Finding my “Why”

I’m considered “obese.” Every doctor I have gone to weighs me, documents on my chart my weight and my height, and then the markers come in.

“OBESE.”

Let’s look at this word. What does “Obese” mean? According to dictionary.com, obese means ‘very fat or overweight.’ Yep. That’s what it means. In clinical terms, obesity is “A disorder involving excessive body fat that increases the risk of health problems. Obesity often results from taking in more calories than are burned by exercise and normal daily activities. Obesity occurs when a person’s body mass index is 30 or greater. The main symptom is excessive body fat, which increases the risk of serious health problems. The mainstay of treatment is lifestyle changes such as diet and exercise.”

The Centers for Disease Control says “Weight that is higher than what is considered healthy for a given height is described as overweight or obesity.”

I would like to say I’m not overweight, I’m under tall.

But seriously.

Why do we put so much emphasis on looks? Why do we look down on people, women specifically, for being overweight? Why is it a failure to be even a pound or three over the “ideal”? What IS the ideal?

Bannerhealth.com says that an “ideal” weight for a woman who is 5’4″ is 108-132 pounds. 108?! 132?!!

Well, by that reckoning, yes, I AM obese. I am not sure how healthy I would be if I was that weight. I haven’t seen that kind of weight since I was…quite young. I’m not telling how long ago it was but it’s painful.

So how did I come to this point and why don’t I DO something about it?

I have been living with weight issues all of my life. My mother used to tell me all sorts of nasty things like she would have to buy me clothing from “Omar the Tentmaker.” I was not an active child. I played with my siblings, yes, but that was on the swing set in the yard, not out playing tag, running, or anything else. I have been a stress eater all my life. There were nasty things going on at home. My response to that was to eat. I would go into the kitchen after hours (read: after everyone was asleep) and eat. Eating without exercising leads to gaining weight.

Fast forward quite a few years.

Marriage. Children. Going back to school. Finding exercise classes. Health issues. Every visit to the doctor is followed by the same thing: You’re obese.

I’ve gone to fitness classes. Those fitness classes are wonderful, but I’ve not lost weight.

I’ve been out walking. I’m not losing weight.

I retired from a job I held for 30 years. Was off work for a year. Found a new job. That job lasted almost a year. I walked more. I didn’t lose weight then either. I listened to office mates talking about how they were exercising for an hour a day. They were talking about it all the time. The one lady was extremely thin. I felt huge. I felt like a loser. Not the loser I wanted to be.

I quit that job. Took the summer off, but didn’t lose weight. I wasn’t really trying hard at that point, but I attended my fitness classes every week. In October, I got another job. Now my exercise time has been reduced. I sit on my rear for eight hours a day. I don’t go out walking, even though I know I should. There are a lot of things I know I SHOULD do.

I shouldn’t compare myself to other people. I have a tendency to do that.
I’m jealous of the people I see who work out daily or every other day, those who are successful at their weight loss. I want that loss for myself. Again, it comes down to the need to exercise and eat better. I could go out and walk in the park, but I don’t. This is my problem.

I should eat better. I’ve been increasing the amount of fruit I’m eating. I try to have at least one piece of fruit a day. I know I need to eat more fruit and more vegetables. I need to increase my exercise.

I was recently asked, “What is your why?” I’ve had to think about that for a really long time. Why do I want to lose weight? Do I want to lose it because it’s the popular thing? Do I want to do it to silence that nasty little voice in my head? The one that tells me I’m a horrible person because I’m overweight? Why do I want to lose weight?

I’m fairly healthy for all that I’m fat. My blood pressure is great. My A1C, the last it was tested, was okay. It was a little higher than I’d like to see it. Normal is below 5.7. Mine was 5.5. Pre-diabetic is between 5.7 and 6.5. Diabetic is over 6.5. For me, that 5.5 is a little scary since I’m so close to that 5.7 mark. I’m going to have to concentrate on getting that down.

