Category — Addiction & Recovery

Being an addict is like drowning in a sea of…well..poop. Let’s just keep it “clean”…My business partner (Dr. Connie Stapleton) likes to use the “formal” word to describe it, but I won’t (because my mom reads my blog.) Anyway, it’s like being up *that* creek without a paddle.

When I was actively participating in my binge addiction (read: feeding it), I was drowning in that familiar “geographical creek” we all know and hate…I was in way over my head. I wanted help, but knew that no one in their right mind could understand:

1. why I was even IN this pooh-pool to begin with
2. why anyone would willingly venture in to save me
3. why I thought I couldn’t get out by myself
4. why I thought I deserved to be there
5. why it looked like I was “enjoying” myself (many believed I had obviously “chosen” to be there.)

That last one is tricky, but it’s unfortunately a common perception about addicts (that they choose to remain addicted, despite the consequences), and while that is true (on a primal level), perhaps they are there because they don’t BELIEVE they can get out of the muck (if they even deserve to).

I don’t presume to know the answer to that one, but stick with me because this is going to get a little DEEP…

That Geographical Creek We All Know

At some point along the journey toward recovery, every addict is faced with the truth of his or her circumstances and is forced to decide what to do about it. Many will choose to do “nothing” (in other words, keep drowning), but others will decide that they WANT to be saved, even if they aren’t sure how or IF they can do it.

In my case, the moment presented itself post-surgically, after the honeymoon, when my ghrelin (hunger hormone) returned with a vengeance. Up to that point, I was convinced that, thanks to my excellent new behaviors and habits, I had kicked my carb addiction to the curb and would never have to do battle with it again. Why would I? I had no cravings and just felt…great.

How wrong I was.

You see, my addiction was NOT strictly physiologically (chemically) based…nor was it strictly psychologically (behaviorally) based . It was environmentally, conditionally, reactively and habitually based…which meant that, to simply “fix” one aspect was not to address the full scope of the problem. Thus, *just* removing the physical craving wouldn’t eliminate my addiction, especially if I wanted to transfer to something else (like shopping or drinking). Ultimately, an addict is an addict is an addict and, as I like to say, you can be addicted to pocket lint if you want because it’s not the substance; it’s the behavior.

Meanwhile, back in the muck, with my old foe back in my face, I was struggling to remember to at least keep my mouth closed while drowning in my addiction — something I failed at much of the time. And then one day, I removed myself from the sludge and struggled to the shore.

There I stood..stinky, sad, weakened and afraid. Until something caught my attention: RECOVERY. Yes, recovery. It was a shining city…on the other side of poop creek. It was HEAVENLY and sparkly and there were lots of happy people there. I wanted to be one of them…but I wasn’t sure how to get there.

“There MUST be an easy way to cross,” I reasoned. “They must have crossed a bridge or flown in a helicopter,” I surmised. Obviously, they hadn’t waded through that body of filth to get there because…they all looked so clean!

So, I spent time studying the creek and the island of recovery on the opposite side. I looked at the creek, and I squinted at the land of recovery. I yelled to the people on the other side, “Can you help me cross?!” I asked. “How did you get there?” I called. Each of them answered the same way, “You can’t get here alone, but no one can do it for you.”

What in the world? Was I living some Buddhist Parable??? Were they telling me that salvation from my binge addiction would only be found in some imponderable mystery?

In a word, “Yes.”
In another word, “No.”

I hollered again, “Can I get to the other side of this creek?”

The answer was unanimous (and loving): “YES! You can do it in just 12 little steps…”

Ugh. Not THAT. Anything but THAT.

So, I tried it my way. I walked up and down the shoreline (wasting at least 1,000 steps)…looking for a narrow spot in the creek where I could wade across and not be swept away by the strong current of addiction.

It didn’t exist.

I fashioned a canoe of ignorance. But I lost my paddle, found myself in rough waters, overturned my boat, and found myself back in WAY over my head.

Eventually, I realized that there truly was only one way for me to cross the river of addiction and get to recovery isle: I would have to follow the steps…just like everyone else had.

