What Is Your Relationship With Food?

Being out at our beach cottage makes me contemplative.

It's hard not to be - surrounded by water, sun and sand with no electricity.  Everything runs on solar, propane or a generator.  Each night the kids fall into bed exhausted from full days of running around in the fresh air

The nights are getting cooler now, the first wisps of fall are in the air.

I love it.

Fall is like my New Year's.  I'm academically programed, and each September along with the crisp air I start thinking about what this new year is going to bring.

The arrival of that big yellow school bus marks the beginning of the kids' new school year, and return of some structure to my life.

This morning I woke early, wrapped up in a cozy sweater and headed up to the lighthouse next to our cottage.  As the sun's rays poked up over the horizon, pushing away the night's darkness, I thought about new beginnings.

Each day is a chance for a new start.

The lack of structure during the summer can be tough. Especially for stay-at-home Moms.  All too often our needs take a back burner to the constant pace of summer.   It can be a tough time for healthy eating, even though in theory the opposite should be true, what with the abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables.

Exercise regimes are interrupted, or put on hold.  Healthy eating is abandoned (with glee, I hope) during vacations and barbeques.

I don't know about you, but summer is typically my most challenging month in terms of self-care.

I can't wait for a fresh start in September.  I can't wait to get back to my routine - my yoga classes, my support groups.

One thing that wasn't as tough for me this summer as in years past is healthier eating.  I've talked about the Arbonne fitness plan here before. It's hard not to talk about it all the time, to be honest.

As many of you know, I hosted and participated in an Arbonne 30 day fitness challenge in the spring, losing 14 lbs and 2 inches off my waist. 

But most importantly, for me it was a jump start to a healthier lifestyle. As the fat melted off my waistline and my energy returned, I was able to flip that Internal Eating Switch from "what does it matter" to "I matter".  Losing weight and looking better is great, don't get me wrong, but this isn't meant to be a get-thin-quick fad diet.  It's an entire system of healthier eating.

It's a gateway to freedom from self-sabotaging thoughts about food, and yourself.

I used to get uncomfortable blogging about Arbonne.  I don't like feeling like I'm using this place to be salesy.  But I have witnessed this plan change lives, and so I'm not apologetic about talking about it here.

Since the spring challenge, my clients who did the 30 day fit kit and then stayed on basic maintenance and stuck with the healthier eating habits have been able to not only maintain their weight loss, but continue to build muscle and gain energy.  Their skin is clearer.  They sleep better.

By digging down and examining their eating habits, they feel back in control of their relationship to food.

Amanda - my best friend since we were ten years old - did the spring challenge.  Her goal was to get control of her sugar and dairy intake (read: ICE CREAM) and stop her late afternoon energy crash.   While she is very active, she isn't an exerciser.  She has always been naturally slim (good genes) but knew there was a healthier, toner, more energetic person waiting to come out.

She has now been on maintenance for almost three months.  I saw her yesterday for the first time in a couple of months.  She is radiant.  Sure, she's ten pounds thinner and toned, but it's more than that.  There is a lightness about her spirit, too. 

When she took those before pictures she could never, ever have imagined letting someone take her picture in a bikini.  And posting it on the INTERNET. (You are such a good sport, Amanda. Thank you)!

This summer I wasn't able to exercise like I wanted to, but being on the Arbonne fitness plan made me feel like I was in control of food, instead of the other way around.  I understand the nature of my relationship to food, now - in particular to sugar.  There isn't any "cheating", only choices.

I'm hosting another 30 Day Fitness Challenge (along with several others in my incredible Arbonne team) starting September 1st.  We chose September because it's a fantastic time for new beginnings.  The return of structure.  The crisp, clear fall days where long walks are a treat.

Put yourself back in the driver's seat when it comes to food.  This 30 day fitness challenge is great for weight loss, to be sure, but it's so much more than that.  It's your new beginning. It's your fresh start.  You are so totally worth it.

For the cost of one week's groceries for the average family of four, you can flip your "what's the point" switch to "I AM THE POINT".