I’m spending time thinking about my “why.” I’m thinking that my why has to be my health. I need to get that A1C number down. I need to get myself healthier. I’m not a fan of exercise but if it will help with the A1C, I’ll suck it up and do it. I do like walking. I can put music on and listen to it while I’m walking. I need the “oomph.” I need someone to kick my butt and get me to focus on my health more. My kids are grown. My husband takes care of himself. I haven’t been taking care of myself but I need to.

My why is the woman I am now, and the woman I hope I can become.

She’s been here, living behind excuses for a really long time.

It’s time to give her her voice, to allow her to see the light.

What we have here, is failure…to communicate

I don’t know how to deal with people sometimes.

Let me tell you a tale.

I met someone on the internet, in a game we both played. I was thrilled to have someone I could chat with. We talked a lot, made jokes, and had fun with the game. The casual acquaintance became a “Here’s my number, can you text me when something happens in-game?” and went from there. It sparked a friendship. We were talking every day. We shared information. We talked via text.

Things progressed as time went on. We talked more. We discovered we had a shared love of books and coffee. We laughed a bit. My friend shared some of their deep, dark secrets, which I won’t disclose because it’s not my story to tell. I was pleased to have someone I could confide in and talk to.

Time went on and my stepfather had a heart attack. I wound up having to go see him in the hospital. I was stressed and butt-dialed my new friend as we drove to Fort Worth to see him. My friend and I had a couple of laughs over that. Then again, after that incident, we started talking on the phone periodically. He was supportive. He would talk to me while my husband was busy with other obligations. We started talking while I was at work which gave me a break from the tedium of what we called “The Cage.” It felt like a cage. I drove an hour to work and an hour from work and we chatted about books and things as I drove home.

I made plans to go to the West Coast in 2019. I was going to meet up with my friend and have coffee while I was there. Now bear in mind that the job I had been doing was being farmed off to someone else as a part of a “reorganization” and I had no option but to train this person to do my job. I had put in for vacation in September of 2019. It was not approved until almost mid-September because the meters needed to be done and the person who was taking my job hadn’t had time to assimilate the job. By the time my vacation was approved, it was too late to properly plan a meet-up with my friend. We just decided we’d wing it as best we could due to the circumstances.

I left early in the morning that September and drove, alone, through back parts of Texas and into Colorado. I wound up talking to my friend off and on during the day when my husband wasn’t available to talk to me since he had to work. My friend helped me drive over several bridges that I would have otherwise panicked over. I couldn’t talk to anyone in Utah as the phone service was spotty at best. My poor husband worried when he couldn’t catch me on the phone. In the places I could get a signal, I called him and we talked for a minute while he figured out that I’d made a wrong turn in Utah and had driven halfway around the state. (Never again and never without him!!)

I made it through Utah and into Idaho talking to my friend. Then I made it through Idaho and into Oregon. My friend stayed up extremely late to talk me to the Air BnB I was staying at and was able to help me get in. He said we’d talk more the next day.

We did talk more as he talked me through driving out of Oregon, into Washington, and up to Spokane to pick up my husband at the airport. We never got a chance to talk again while I was there, nor did we have our planned coffee. Instead, that went by the wayside but we chatted via text. We continued to text throughout the next year.

In 2020, I retired from “The Cage” and was ostensibly free. The people from that place would continue to call and my friend asked, “Why don’t you stop helping them? Tell them to figure it out themselves!” I didn’t listen because I’m a person who likes to feel needed and who likes to help. I continued to take calls months after I had “retired” so it was almost as if I wasn’t retired, really. I answered a lot of questions.

At the same time, my friend offered suggestions about talking to my adult children and dealing with my pets, which were two subjects I had spoken of a lot. I heard his suggestions and at first, I said nothing, just filed it away. He continued to offer advice whenever I’d complain about things, but instead of me talking to him and telling him that I felt uncomfortable doing that, I just stopped talking. I’d let him have his say and I’d listen but not follow the advice. I stewed over things he had pointed out about the job and the kids. It came to a head one day when I read something and sent it to him and said, “This is how I feel.” That insulted him. Looking back on it now (hindsight being 20/20), he’s right. I could have and should have, found a better way to deal with things. I sat and thought about what he said and being me, thought he was “attacking” me. He was trying to help, but I didn’t see that at the time. Instead, I was an idiot and blew up at him in an email. There was also an incident where he needed to talk to me but I was unavailable because I was playing a different game. That I wasn’t able to be supportive of him was the last straw and he got upset. Justifiably.