I began with the ones I already knew and quickly found myself waist-deep in the goo. And then I decided that I didn’t need *all* of the remaining steps, so I tried to just dog-paddle the rest of the way. No luck. Nearly drowned. Again.

I tried again. This time, I closed my eyes, held my breath and waded in…I was there for what felt like an eternity. Until I got so scared I had to turn around and go back to the place I knew…sure, it was addiction, but it was comfortable. I was familiar with it. I knew what it felt like, and, even though it was yucky, I remembered the “good times…”

And then something strange happened…I came to the sickening realization that, before I’d given up on myself that last time, I‘d nearly made it to the other side. Did you hear me? I had ALMOST MADE IT, BUT HAD GIVEN UP. Why? Bbecause my eyes were closed and my nose was plugged and I couldn’t see how far I’d come. All I knew was, I was over my head and wasn’t sure if it would get deeper before it got better. So I cut and run. I was more than halfway there when I turned around and came back!!!

Exhausted (and disgusted with myself) I called out to my new friends, “HEY! Why didn’t you dive in and save me? Couldn’t you have dragged me to the other side with you?!”

They calmly whispered, “No. You must do this for yourself,”

This made me very cranky…so I pouted a bit and acted out (like a 5-year old) and drank stuff that I shouldn’t (cappuccino martini anyone?) and ate stuff I didn’t need (I’ll just have one…) and felt…miserable. What was wrong with me? Why weren’t the old ‘tricks” working? Why didn’t I feel BETTER (like I used to?)

Easy: I tasted recovery…I saw what it looked like and knew that I could never be truly happy unless I lived there.

Back into the brackish sludge I went. Taking the familiar steps. Plugging my nose. Closing my eyes. Shutting my mouth. One step at a time. And one day…I noticed that my head was above the muck and the grime. I was emerging on the OTHER SIDE OF THE CREEK. I was nearer than EVER to recovery.

And I stopped. Dead in my tracks.

What if I can’t make it? What if I get there and then fall back into my addiction? What if…? What if…? What if…?

There I stood. Muck up to my ankles, stinking to high heaven, shivering and weak…but then…I looked back over my shoulder at the life I’d lived in addiction. In that moment, I realized that I couldn’t go back. Oh, I don’t mean it wouldn’t be “possible,” I mean that, emotionally, logically, rationally…experientially…I couldn’t do that to myself again. I knew the pitfalls. I knew the stench, the sickness, the despair. If I attempted to do the “familiar old things,” the price tag would be even higher than before, because I now knew exactly how much it really cost. Ultimately, it would just be foolish on every level. Talk about burning a bridge! There was only one way out; FORWARD. I had to go through it…to get through it.

You know what? With a deep breath of accountability and commitment, I took that final step and reached the island of recovery. It felt good. Unbelievably good. Peaceful. I exhaled…and then I waited. At this point, I haven’t ventured far from the shore, and the temptations of addiction still lap at my feet…BUT, I am committed to being healthy…to being here…to living with others who have shared my journey. To living a LIFE IN RECOVERY.

As I look behind me, I see hundreds of people who are also drowning in addiction. I see hundreds who don’t know help and hope exist, and I see hundreds who are trying to convince me they are “just swimming.” But, for every hundred who won’t ask for help…I find one reaching out for the answers. Looking for hope. And that is why I do what I do.

I now know what the recovering addicts mean when they say “you can’t do it alone but no one can do it for you.” I also know what they mean by, “You can’t keep it if you don’t give it away.” To maintain my recovery, I must share my news with all who will listen — and even more who won’t. Not because I foolishly believe I can “save” them, but because I know that, eventually, some of them will realize they can save themselves.

The moral of the story is this: Addiction is crap and it stinks. BUT — recovery is there for the taking, if we are willing to trust the process, wade through the stench, and reach the promised land on the other shore.

Are you in over your head? Are you afraid you can’t make it? Trust the process and keep moving forward. You might surprise yourself.

A (Not-so-brief) lesson on PERSONALITIES (aka “Better pull up a sofa and some protein before you read this.”)

