Becoming Journey

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

I wanted to push myself on this trip. Wanted to go deeper than ever. Find something about myself I couldn't have believe was there. And tonight, I found it. More than once. I don't even know where the strength came from to do what I did tonight but here's the story.

Brooke has hired a coach to work under her. Her name is Lisa and she showed up at the conference today. Here's a picture of Lisa. Notice anything about her? I did. This bitch is SKINNY! And not in the I lost 100 pounds kind of way - in the I have skinny GENES kind of way. In the I'll always be skinny and I'll never have to worry about it kind of way. In the I'm lucky and you aren't kind of way. OH OH OH did she bring up my stuff. And here is the thing about Lisa. She's nice on top of it. Bitch.

I didn't hate her a little. I hated her a lot. So, I talked to her and had a great chat, and promised myself I wouldn't hate her on the grounds she was (is) a skinny bitch. But it grated on me, I have to admit. Especially since she was so "nice." I promised myself, except the thing is, it KEPT coming up. It was like someone showed up to the Annual Green Party Convention with a Fucking Bush Cheney T-shirt on. Was she trying to rub it in? Was this part of Brooke's plan?

I went to dinner and miracle of miracles, skinny bitch (and her tofu salad, I'm sure) were WAY at the other end of a long table. My overstuffed thighs did not need to graze her stick legs at our meal. I could eat, in peace, without HER ruining it for me. Or is it... my thoughts about her that might have ruined things. But more about this later.

Now, if you haven't always been fat like me this might not totally resonate, but I could not concentrate with this thin woman in the room. I briefly considered going home, calling in sick, staying in my room and working, or just taking a long drive around the Lake for a couple days. Instead, I went into tonight's coaching session and responded to Brooke's question:

"Did anything come up for anyone today that they want to talk about?"

I raised my hand.

"This is hard," I say.

"Go ahead," said Brooke.

"No, REALLLLY hard," I say.

"GIRL. BRING IT ON."

"I have a problem with Lisa being here. I don't think it's right for someone so skinny to be among us."

"This is great!" says Brooke, rubbing her hands together jumping up and down with excitement. "Say more. Why not? You don't think she can help you because she is skinny."

"No, that's not it, I just hate her. I hate all skinny people."

Oh man did the walls come down. The temperature in that room went up by oh, 100 degrees, sweat pooled around me in the chair, like a mote. But I stuck through it. We questioned so many of my illogical beliefs about thin people and, of course, about myself, if I were to be thin. The belief we settled on was:

She has never had to deal with being fat and I have and it's not fair. Now if you remember the rules you'll see the turn around that I need to get to is:
She has never had to deal with being fat and I have and it is fair. OH MAN was that a journey of a 1000 steps. But we got there.

How does that thought (that it's not fair for me) make me act? LIKE A BITCH! Rude. Irritated. Anxious. NOT GOOD!

Who would I be without that thought? More focused on what I really want in my life! SOOOOO much happier. Not distracted at meal times! And probably a hell of a lot thinner.

This thought - and the feelings caused by it, and the actions I take to deal with those feelings have been holding me back for YEARS.

But as if that revelation weren't enough, (and believe me, in my book it was), Brooke asked what else came up. And I had to talk about what it was like to look at myself exercising in the mirror today during our training session. When I told her the mirror was mean, here's what she asked me to do...

"Pretend Teresa is blind and you want her to draw you. Describe yourself factually from head to toe - every lump, bump and curve, from your top to your toes. GO."

Can you even begin to contemplate how hard that was? I started, logically, with the period zit which has erupted in the lower left corner of my chin. Others, for some inexplicable reason, thought this was an on place to start. I described what was wrong with my nose, my skin, my hair, my eyes and my eyebrows before Brooke stopped me.

"Kill the story. We don't want your bullshit. Just the facts."

I started again. Stringy, messy brown hair. A round face. Small brown eyes. And then my body. Triangle shape. No discernible waist. Fat thighs. It was horrible. I cried through most of the description.

"Great. Now do it again, with compassion."

I broke down. NOTHING was in my head. I couldn't find a way to describe a toe nail to this group of 18 women (one of them skinny) with a shred of self-compassion. My mind was blank. And yes, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I was.... speechless.

Except... for the sound of my sobs. The tears flowed and between them I would beg, "I can't do it. PLEASE move on. I can't. I can't. I can't. I don't know."

K*, this amazingly zingy woman was sitting next to me and gave me the most earnest look I've ever seen. Full of love and compassion and wisdom and she just said to me, "It will be so much easier if you get it over with. I know. I've been there."

Brooke is normally relentless, backed off a bit and turned to this STUNNINGLY beautiful woman in our class (who this morning informed us all she did not think she was smart enough to be a real estate agent and provided the following as evidence -- a) I am not good at my times tables; b) I am not a good speller; c) I'm not good at grammar -- when I tell you this woman would be a fabulous agent... oh but that's another story!). "J*, can you do it? Can you describe yourself physically with compassion?"

"I can," said J* confidently. "I couldn't have a few months ago. But I can now."

"Great, then do it"

And so she did. She revealed herself to us. She knew her thick dark hair took our breath away. She knew her hazel eyes sparkled and danced. She knew that the curves of her hips had a sexiness to them that none of us would deny. And in that moment, she owned all of it. She described herself, like I might, here in this anonymous blog.... as the beautiful woman she is.

I sat, shocked. THIS is what Brooke meant by describe yourself with compassion???? When I tell you the words she was saying to me sounded like Ancient Hebrew. I could not follow what she was asking me for. But here was this butterfly in my midst, teaching me how to fly by simply flying herself. It was a song that J* sung to me and on listening, my heart just opened.

When she finished, Brooke turned to me. "You're up..."

And so I started:

"I have pretty, soft wavy brown hair that bounces when I have it down in a way that looks like I am in a shampoo commercial. And when I have it up, you can see the sweetest little widow's peak on my hair line. I have a soft face, smooth skin, and THE most adorable dimple on my chin. Round eyes that sparkle, a warm smile, and straight teeth. I have rounded shoulders, soft arms, large round breasts, a Rubanesque belly, curvy hips, sexy legs and absolutely adorable, well manicured toes."

The girls applauded, and in that moment I saw the compassion that I could have for myself all the time. I saw all the compassion I have in the world for everyone else and how little I have left for myself. But tonight I claimed it and I felt, for I think the first time in my life. Self love.

Whoa.

And then everyone came back to my suite and we drank copious amounts of wine.

Oh and the skinny bitch, she came too. Turns out my thoughts didn't kill her. And my feelings didn't kill me.