This challenge is open to both existing and new clients, and in order to participate you need to purchase your kit by August 21st.  I know that isn't much time.  That is on purpose.  Don't over think this ... jump in with both feet.  I did, and it's one of the best decisions I ever made.

I won't go into all the details here - this post is long enough - but if you are interested send me an email at ellieandsteve@verizon.net and I will send you more information about the fit kit and the challenge.  To learn more you can also go to my Arbonne page by clicking HERE.

It's YOUR time.  You can do this.

Body Mine

I exhale slowly, stretching my arms and head forward, as an instructor gently presses down on my lower back.

"Nice," she whispers.

One more deep breath, and she presses my torso lower.  I feel a slight resistance - a brief unwillingness - behind my knees, but as I exhale the tension releases and she presses me lower. 

"Navel to your back, engage your core, keep breathing, listen to your body," says the head yoga instructor. Her voice is like smooth honey, loving but firm, encouraging and compassionate.

Slowly, with a final whisper of encouragement - good - she removes her hands from my back.  Incredibly, my body stays in this position on its own.  I am folded in half, legs out in front of me, my face resting on my knees, hands wrapped around the soles of my feet.

It feels heavenly.


~~~~

I'm at a yoga workshop, a two hour instructional class where several instructors tend to a handful of students.  They tiptoe around the room, adjust poses, whisper encouragement, give massages to quivering muscles.

Finally, I find myself irrevocably drawn to something good for me:  yoga.  I'm still very much a novice, and I attended this class with a friend because I wanted the corrections, the instruction, so I didn't develop bad habits early.

I didn't expect it to be so comforting, though, a combination of pleasant aching and release of tension.  All yoga classes are like that, but with the individual attention, the massages, and the comforting touches this class takes it to a whole new level.

~~~~~

"Keep listening to your body," she repeats.  "Find that spot just at the edge of comfort, but no further, and breathe into the pose".

My mind drifts inward, taking silent stock of how my body feels.  I feel my heart beat steadily against my upper thighs, my breath hot on my knees as I exhale and stretch down further.  Every cell is humming with life and I feel connected, whole, present.

A while later, during Shavasana, I lie still, my body a dead weight sinking into the floor.  I focus on my breath and feel life rushing in and out of my lungs, through my veins.

I listen to my body, grateful for its sturdy health.  A year ago at this time I was heading into the worst of my cancer treatment.  Radiation had scorched my neck - inside and out - the skin cracked and bleeding.   Chemotherapy left me depleted, weary, sick.  I lay in my bed and fought to stay in the moment. 

A healthy body seemed a long, long way away.

My muscles throb gratefully, and I'm amazed at what they can do.  She says to listen to my body, but for the moment I talk to it, send it a little prayer:  thank you. 

My mind quiets, and I am at peace.

Recovering Chaos Junkie

I used to hate routine.

In early recovery I realized that I was facing two intertwined addictions:  alcohol and chaos.

I didn't know that I loved chaos until it was gone. I have heard others in recovery speak about this, so I know I'm not the only one.  I was talking to a friend about this the other day, how I used to be, in my words, a "chaos junkie".

When I was at the worst of my alcoholism - when denial had a firm grip on me - I used to feel so sorry for people who did things like get up at 6am to jog, or went to bed early so they could tuck into a good book, or who sipped one glass of wine all night and then STILL walked away from it, unfinished.

I would see well-adjusted people and think: they must be so bored, as I clutched my wine glass a little more tightly.

That's what alcoholism did to me; it made me believe my life of scrambling to keep up with the day-to-day obligations of life, the untangling of half-truths and outright lies, the grey or black-out nights, the nursing morning hangovers and the obsessing over my next drink, was exciting.

Of course, looking back on it now I realize my life was empty, shallow - a mile wide and an inch deep.  I had lots of friends, but I didn't let many people get too close for fear they'd find out my horrible secret.

When I finally embraced recovery because I wanted it for myself - this took months - I began to embrace routine, too.  Eventually I began to need routine; I craved predictability like I used to crave alcohol:  without it I became fearful, timid and reclusive.