I am a study in contrasts. I am a black and white thinker who loves to live in the grey area. I am all or nothing, but want it all. I am happy-go-lucky, and I am a worry-wart. I am optimistically pessimistic. I am positively negative. I am certain I can do anything but afraid that I can’t. I hate being a procrastinator so much I bought a book to fix it…and never finished it. I am the most social loner you will ever meet. I need to be loved deeply but don’t love deeply, unless I love you deeply. I forgive everyone but myself. I plan everything – including spontaneity, which I dislike. I’m sure I can go forever; until I stop, and then I’m sure I’ll never start again. I can be deeply shallow and deeply deep. I forget to remember things that I remembered never to forget, and I remember things that I was supposed to forget. I remember things exactly as they weren’t and have a hard time remembering things as they might have been. I laugh as hard as I cry and often cry laughing. I am skilled at making people laugh and am equally capable of making them cry (but, as an adult, have learned NOT to do that). I am impatiently patient and patiently impatient. I go when I should stop and stop when I should go. I believe that if less is more, then more is better and less is just unnecessary.

When things happen to me, I’m convinced that I deserved it, but I am frustrated when I don’t deserve what happened to me. I love to be the center of attention, but hate parties. I need to be alone, but I hate being lonely. I am an enigmatic foregone conclusion.

I am maddeningly complex, yet deceptively simple.

I am a sanguine. Ahhh, but it’s not that simple. You see I also have a “melancholy” side! What that means is, my “happy” car will be traveling down the road of life (without a care in the world) and then SUDDENLY (without warning, I might add), I’ll hit a patch of “sad” and my happy car quickly hits the sad skids. I hate it when that happens and…gosh..I never seem to see it coming. So, this means that I am a certified Sanguine-Melancholy (not to be confused with a melancholy-sanguine, which is an entirely different animal).

WAIT! Right about now, you’re probably asking: “What the heck is this ‘sanguine-melancholy’ junk?” Well, if you must know, “Sanguine” and “Melancholy” are two of the four temperaments (also known as humors) identified by Hippocrates (many moons ago.) In those days great thinkers were convinced that each personality type was directly connected to a surplus (or deficiency) of a particular bodily fluid (e.g., blood, bile or phlegm. Sorry, but it’s true), and that balancing these fluids would make people more emotionally stable. These four temperaments (sanguine, melancholy, choleric and phlegmatic) were widely accepted as a complete way to define every human being…until the early 80’s, when one was added to the mix (supine), but since I don’t know much about it, I’m going to ignore it in this post.

Suffice it to say, I have only my very best friend (Jan) on the entire planet to blame for this maddening (yet limited) knowledge of personality traits, for if she (Jan) hadn’t told me, I’d never have been bothered by it. Likewise…I’d never have been helped. So, you see, having knowledge of the basic “temperaments” is quite useful, because it can really help someone better understand someone else, even if that knowledge can sometimes be painful.

First of all, I’m a big believer in “intention.” Learning these character traits has helped me to better understand people who have different traits than my own, because I can see that my intention for doing something is often quite different than someone else’s. In other words, if I do something a certain way, my intention might be to hurt, yet someone else (or a different personality type) would do the same thing, but instead, be doing it without a thought of whether it will hurt.

Let me get this out there now: Anyone who is not a sanguine or a melancholy is cranky and uptight.

Okay, that’s not “completely” true….Cholerics and Phlegmatics are not (necessarily) cranky and uptight…I just feel that way because I’m not like them. But, it is helpful to note that cholerics (and to a lesser extent, phlegmatics) make the world go around because they keep law and order and make sure that things get done. Heck, they usually MAKE the laws and DEFINE the order. That means: We need them; they are great (and powerful) leaders for lots of reasons, mostly because they don’t allow silly emotion to muddle their decision-making, but also because they tend to be tenacious and energetic. You can see why I have a little difficulty interacting with them…they are

TOTALLY UNLIKE ME.

