During times of change and transition, it's difficult not to wish for desired outcomes or fixate on what you think you want to happen. But what if there's something bigger out there that you don't even know about yet? Something better than you could ever dream up, but you're limiting yourself by wanting what you know?

When I was in Grade One, our teacher announced that we would be doing a short play for the Christmas concert. Everyone was excited because for many of us, this would be our first performance ever.

The teacher asked, "Okay, who wants to play a doll?" All of the girls' hands shot up, including my own. We all really wanted to be dolls. The teacher named off all the girls who got to be dolls, but mine was the only name not on the list. I started to panic. Maybe she didn't see me put my hand up? Maybe she thinks I'm not pretty enough to be a doll? I began to worry that I was going to miss out being in the concert.

Then, the teacher asked, "Who wants to be a soldier?" All of the boys' hands shot up, and so did mine. I desperately wanted to be a soldier, and I put my hand up extra high and waved it around so I could be sure that the teacher saw me this time. But again, she listed everyone's name except for mine. At this point, I was starting to get really upset. I was the only kid in the class who didn't have a part in the concert. Did the teacher really think that I'd do that horrible of a job? The disappointment and hurt I was feeling was difficult to hide.

The teacher looked at me, smiled and said, "I've got something special planned for you, Savia."

The night of the concert, I sat crouched in a colourful box in the middle of the stage. All of the dolls came out and recited their line in unison. The soldiers came onstage and recited their line. I remember the anticipation I felt, waiting for my cue. Then, I jumped out of the box and recited my line all by myself. And, damn, was I cute, with round circles of pink on my cheeks and a big red sponge nose, in a costume with ruffles around the neck and three big multicoloured pom poms down the front. I wasn't just a mere doll or a soldier - I was the jack-in-the-box. Everyone turned and looked at me, and for that moment, I was the star.

This memory has been running through my head for the last few weeks, and it keeps reminding me to stop fixating on what I think should happen in the future. I tell myself that maybe I don't know best, and perhaps things that seem to be negative right now will actually work out to be more positive than I could ever imagine.

I take a deep breath and try to let myself go and be open to the unknown.

Labels: childhood, transition

I've recently lost a fair amount of weight. Over the past two years, 50 pounds, if you would believe it. I, personally, can't, but it appears to be true, seeing as none of my clothes fit anymore. It seems so surreal. It's hard to describe how I feel about it. You would expect that I would be insanely happy, but that's not the case. Instead, I feel conflicted.

I've had issues with my weight as long as I can remember. As a kid, I wouldn't say I was overweight, but I always had a womanly body - I had hips and thighs in Grade Seven when all the other girls were built like toothpicks. And, of course, this was in the 80s when everyone was wearing jeans so tight that you had to lie down on the bed with a pair of pliers to get the zipper up. Kids noticed my body was different and teased me about it. There were even adults who said rude things. One of my mother's friends, who was this anorexic-looking shrivelled leathery woman, would slap my ass when I walked by her and make some comment on my weight. I stood up to her one day and said, "I am not fat!" and she poked one of my thighs and said, "What's in there, water?"

I grew up believing I was fat. In high school, I exercised obsessively and watched every calorie. In university, I would actually work out before going to the bar to dance all night. Even when I was in the best shape of my life, I never felt like my body was good enough. I always felt like the heavy girl. And the funny thing is that I wasn't. I was a normal weight with a normal body. According to BMI charts, I was healthy. But next to the "ideal" woman's body portrayed in the media, I was lacking and always would be.

After university, I started gaining weight when I took my first desk job. Year after year, more would pile on, until I was 30 pounds overweight. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that I wasn't happy in any of these jobs. They weren't me or what I was supposed to be doing, and instead of changing that or figuring out a new path, I used food to fill the void. Then, after this horrible job experience, I ended up unemployed. I was depressed and lethargic and didn't know what to do with myself, so I ate and slept and that was about it. In a few short weeks, I had gained another 20 pounds.

I had never weighed so much in my life and it scared the hell out of me. Once I got another job, I started trying to do something about it. Nothing seemed to work, so as a last resort, I joined the cult. The week before I joined, I compulsively binged on food. My behaviour scared me and made me realize that part of me didn't want to lose weight, that the weight was serving some purpose for me.

It was really hard to let it go. Over the past two years, I have sabotaged myself numerous times, and almost quit the program more times than I can count. I'm glad the weight came off slowly, because it gave me time to cope with some of the psychological aspects of the loss. I think I understand it better now. When I was heavier and I looked in the mirror, I knew the person I saw there wasn't me. It didn't match who I knew I was inside. Because I didn't identify with that image, I didn't judge it. I didn't tear it apart and analyze each body part's flaws. It just wasn't me. When you're bigger, it's also easier to become invisible. If your physical image doesn't match who you are inside, people can't see the real you. You can hide in the middle of a crowd. Men don't pay as much attention to you either. I think part of me liked that. It felt safe to hide behind the layers.