I discovered that not only did I not love chaos, but that any new situation made me profoundly uncomfortable. I didn't like calling people that I didn't know; a call to my bank, or a store, would make me nervous.  I wanted to know the system of every place I went in to; I didn't try new restaurants or stores for months.

Basically, I realized that at heart I'm an anxious, shy person.  I felt so brave and confident when I drank - I'd walk in anywhere, talk to anyone.  It was a shock to find out that wasn't really me.

This got better, over time.  I am still hesitant to try new things; going to a new conference, for example, makes me anxious.  A new city, a hotel I've never stayed at before, a party at someone's house who I don't know well, a play group or house party where I don't know many people (what if they lost my reservation?  what if I get lost on the train? what if nobody talks to me?) makes me uneasy, but I do it anyway.  I practice stretching my wings - not too far - but enough so that I don't let fear govern my life.

Mostly, though, I cherish routine.

I never thought I'd feel this way.  In early sobriety I complained so much about how bored I was, mourning my old "exciting" way of life, that a friend joked she was going to get me a tee shirt with a big red number 5 on it (as in ... on a scale of 1 to 10, I loved 1 or 10 and hated 5, thinking it was boring, and all I heard from everyone is that to stay sober I had to embrace 5).

The last few weeks have brought some change into our lives.  My husband got a new job, and we're both excited about the new opportunity, but I had become accustomed to him working eight miles away, home predictably at the same time most nights so we could have family dinner or I could go to a meeting.  Now he's commuting into the city - leaving before I'm awake in the morning and coming home half an hour before the kids have to go to bed.   It's a big adjustment.

Someone has been sick in this house for three weeks, knocking me off my routine.  I missed exercise, yoga and meetings (both cancer support groups and recovery meetings) for almost two straight weeks.

I've been having trouble sleeping - lying awake staring at the ceiling until 2 or 3am every night. I had an undercurrent of anxiety that followed me everywhere.  I got sick, and spent the better part of a week in bed - sick enough to feel poorly but not sick enough to sleep.

The anxiety grew, my monkey mind wouldn't leave me alone.  It took me a while to realize what was out of whack:  routine.

We all got better towards the end of last week, (knock wood) and then the kids had a four day weekend (MLK day and a professional day for teacher training) so once again I couldn't go to my normal activities.

My anxiety peaked on Monday night; I couldn't sleep, had lost my appetite and felt near tears.

Yesterday everyone woke up healthy and trotted off to work and school.  I stared at the four walls of my house, simultaneously soaking up the silence and feeling completely out of sorts.  I paced from room to room, sat down to work on jewelry, got up again to pace some more, meditated ineffectively, tried to read and then it hit me:  get back into your routine, Ellie.

I went for a walk, then did some yoga.  My mind quieted immediately.

I slept like a baby last night.

Today I woke up feeling refreshed and grateful.

After the bus rumbled away, I meditated for half an hour, then went to yoga.  I did some work, and then sat down to write this.  The anxiety is gone.  POOF.

My name is Ellie, and I'm a grateful recovering chaos junkie.

On Caterpillars And Not Taking Over The World

Day One.  New beginnings.  Two kids in school full time.

I shuffle my newly minted 4th and 1st graders onto the bus, come inside and wipe a few tears away.  I don't know what the tears are about, exactly.  Nervous anticipation of what comes next?  Gratitude that I'm back, from cancer, that I get to be the one to put them on the bus and meet them at the end of the day?  Fear of the booming silence in my house?  Relief?

Probably all of the above.

As they were waiting for the bus, Greta turned to me and said, "Mom, I have the caterpillars".

Usually they are described as butterflies in the stomach, but Greta calls them caterpillars in her
throat. Much better description, I think.

"I have them, too," I told her.  "And I had them every first day of school, ever."

She gave me a tentative grin.  "They're wiggling.  A LOT," she said, and giggled.

"I'm not nervous at all," Finn chimed in. "At least I don't think I am.  What's my teachah's name again? What's my room numbah?  Oh.  I think I have the catahpillahs, too."

