Part 3 Of My Weight Loss Journey or 'Party Time Italian Style'

This is part three in a series about my weight loss journey. If you have not read parts one and two, I encourage you to do so. 

I began meditating in 2006 and enjoyed all that I was learning about myself.  I remember when I began thinking that self introspection was important I would ask my mom about things from my childhood. We would talk about things she or my dad had said to me and how that affected me even now some 30 years later.  My poor parents. They didn't like that so much.  Nor would any parent I suppose, but as I explained to my mother, I am not trying to make you feel bad. I just want to know WHY I am the way I am and I can only do that by examining the past.

 
Don't get me wrong here. My parents were and are still to this day wonderful and a hugely positive influence in my life. They are both genuine, giving and couldn't love their kids any more if they wanted to! They did make mistakes, however, not intentional mistakes; nor were they even aware that what they were saying or doing would have ill effects. I truly believe they did the best they could and honestly thought that they were helping, as did the grandfather I talked about in part 2.  

My mother, who was naturally thin, was the doting Italian mother who used to prepare special meals for me as I tried every diet under the sun. She would encourage me to exercise. She would remind me to step away from the table after I had eaten and was reaching for seconds and thirds. She would help me pick out clothes that made me look thinner too. All meant to help me. My mom didn't like seeing me miss out on things or being sad because I was different.

 My mom used to tell me, "Dina, you need to learn to eat to live, not live to eat." Yeah... ok, Mom. Although this phrase would eventually become a mantra for me,  it made NO sense to my adolescent mind.  I mean, it went totally against my upbringing. 

In my family food was the center of everything!  Someone is coming over? What are we going to serve them? Someone is getting married or having a baby? What are they going to serve us?  Every get together, every occasion was centered around FOOD! 

We are Italians, after all. Our people are known for their love of food. And it didn't help that everyone in my family is a phenomenal cook or baker.  Our entire family took food quite seriously.  I remember when my husband came to his first Christmas at my Auntie Pat's and Uncle Bob's house or was it Thanksgiving at Auntie Deb's? No matter, it's all the same. It looked like most everyone's home.  Beautiful table set, people everywhere mingling and chatting about what's new. 

And then the meal began and you were very busy for a while.  We started with salad and pasta, ravioli usually, but maybe lasagna with melt-in-your-mouth meatballs, fall-off-the-bone ribs, crusty, get-every-last-drop-of-the-gravy bread. And by the way, it's called gravy not sauce! 

Now, I know you are thinking that sounds like a meal all to itself. And it was!  But we were JUST beginning. Next came the turkey and maybe a ham too. And of course everyone brought a side dish, so the table was packed with every good thing under the sun.  And we haven't even gotten to desert which was loaded with so many goodies, we had to clear the dinner table to make room for the 'sweet table!' It was a freakin' several course- open the button on your pants or if you were smart you went with the elastic waistband- kind of meal.

I'll stop before I drive you all to your nearest Olive Garden or all-you-can-eat Italian buffet, but you can see what I mean.  And now you can understand, the food was the reason most people showed up in the first place! I had a love/hate relationship with holidays growing up.  For me, there was always a tremendous amount of stress involved with family gatherings. Oh sure, the food was delicious, but what usually ensued next was something I would undoubtedly have to endure.

Something would be said about how much I was eating and because the food was so good, I WAS eating and loving every minute of it. That was until my weight, how much I might have lost or gained since the last time we all saw each other or what a shame it was I was heavy because I had such a pretty face, became the topic of conversation.  Many times I would end up in the bathroom in tears.  But, I knew it caused others in my family pain too and that almost hurt more. I still can see the look of pain on my grandpa's face  as he looked at me sometimes.   It ached him that I wasn't thinner and thus prettier.  He wanted that so much for me. This is not the grandfather I wrote about in part two, who told me nobody likes a fat girl.  This grampa would never voice that to me directly and always accepted me the way I was, but I could see the disappointment in his ever expressive face. Again, no one was purposely hurting me. I know that now. But, time and time again we'd end up talking about my weight and I was relieved if someone else was the topic of conversation.