Hmmm…How can I explain this better? If you think of people like dogs (!!!), cholerics are like a dog that won’t let go of a bone (it IS, after all, HIS). Phlegmatic dogs will bury their bones (albeit, in a secret place) for safe-keeping and future need. The sanguine will loyally follow you to the ends of the earth (without really knowing why) while the melancholy will plunge into an endless fit of despair when you leave (because you are most likely never coming back).

Remember, I’m the sanguine(melancholy) which means that I always want you with me because if you leave you’re never coming back, but if you stay, you need to be nice, and oh yeah, sometimes I need to be alone and I worry that I will hurt your feelings.

Seems perfectly reasonable to me…except that CHOLERICS are the bane of my existence.

There, I said it. Happy?

Just when I think I’ve gotten everything ironed out, I add a NEW choleric to my world and end up going through the whole learning process all over again! To be fair, I can be equally maddening to cholerics, but I am not going to give them equal billing here…on my blog.

Here’s my story: For pretty much my entire life, I’ve been plagued by cholerics…starting with my daddy (who was actually a choleric-melancholy, but don’t get me started on that.)

As a rule, cholerics and phlegmatics approach things based upon what they know to be facts. They are not emotional about decisions; they make them because they are right. (Sounds very fair and reasonable…don’t you think?) They do the right thing and expect you to do the right thing – without excuse or explanation.

I, on the other hand (being the sanguine-melancholy) make a decision based upon how I and others will FEEL about it. (Don’t ask me how I know what they will feel; that’s part of my mystique). And yeah, I agree that it all seems sorta…silly…

After all…we’re talking about validating decision making based upon Fact vs. Feeling.

Given those two options, I’m betting most would choose fact over feeling, but – there’s a little more to it than that.

Let me toss out another metaphor: If we’re talking about cups, the choleric’s cup is always the biggest and is always overflowing. They really don’t consider whether anyone else even has a cup. The phlegmatic’s cup has just the right amount of liquid in it (whatever that amount should be.) The sanguine’s cup is always full, while the melancholy isn’t sure he even HAS a cup.

• The choleric says: Do it my way. My way is the right way and there is no other way.
• The phlegmatic says: I’m doing it this way because it is the right way to do it.
• The sanguine says: I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do and because if I do it, everything will be okay.
• The melancholy says: I don’t even know why I’m doing this…nothing will change, it’s probably not right, and it never will be, besides, someone is probably going to be disappointed with me.

Those are extremes, of course, and you should know that we all have a little of everything in us, so it’s very rare to find a “purebred” anything (though legend holds that they do exist!) Having said that, people do TEND to lean toward a particular trait, and this is what propels us through life.

Are you catching on?

I tend to put my energy into being sanguine, and am always surprised when the melancholy comes to town. I am absolutely withered by cholerics and just don’t understand phlegmatics. When I encounter a melancholy person, I try to cheer them up (even though I am one).

If we’re in the 100 Acre Wood, I am Tigger, Rabbit is Choleric and Eeyore is Melancholy. Perhaps Piglet is Phlegmatic, and Pooh is Supine…but I can’t be sure.

So, why am I talking about this and why does this matter in my Bariatric After Life™? As usual, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching to figure out why I do the things I do and why I think the way I think. Naturally, this whole “personality trait thing” factored heavily in my processing because I believe it is the key to unlocking my long-term recovery from obesity. i really, really do.

Here’s why: Growing up, my feelings were hurt ALL THE TIME (which is why I ate…to make myself stop hurting). Now, this was largely because I didn’t understand the intention behind anyone’s actions and generally ASSUMED that others were being mean (for no apparent reason!) Through great persistence (and occasional bashing) from my choleric friend, Jan, I now know that when my dad (a choleric) said something was “fine,” he meant just that. In other words, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, so it was…FINE. He wasn’t trying to hurt me or be mean. But, I didn’t know that then, so I ate.

That is because I was NOT fine with this answer, preferring to hear something more definite…like…”It’s GREAT! It’s AMAZING! I’ve never seen anything better.” Of course, a choleric wouldn’t waste time talking like that (unless it were true), but again, I didn’t know that when I was 8! I thought my daddy was tactless and rude, while he thought he was just…fine.