Greta put her arm around him, glad for a little brother to comfort.  "Stick with your friend Tim*", she said. "He's on your bus and in your class. If you stick together you'll be fine."

I watched from my perch on the porch, sipped my coffee, my heart swollen with gratitude as Greta wrapped her arms around Finn.

Of course, as the bus approached, she gently pushed him away and whispered, "Now, don't talk to me."

I always seem to see milestones as endings.  No kid at home to take care of, lots of empty silence where before there was constant noise.  My identity isn't totally wrapped around my kids, I'm grateful for that, and I have jewelry orders to make and the gym to go to and phone calls and emails to return.  I can focus on my other life for a while.

I'm trying to see this as a beginning, not an ending.  But, truthfully, it's both.

And today? I feel their absence in a semi-scary, semi-grateful way.  I'm learning that opposite emotions can co-habitate in my mind.  Scared and grateful.  Nervous and excited. Empty and full.  Closing and opening.

Today begins my regimen of self-care. My promise to myself that I won't try to take over the world in these first few months of two kids at school. That I'll take small bites - do something healthy for myself every morning - write, exercise, meditate, do yoga, read - before I start my day. That I won't go nuts cleaning the house, or spend hours messing about on the computer trying to create a new website for my business (something I have no business trying to do but it would get me out of my head for hours), or exercise like a fiend.

It's my time to spend some time with me. Maybe that's why I have the caterpillars. Spending time with myself can be scary for me, because I get all crazy nutso about what it all means, who I am supposed to be, have existential crises.

I'm dialing back, not up, and that's different for me.  I'm giving my body and mind time to heal from the last year.

I'm all talking smack today - here on Day One.  So call me on it, friends.  Let's see how I'm doing on Day 15, or 21 of my non-world-domination campaign.

Right now, though, I'm off to sip coffee, stare out at the rain and listen to the booming silence.



*not his real name

I Wasn't Expecting This

I'm sitting at my computer, trying to think, but I'm distracted by the thumping of little feet upstairs.

They are playing some kind of game with their stuffed animals; elaborate skits that involve music and role-playing and can go on for hours.

I can't make out their words, but I can hear Greta's lilting voice, and Finn's lower, scratchier one (is it me, or is it already getting a little deeper?) as they laugh and argue good-naturedly about the rules of the game.

I didn't expect this.

I didn't expect that at almost 10 and almost 7 they would still play with stuffed animals, that they would still enjoy each other's company so much. I know I'm lucky; I know not all 10 and 7 years old get along like mine do. That's not bragging, because it has nothing to do with me.  It's all them, and their sweet souls.

There are changes in the air, though. A twinge of cool air in the evening, sometimes even carrying that distinctive smell of autumn.  Some leaves are changing (changing!) in patches, and some are starting to fall to the ground.

There are other changes, too.  As Greta approaches tween-hood, there is more eye rolling, more "Finn! Leave me alone!", more bursting into tears for no reason.  It's coming, I know it is, and so I'm wallowing in the mostly-sweet of the way things are right  now.  I try to stay in the moment - OH, I try - but a little voice in my brain whispers - is this the last sweet summer?  Is this the last summer of stuffed animals?  

Finn starts first grade, and so for the first time in ten years both my kids will be gone full time - all day, every day, at school.

I spent so many years longing for this day; mired down in diapers or whiny kids who couldn't speak well enough to articulate what they wanted.  Days when I couldn't just go to the gym, or visit with a friend, because my schedule was irrevocably intertwined with theirs.

Now that day is only a couple of weeks away, and I'm surprised by how my gut twists at the thought of them both being away for so long, every week.

I wasn't expecting this.

Again, I try to stay in the moment, not project, not have too many expectations, but I have to acknowledge that twisting.  I'm not great with a lot of unstructured time. My inclination is to start my plan for world domination - make HUGE plans, turn my jewelry business into something big, write that novel, get a full-time job - all to run from too many hours alone with me.