Food was not only a way of celebrating every holiday and victory, it was also they way we comforted ourselves or each other.  My dad and I had quite a few years where our relationship was quite strained.  In hindsight, I think my father just didn't know how to deal with me.  I was headstrong and independent and not the compliant child my older brother was.  So, my dad and I butted heads A LOT! 

But, one of the things I remember is that whenever my dad and I had a big fight, he would reach into his 'stash' of Little Debbie or Dolly Madison snack cakes he had in a special hiding place and he would place one out on the counter for me to find after he had gone to bed. It was his way of telling me he was sorry.  He left me a treat as a peace offering; as a love offering. 

My dad struggles with many of the same eating issues I do, so I know he meant well. But, it isn't hard to sit back now and see the mixed messages I got about food my whole life. Food was joy. Food was love. 
I was also expected to have willpower in the face of daily challenges that would bring anyone to their knees. My brother, the golden child, never had a weight issue. He was good looking, had lots of girlfriends and never understood what I was going through.  He would eat in front of me without apology. He has since apologized for such treatment, but at the time it was down right hard to deal with.

So, with the hidden stash calling my name, a kitchen pantry full of temptations, and my mother's excellent cooking to contend with I was expected to stick to a diet while everyone else ate what they wanted. Hence, at times, I felt very much alone and misunderstood.

So, there I was trying to examine my past without hurting my parents or blaming them for the way I turned out. I just wanted things to change.  As I read more and more books on self improvement, I began to see how I was letting my past dictate my future. I wondered why I was allowing the things that happened to me so long ago to have such control over me still. 

I got a visual of the problem one day.  It was as though I went about my life carrying around every past hurt and pain on my back in heavy packs. With each interaction, whether with a stranger or a family member, I would lay my packs down between us and expect them to see through all the baggage and yet still see me.  No one had any idea of my ‘story’ or had any idea of all I'd been through, but I'd still allow all of that baggage to come between us unwittingly.  So, truly all of the relationships I tried to foster at that time in my life had a huge hurdle to get past before anything real and lasting could occur.

One of my favorite teachers, Wayne Dyer, describes it as 'letting the wake drive the boat' which is impossible. The wake can not drive a boat.  The wake is the trail of what's left behind... of where the boat had been...  not where it is going.  So, what or who does drive the boat? The driver and the engine, of course.  You are the driver and the engine is this moment... the energy of today... our right now. That is what is driving the boat.  I needed to get out of the wake and back in the boat! I needed to take back my power to control my own life in the here and now and stop letting the wake/my past drive my boat.  This was another visual I could wrap my brain around and I got it! This was huge for me. I saw how I did this time and time again and it started to become obvious to me when I was letting this happen, so I was able to get back on track before it got too far off course. Finally, I was getting somewhere.

From that moment on, I worked at letting my past go. I mean, that's what everyone says, right? Let go and let God. I had to let it go.  I knew it was better for my health all around. I even did forgiveness exercises where I ceremoniously forgave all the people who I felt had wronged me in my life in one way or another. It is called Ho’Opono and it  is an ancient Hawaiian practice of reconciliation and forgiveness. It was wonderful and freeing! I was letting it all go. Breaking free from the past and all that baggage.

Combined with meditation, I really felt like I was getting somewhere. I felt so spiritual, so connected to God.  Until, someone would piss me off or things did not go the way I wanted.  Then, all hell would break loose and I would be back to square one.  What the heck??? I was learning so much! I felt like I was coming so far! And then, in a few moments I was reduced to a hurting, weeping, out of control child who nobody likes because I'm the fat girl!!

What?????  Not her again!!!! Come on!  It was like there was this little girl taking up residence inside me and whenever I got my feelings hurt, she would come out and have a hissy fit and then retreat to wherever she hid till the next time.  But, I am not letting the wake drive the boat anymore, so why is this happening?? I am dealing with my past and letting it go, so why do I have so little control over my feelings??  For me, the answer would come a little deeper and in a very different package, something called The Pain Body.  Cue the scary music!

cont.