. Because my self-hatred was so extreme, I reverted back to using my aggressive wit and loud mouth as an endeavor to maintain value with a group of toxic people. I was proud to be “The Enforcer.” I was not permitted to be vulnerable, frail, or nice outwardly because it wasn't what the other Barbie wannabes wanted from me as I approached 250 pounds.

After a string of events that demonstrated that I had allowed my feelings of worthlessness control my life, I had to walk away from it all. I left my first marriage, as well as the other Barbie wannabes.

When you drop the things that superficial people want to use you for, you become very solitary.

This lead me to selecting actions that I needed to take in my life; I allowed myself to be loved for the things that could not be picked up in a mirror. I grew closer to my family than I had been in years. I married a man that has loved me equally regardless of my size because the things that he loves about me cannot be weighed or measured. I learned how to start loving myself because I had a child who needed me to be whole in order to be the best mom that he could have.

I hide behind him in pictures, too. He loves me all the same. 

I also became more mindful of how I talked to others who did not look like society suggested they should. I made eye contact, I made conversation, I made sincere compliments, and I made real connections with real people. Becoming fat should have been the most difficult thing for me, but the most difficult thing was actually confronting the cruel and fake person that I used to be. Becoming fat did to me was give me perspective and an acceptance of those who are different than mainstream society. In fact, I embrace different now.

A true friend is always willing to make a fool of themselves with you. 

As I am working to develop healthy eating and exercising habits, I cling to my geeky, silly, and idiot-savant (I still have some airhead moments, but they are never intentional). I am on my path of losing an excess of 80 lbs. that came from a self-hatred, but gave me a love of life and people. Part of that love of life is the excitement of giving that little boy who used to love to cuddle with his “fluffy” mommy, a mommy who can run wild with him on great imaginary adventures. 

He requires an active mom. Photo courtesy of one my sisters. 

Most importantly, being fat forced me to stop being a bully because I learned what it felt like to be treated sub-par. I do not want to raise a child to make people feel that way, so it is my job to teach him by always striving to do better. 

My next weight-related entry will be – The Gym Verse: “I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.”

Until next time, BE LOUDER THAN MOST!!!!