Instead, I'm going to try what I'm thinking of as mini-structure, and it's all about self-care, self-love, and peace of mind.  I'm six months past cancer - I have to keep reminding myself of that - and I need to take this time to take care of me.

Each morning I will do some form of exercise. Not in that over-the-top-train-for-a-marathon-hate-myself-if-I-don't-workout kind of way, but in a move-your-body-Ellie kind of way.  Yoga. A walk in the woods. A trip to the gym.  Low-key, gradual, simple.

Every day I'm going to make jewelry just for the sake of making jewelry, not because I need to make thousands of dollars immediately. I'm going to resist the urge to learn metal-smithing (something I really want to do) just for a while.

I'm going to meditate. Even if can't quiet my mind, I'm going to sit, with no noise, for a while each day.

I'm going to read for at least half an hour. Every day - right smack dab in the middle of the day. Force myself to stop and just read.

I'm going to take time to write - offline, in a notebook - start that journal up again.

I'm going to go to daytime recovery meetings.

The day will come (who knows when, maybe sooner than I think) when I have to either ramp up the jewelry business or get a job.  But not right now, not yet.

I'm going to spend some time with me, who - in the past - has been my least favorite person to hang around with.  I'm going to acknowledge that twist in my gut that will miss my kids.

I know I'll adjust. I know it will take time.  I'm glad that the deepest part of me doesn't want them to go.

That's love.

I'm So Not The Boss Of Me

Sometimes, when I'm feeling wistful, I'll wish that I could get addicted to things that are good for me. I seem to be developing a little problem with Everlasting Gobstoppers, for instance. How come I can't become obsessed with something like hugging trees or exercise?

Speaking of exercise, you may all throw me a little parade because I got up at 5:30am - 5:30am!!! - this morning to go work out. Turns out there is this whole little universe of people who get up early to do healthy things. Who knew?

It began when my friend Jackie sent me a Facebook message a few days ago asking if I'd meet her at the gym this morning at 6am. After nearly choking on my Everlasting Gobstopper, I thought about it. Why not? Why can't I be one of those people who gets up early to go do things? I could think of it like a cultural experiment - who ARE those people and what do they look like? Before I could stop myself I sent her a message back, saying I would meet her. There. Now I was committed. I don't mind letting myself down, but other people are a different story. Jackie was counting on me. Her whole world would crumble if I wasn't there, right?

For the past year Steve has been asking me, with varying degrees of politeness and subtlety, to work out. He can find an opening for this topic in any conversation:

Me: "How bout those Red Sox, huh?"

Steve: "Yeah. They must work out a lot."

Me: "Are you calling me fat?"

Or this:

Steve: "I've got this situation with a client I really need to work out."

Me: "Are you calling me fat?"

Or this:

Steve: "I wonder if we'll ever work out the situation in the Middle East and no-I'm-not-calling-you-fat."

I'm a little touchy about the topic of exercise. I know it's good for me. I know it gives me more energy, I'm nicer and more in balance when I'm working out. If sitting around wishing you felt like working out burned calories, I'd be a super model.

I've learned something about myself in the past couple of years, though. If I pressure myself to do something out of obligation, or because I feel like I have to, I simply won't do it. I can make a quiet rebellion out of anything.

Steve figured out a while ago that asking me if I'm going to the gym is a dead end. With him off my back, I started arguing with myself about it: I don't have time, I don't need pressure to do one more thing, nobody tells me what to do, dammit! Not even me!

So I waited. I let myself off the hook completely, told myself I don't have to work out if I don't want to, that I'm fine just the way I am. Pressure's off. Sure enough, the next day I get Jackie's message and I think, "Sure? Why not?"

It was Steve who sealed the deal, though. Last night I nonchalantly asked him to set the alarm clock for 5:30am, like it was no big thing.

"WHAT?!?" he gaped. "5:30am? YOU?"

"Sure, why not?" I replied. "I told Jackie I'd meet her."

"You didn't leave yourself a little trapdoor? A little way out?" he asked.

"Well, I did mention that Greta isn't feeling well, and that if she is worse tomorrow morning I may not be able to go."

"You are SO not going."