Growing up, I’m sure my over-sensitivity was infinitely frustrating to him. I mean, why should he have to qualify everything with an superlative? (Stupendously Fine! Magnificently Fine! Unbelievably Fine!) Did he really have to take an opinion poll to get an answer he already had? Why did he have to worry about how other people FELT every time he gave an answer? If he wanted to be mean, he’d be mean, otherwise…people just needed to know that everything was: FINE.

Poor dad.

But…I wanted harmony, while he wanted productivity. So, I ate.
I wanted peace, while he wanted action. So, I ate.
I wanted happy, while he wanted compliance. So, I ate.
He got mad, while I got hurt. So, I ate.

Sanguines are ALL ABOUT FEELINGS.
Cholerics are ALL ABOUT FACTS.
Sanguines are about MAKING PEOPLE FEEL BETTER.
Cholerics are about MAKING THINGS HAPPEN.

Of course, in those days, I didn’t understand the differences in personality types, and thoroughly believed that everyone should think, feel and behave the same way as I did.

When they didn’t, it short-circuited me. I thought they were doing it on purpose.

The sad part is, I believed it was my lot in life to be beaten up by cholerics…which makes it even WEIRDER to know that I married one! That’s right, MexiKen is a choleric (with a little melancholy thrown in for good measure.) Some would say I’m a glutton for punishment, seeing as how a choleric is like water to the sanguine’s flame, but you know what they say: we marry our dads and I’m no exception.

But really, there’s more to it than that. You see…somewhere, down inside, I am DRAWN to cholerics. I NEED someone who is stronger than me to keep me on task…to make sure I finish stuff. It’s like playing with a tiger: As long as I’ve got him by the tail, I’m okay, but eventually, I might get bitten. (The melancholy in me is certain I will eventually get bitten, but the sanguine is positive I never will…and doesn’t even want to think about it.)

So, I might need a choleric, but does a choleric need me? I mean, why exactly, would a serious choleric put up with a silly sanguine? Easy. Because they need fun in their lives and they can’t do it alone. It’s not how they tick. Imagine the king and his court jester: Make me laugh – NOW. Ha ha ha. Okay, now stop. (Yeah, that’s a choleric). Obviously, there’s a little more to it than that: They love our carefree enthusiasm and zest for life. They love how we can do stuff (without worrying a whole lot about the consequences.) They love our spontaneity. They love our silliness. But, they can’t stand our flakiness and oversensitivity. They can’t stand how we have to decide how we feel before we can even decide what to order from the menu.

Just to complicate things, every trait has its positives and negatives, and negatives from one trait often have negative affects on another (intentionally, unintentionally or otherwise). That’s where it gets really messy.

SO, with that said, can my problem with cholerics be fixed? How do I function in life if I know my negatives might rub someone else’s negatives the wrong way? What do I do if I don’t think I even HAVE negatives and can only see the negatives in others? How do people get anything done if half the population is hurt, while the other half is angry???

Well, I don’t claim to have all the answers (as I am clearly still a work in progress), but what I can gather is this: Each personality trait has to respect the other for both their strengths and weaknesses (that’s number one), but secondarily, all personality traits must work to overcome their own destructive weaknesses so that their strengths can shine through. They must each find a way to be the best version of themselves they can be.

This is a really, really tall order… one which I have learned cannot be handled alone. My personality traits are so deeply woven into my tapestry, only GOD can help me unravel the parts that aren’t stitched well. Only GOD can help me to overcome my deficiencies; only GOD can give me strength when I am weak, and enable me to embrace my shortcomings (without running away in terror). Only GOD can give me the grace to persevere through the harshness and triumph over doubt. Only GOD can give me strength NOT to eat when I hurt. Don’t misread this. I don’t think that God will “do it for me.” I believe that, in my prayerfulness and humility, HE will show me the way, grant me mercy, give me strength and offer guidance. Just like a parent.