But now, there's nowhere to hide. The image in the mirror matches the image of myself in my mind's eye and everyone can see me. I feel exposed and naked. In the last few weeks, men have yelled at me or made comments driving by me on the street, making me feel threatened and vulnerable. People around me are noticing my body and the fact that I've lost weight and are commenting on it. On one hand, it's very nice to hear people tell me that I look fantastic, but on the other, it makes me feel uncomfortable to know that others are looking at my body and judging it. I feel like my personal worth and my worth in society is tied up in this physical body. The paranoia about my weight from long ago has set in again. If people have noticed that I've lost weight, they will notice if I gain it back. My failure will be public and they will make judgements about me based on that.

I also judge my body more. I notice its flaws and I fixate on what I don't like about it. Before, when I actually was overweight, those imperfections didn't seem to be an issue. Now, every little pound and dimple matters. It's difficult, because this new reality feels so tenuous, like it could be taken away at any time, that I'm afraid to enjoy it. I'm afraid to take the compliments and internalize them because I'm terrified that tomorrow, it will all be gone. And part of me wants to reach for the food again to make it go away - at least that way, it would be my choice.

It's hard for me to write this because I don't want it to seem as though I'm whining about losing weight. I know it's a difficult thing to do and that many people would want to be in my current position. I really am glad that I've gotten here. I know it's physically healthier, and quite honestly, it's great to finally wear the clothes I want to wear, and to look in the mirror and see the real me. There are things about my body that I really like - like my waist and stomach, and how my hipbones stick out now. My face even looks different - I have cheekbones for the first time in my life! And part of me does like being noticed and told how amazing I look. But it's still an unsettling feeling.

I guess I would describe what I'm going through right now as a bit of culture shock. For the past six years of my life, I've been living in a different world, a world where my body didn't fit within society's standards. And now that it does, I have to deal with everything that comes with that.

Labels: body image

It's official. I've burnt myself out. Looking back, it was inevitable. I mean, what was I thinking? I was working full time, doing my master's degree at night, taking singing and dance classes, working on my Grade 9 music exam, and performing in productions on top of that. And that was just the base. Add an unstable job, a friend's death, the end of a relationship and a friendship, and my mother's recent breast cancer scare. Stir. Add a pinch of salt and some of those multi-coloured candy sprinkles. Bake at 400 degrees for a few months and wonder why the final product is charred beyond recognition.

I'm beginning to realize that being busy, insanely busy is as much of an illness as drug or alcohol abuse. It's a way to avoid life, avoid emotions, avoid being left alone to think about things. And that's okay in the short term, but it's when you make it an entire lifestyle that it becomes a problem.

I've been pouring my energy out into the world, all over the stage, onto other people. It radiates from me in all directions. And then it's gone. There's no energy coming back my way and it's not rejuvenating itself. There's none left for me. It's incredible what happens to your priorities when you get that busy. Your basic needs get struck from the list. You stop exercising. You stop buying groceries and eating healthy. You stop sleeping regularly. You stop calling the people you care about because there just isn't time. What should be most important - your health, your personal relationships, your happiness - is tossed aside for superficial things that don't really matter. And it's so easy to do that.

This really hit home for me this weekend. I received an email from a very good friend of mine, The Bee, with whom I hadn't spoken in about six weeks. In that time, she had quit her job and made arrangements to move to China. And I had no idea until I got the email inviting me to her last day of work party. She had made huge, life changing decisions and I wasn't there. She's leaving the country for who knows how long, and I've missed out on six weeks of time that we could have spent together. And it's all because I was too busy to call.

Even though I'm no longer busy, I'm so exhausted from the last few months that it's difficult to what I need to do to get my life back on track. So, here's the deal: I'm putting myself on an elimination diet of sorts. I'm quitting all of this excess shit and I'm focusing on me for once. What if I took all that energy that I've been pouring out into the world and turned it inward? Instead of working on miscellaneous stuff, what if I worked on me? What if I put energy into cultivating my friendships and relationships with other people instead of filling my life with activities and structure? What if I quit running from my past and actually faced my demons? I would be pretty fucking fantastic.

So, I'm throwing out the old recipe and creating one of my own. And it's terrifying. Absolutely terrifying, because I think the reason it got this bad in the first place is that deep down, there's a little nagging voice telling me that I'm not worth it. But I'm going to fight that motherfucking bastard and prove him wrong.

These are going to be the best brownies ever.

Labels: transition