"Yes I am."

"I will eat my left eyeball if you go. Seriously."

"Get out the knife and fork, baby, because I'm going."

Nobody tells me what I can't do, either.

Well played, Steve. Well played.

Work It, Girl

My husband and I have a new deal going. Three mornings a week, he will do the morning routine with the kids, and I will get up and go to the gym. This arrangement is fair on a number of levels, not the least of which is that getting the kids up and dressed in the morning is like running on a treadmill: lots of flailing about, sweat, tears and motion but you never actually get anywhere.

Its not that I don't like exercise, I do. Really. I totally understand that it is good for me, that it makes me healthier, gives me more energy. I don't know how it happens, but walking into the gym before a workout I feel slow, sluggish and middle aged... and walking out of the gym after a workout I feel like Jane Freaking Fonda in her glory days (minus the striped leotard and leg warmers). I even have a playlist on my iPod of workout songs; it is called "Run, Ellie, Run".

The problem is motivation. Once I'm up on the treadmill or pumping weights I'm good to go. It is getting there that is the issue. First there is the problem of what to wear. I marvel at the women I see working out in these matching sexy outfit type things. My workout gear consists of one of my husband's old tee-shirts, some black lycra biking shorts that I bought about a million years ago (LOVE that lycra - it just stretches and stretches ... I wouldn't want to be on the treadmill next to mine when it finally spontaneously combusts), and some cross-training sneakers I found on sale that are so white a ship could navigate safely to shore using just my feet as a source of light. I'm not completely hopeless, though - I realized a few months ago that white athletic socks that go up above your ankles are, apparently, no longer in vogue.

Then I have to figure out what time of day to go. Let it be known that I detest mornings - I have never been a Morning Person, and never will be. My husband, who is a Morning Person, leaps up out of bed every morning full of zest and ready to face the world. I don't fully wake up until 10am and several cups of coffee. But if I wait until 10am to go to the gym I am going to see lots of people I know. This sounds like a good thing, but even if I overlook the fact that they will see me in my gym clothes, my tendency to chat makes it more of a social hour than a workout hour.

And, of course, by 10am I will have the kids with me. We are fortunate enough to have a terrific YMCA in our town - it is new, clean and has a fabulous playspace complete with babysitting for the kids. I know of Moms with young kids who put on workout clothes, drop their kids at the playspace, and then duck around the corner to the Y's cafe for a peaceful cup of coffee. The problem with the playspace is that it is a complete crap shoot as to whether my kids will agree to go. This creates a situation full of pleading, bribery and tears (and sometimes the kids cry, too) that I find detestable. And there is another problem.. the space itself has no solid walls: the whole area is surrounded by glass so loving parents can wistfully watch their kids play. It creates a problem for me, though, because once I manage to get my kids to go into the playspace and get them settled, if they catch a single glimpse of me as I sneak over to the workout area they dissolve into tears. So I need to engage in all kinds of bizarre, clandestine moves to get past the playspace to the adult workout area. I have crawled on my hands and knees, or put my gym bag over my head. It is embarrassing.

If I manage to do all this successfully - drop them off, get to my workout area, get on the treadmill - there is still no guarantee I'll be able to complete my workout. The Y has a policy that if a child is inconsolable for more than 10 minutes, they will come find the parent. Nothing strikes dread into my heart like the sight of one of the playspace workers, wearing their happy little blue aprons, come around the corner and start scanning the treadmills for the offending parent. Nine times out of ten it is me.

So each day I would become exhausted thinking all of this through, and everyone knows you don't get a good workout when you're tired.

But I'm about to turn 40. And I realized that 40 is one of those ages where things just start to go. As in south. And since some of my parts seem to have already went, I decided it was time to crack down and just do it. So I'm getting up early, skipping my morning coffee, and going to the gym, alone, three mornings a week. It is not pretty. But there is nobody there to (a) see me, (b) socialize with or (c) hear me singing along to Eminem. Maybe for my 41st birthday I'll buy myself one of those sexy matching outfit type things to workout in. Its good to have goals.