Sounds great. How long does all of this work take? Two days? A week? Maybe a year? How about…a lifetime? Yeah, this personal growth is the gift that keeps on giving! Every person on the planet is unique, but I guarantee you, once you know and understand what makes others tick, you can solve (and even avoid) most problems pretty quickly (which can translate into recovery)….unless they are Supine…which I don’t get, so we’ll have to leave that for another post.

At any rate, this has gone on longer than a kinesiological-geometric-chemistry textbook, so I’ll end it with this: Sometimes, personality traits collide in a troubling way, but if we learn tolerance and compassion, we can (and do) work together for good.

Ultimately, we need all types to make our world go around: Cholerics, Phlegmatics, Sanguines, Melancholies, and yes…even Supine (though, I still don’t know what they do).

We need all types to make us laugh, make us work, make us think, and make us dream.

As I see it, my job (as a sanguine-melancholy) is to just do it…without worrying so much about how it feels, whether it’s perfect, or what others might think.

Your job (if you accept the challenge) is to learn more about character traits for yourself! The good news is, there are lots and lots of resources on the web. Heck, there are even TESTS you can take to help you determine what makes you tick (and gain a better understanding of your own strengths and weaknesses.)

Google:

FOUR TEMPERAMENTS (also Four Humors)

FOUR PERSONALITY TYPES

SANGUINE CHARACTER TRAITS

Trust me! You’ll get an eyeful (and a brainful).

By the way, sometimes, I misinterpret stuff or just plain get it wrong, so if I mischaracterized something (Jan), feel free to tell me. Just be nice about it. Oh, and I’m eager to hear your personal tales, so if you know who you are, let me know how you’ve learned to be a better YOU! Success is about learning from others, so be bold and share!

When I was a little girl, I ADORED Tinkerbell. My brother even bought me a little necklace with a tiny figurine of her on it (she was painted white, I think, and the chain was silver). There was just something magical about the way she flitted about, and of course, I loved her little fairy dust trail…and the way she pouted with Peter Pan when she didn’t get her way. I distinctly remember watching in utter fascination as she tapped the top of Sleeping Beauty’s castle during opening of The Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights….Maybe I identified with her a little bit, I’m not sure, but one thing I do know is, my dad used to call me “Stinkerbell” (heaven knows I’m not going to get into the particulars of why he called me that, so don’t even ask…)

ANYWAY — I have this memory from way, way back…I must have been about 4, but I can’t be sure. I was at Disneyland with my mom, dad and brother, and it was “very late” (probably 8 o’clock – at least an hour past my bedtime!) We were on Main Street, surrounded by a crush of people. Now, from my perspective (from way down there), I was surrounded by a forest of legs and rears, but those things were connected to real people – whom my dad could clearly see (from way up there).

So, there we were, rushing to get…somewhere – (who knew where and far be it from me to ask, because my dad was tugging me along so fast, my feet weren’t touching the ground and I couldn’t catch my breath.) At some point, I clearly remember hearing that I needed to look up because Tinkerbell would be flying from the Matterhorn! This was very big news, as evidenced by all of the rushing to get to THE prime viewing location.

With mom and brother setting the pace up front, and I in tow (mostly airborne) behind my dad, we hurried to get to THE PLACE where I’d be able to see HER fly! Apparently, all of my dreams would come true (or something), if only I’d look.

Well, somewhere between “here” and “there,” I encountered a very unkind curb and I hit the ground with a splat. Don’t worry, though, my dad didn’t leave me there to be plowed over by the human avalanche: He snatched me by my elbow, nearly pulling my arm out of the socket, and willed me to WATCH TINKERBELL.

But, I looked down, while she flew over, and the rest is history.

I MISSED TINKERBELL.

Of course, it was my own, damned fault. I should have hurried. I should have run faster. I should have watched where I was going. I should have seen Tinkerbell so my life would be complete.

But I blew it, and all I had to show for it was a bloodied knee and a bunch of sticky tears streaming down my face.

At least, that’s MY version of the story.