There was a period of about a month or so that we didn’t speak, or if we did, it was only to communicate about the game we both played. We didn’t talk about anything else. In fact, I wrote several “I’m sorry” emails to him which he answered, albeit, coldly. He was still unhappy with me. We finally had it out one afternoon on the phone. I called him and asked to talk to him, which we did for a bit. He said he would have to think about whether or not he wanted to resume the friendship. I agreed to let him think about it. Eventually, he decided that it would be okay for us to speak again, but I was not to mention my family or my pets as they were the trigger to the hard feelings. I agreed and, probably foolishly, thought everything was going to be great.

Things were not to follow the same path going forward. He stopped helping me talk in Italian. Messages were brief but were better. It wasn’t the comfortable chatter of earlier times. I thought that I could give him time and it’d go back to being as it was. I thought wrong.

In 2021, I had the opportunity to go to Washington for a pre-interview test for a position I had wanted. While I was there, I took the opportunity to go across the river and meet up with my friend. We finally had our coffee, exchanged hugs, and talked a lot. One afternoon, after my test, I picked him up and we drove around, went to Pendleton Woolen Mills, and just talked the entire time. I was sad going home but happy that I’d had that time to talk to him.

He had a family tragedy that I couldn’t have foreseen. I tried to be there for him and offered my strength, should he need it.He mourned. I didn’t push anything. Things were, I thought, getting better, but then I noticed, toward the middle of 2022, that it was awkward talking again. I tried to mention it. I said that we needed to communicate better. We had another period of minimal talking, then it picked up again. I shrugged it off and moved on. He doesn’t talk a lot. He’s very stoic and keeps to himself. If he wanted to be silent, I would observe that and follow suit.

I got a new job toward the tail end of last year. We talked a bit, texted, and worked past my training period with messages. I could count on seeing his messages about “Good morning, how are you doing?” that sort of thing. It was nice. Work picked up and got crazy. I have not had a lot of time to really communicate other than “Yes, doing well.” It’s rude, I can see that.

I noticed on Tuesday that messages were…clipped, shall we say, on his side. I shrugged it off, thinking it was just a one-off thing. The next day, things seemed slightly better but then they got worse again. By Friday, messages were terse. He said that since I was not offering information, he was choosing to “follow my lead. If I wanted him to know something, he thought I’d tell him.”
I asked what I had done wrong. I asked him for examples, which he gave. He said that I acted like it was an inconvenience to tell him when I was at lunch so we could text at that time. He’s right. I didn’t send him any messages saying “I’m at lunch.” I know that when he politely asked what I was having for lunch one day, I snipped back with “I don’t know, whatever I find in the fridge to eat.” He didn’t ask for me to be a bitch. It was uncalled for, I know.

So now I’m sitting here, wondering if I’m really dumb for pursuing this friendship. I feel like I’ve ruined it. I want things back the way they were. I know “you can’t go back again.” I know that things have to change to grow.
I feel bad. I cannot apologize again because I have spent nearly three years apologizing for the first transgressions. While he says he has forgiven me, I can’t help but feel that he hasn’t. I felt like he was shoving me away and mentioned it to him last week. He said no, but then…this.

Friendships are a two-way street. There’s giving and taking. You have to bend in order to compensate for the winds of change.. Trees bend. Those that don’t, break.

I understand my friend’s anger with me. I understand that he’s hurt.

I am not sure if he understands that I am also hurt. The freedom of shared laughter is now gone.

I want my friend back. I told him last night that essentially he told me I was a bitch. I was.

I do not like hurting people. It hurts to think that a friendship such as we had is now tarnished and not what it was.
He said he’s likely keeping his barriers in place to protect himself. I get it.

He’ll never know that he’s not the only one who hurts. I feel like I’ve been pushed away.

It’s not a happy feeling.

The moral of this story is Don’t get snippy with people you think are your friends as you will alienate them if you are. If you have a problem, talk. Find a way to COMMUNICATE.