Now, as an adult, I can tell you with great certainty that my dad wanted me to see a really wonderful thing, and I know that he probably felt I was dragging my feet (pretending to be tired so he would hoist me onto his shoulders and carry me – which frustrated him to no end). I know that he never intended to hurt me, and that his disappointment was not directed at me. My dad was just like any other parent…he was sad because I had missed a magical moment.

But, the 4-year old can’t understand that…even 44 years later. The 44-year old carries with her a misconstrued truth shrouded in undefined fear. You see, 4-year old Cari, being dragged (against her will) through a scary tangle of angst and legs, was afraid she would fall. She was afraid because she couldn’t see what was coming. She was afraid that her dad would be mad at her and not love her because she was stubborn and missed the big thing.

Well…guess what? After my tumble, he was mad…and I was scarred for life…all because I didn’t understand his reaction and filled in the blanks the best way I knew how: With fear, uncertainty, guilt, blame and shame.

I did it to myself. I deserved it. I was to blame. Shame on me for missing Tinkerbell.

And that is how things go awry while people are growing up. That is how we become the adults we are…by witnessing other people’s adult experiences as children, and then projecting our ignorant and incomplete child’s perspective onto our own adult experiences. The sad thing is, we don’t always know we’re doing it.

Until we come to a place…maybe in therapy…where we realize that we’ve been seeing things as we thought they were, and not as they really are.

So, why the sudden memory of Tinkerbell?

Well, I believe I have been living my life, fighting to keep up with everyone. I believe I have allowed people to rush me so I would be somewhere they thought I should be because I believed that they knew better, and I needed to go with the flow. That’s why I followed them – I struggled to keep up…struggled NOT to fall, struggled not to fail…I just wanted to be okay so everyone would like me. I heard them say, “Do it now! Do it like this! Don’t miss out!….You’ll be sorry…”

Those horrible words have churned over and over in my head and I have allowed them to scare and propel me for my whole life: You’ll be sorry if you don’t keep up.

Why??? Because…

• I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
• I didn’t want anyone to be mad at me.
• I didn’t want to do what they wanted me to do, but…I thought this was what I was SUPPOSED TO DO.
• I thought that, by keeping up with people, I’d finally see Tinkerbell.

How wrong I was. Think about it for a moment…

A lot of people think you can only see Tinkerbell from ONE vantage point and for ONE moment in time. They fear that if you don’t see her when they think you should see her, then you won’t ever see her at all. Maybe that’s true. Maybe I will be sorry. Sometimes I will miss stuff because I don’t keep up, BUT — You know what? (This is a biggie): I have learned that sometimes I don’t want to see Tinkerbell, I just think I do, because I don’t want to let anyone down.

In case you were wondering, that is what a people-pleaser says: I don’t want to disappoint you. Yes, sometimes perfectionists say that too, but other times, well…the people-pleaser is terrified that someone won’t love them if they don’t keep up.

Ouch. Emotional growth is a funny thing…just when you think you’ve got it mastered, something else pops up to take the place of that nasty behavior you just got rid of.

But I digress.

Here’s what I need you to know (and I need to remember): Recovery happens one breath at a time, and sometimes, you run out of breath. Sometimes, you chase something you think you’re supposed to be chasing, and then you realize…when you stop to hold that stitch in your side and catch your breath, that you just might be chasing someone else’s Tinkerbell — OR — you can get there at your own pace and you won’t miss a thing! Just because you don’t see her when everyone else does…doesn’t mean you’ll never get to see her; it means you’ll see her in your own time. (Although…if you’re stubborn, it could take longer…just sayin’.)

Since I love to end things on a happy note, I will tell you that I eventually did get to see Tinkerbell, and I didn’t trip over a curb in the process. I planned and positioned myself where I knew I needed to be and – miracle of miracles – I saw her fly from the Matterhorn! Okay, I saw her wires too, but that’s not the point. The point is, I found a way to do it without falling down in the process. And, no, I don’t think I “let anyone down,” either.

Isn’t that really the goal in our Bariatric After Life™? – No…I don’t mean we aren’t supposed to to fall or let anyone down! I mean:

• WE have to set our pace.
• WE have to set our sights,
• WE have to go for it.
• BUT – NOT because we want to please someone else.
• NOT because we are afraid someone will get mad at us…

We have to do it because…we get to experience the magic that we all deserve.

What we say is as important as how we say it, and what we hear is most important of all.

I’ve spent a lot of time dissecting my self-talk. I think about how I speak to myself – what tone I use, whether or not I’m condemning myself, and whether I’m being kind, compassionate and loving, or mean, unforgiving and shaming. You’ve heard it said that you should talk to yourself the way you would talk to your friend, and if you wouldn’t say it to them – DON’T say it to yourself.

I’ve done pretty well with cleaning up my self-trash-talking (although I still beat myself up and take a little longer than I’d like to express forgiveness), but something happened this past weekend that really threw me for a loop.

WARNING: I’m going to say something that is significant and pertinent to MYSELF, so (as my trusted friend and business partner, Dr. Connie Stapleton always says…) “don’t hear what I’m NOT saying.”

With that said, here’s where my tale begins: While I was at the final Obesity Help event of the year (Thank you, Long Island) I found myself doing things that I don’t normally do. For starters, I went out to dinner. Twice. And, I ate something other than a salad. Now, you know my travails and you’ve heard all of my pouch woes, so my food choices are often less about tremendous “will-power” and more about what will actually “go down the gullet” (and stay there.) Typically speaking, there just isn’t a great deal out there that I can really “feast upon,” so I tend NOT to go there (if you know what I mean.)

As a result of wanting to be able to eat well when I travel, I pack (Read: schlep) tons of protein with me. I bring shakes, drinks, bars and soy chips. Yup. I’m a walking processed protein factory, but that’s only because it’s über hard to travel with lettuce, vegetables, cottage cheese, salsa, greek yogurt and feta cheese!

But, I digress.

As I said, this time, I did things I don’t normally do. I went out to eat, and I ate. I made healthy choices (sesame encrusted ahi tuna, antipasto and veggies). For the food, anyway. Here’s where things got squirrelly: I had a drink – no, not water. I had a crazy martini drink. I loved it and told myself that, since I never do it, it’s okay. I don’t have a problem with alcohol, and I always keep it in check, so…no biggie.

Except that, later in the evening, I had ANOTHER DRINK. Yes, Me.
Okay…I bowed to some “peer pressure” (which is no justification, but it makes a super great excuse.) Anyway, that was that and I collapsed into bed for the evening. No harm, no foul, though I was a little worse for the wear.

That might have been the end of it…had I not gone out to dinner. AGAIN. THIS TIME, I had TWO DRINKS. Yes, you read that correctly. I ordered two ridiculous drinks…and got loopy. I didn’t like the way I felt and I wished that I could undo what I’d done. But, I couldn’t. So, I was left with my poor choices…and my self-loathing.

It took me until the next morning to figure out the lesson in the behavior. You see, I try to live my life as a positive example for others – and that’s a lot of pressure. No, I don’t try to be perfect, but I do my best to model healthy behaviors that I believe in. I am honest about my shortcomings (hello, Oreos?) and don’t believe in being someone I’m not. I have values that I live by and respect.

So, what’s the deal here? On the face of it, I can tell myself that I’m ashamed that I did this in front of people who expected more of me (but, hat’s the easy thing to say). I can’t undo it, and I’m finding it really hard to forgive myself for my poor choice – though I know forgiveness will come.

Here is where the self-talk comes into play: For so long, I told myself that I wouldn’t drink any alcohol because I “don’t need it,” and because “I don’t feel it’s appropriate” for my healthy lifestyle. I mean, if I say no to sugar in my food, how can I say “okay” to sugar in booze? It’s dishonest.

In other words, I didn’t drink because I shouldn’t drink, which really translated into something that sounded more like, “I CAN’T DRINK.”

Hmmm…

• I am lying to myself when I say it’s “not that bad,” because…it really is that bad.
• I am lying to myself when I say, “I can do whatever I want,” because I know that just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.
• I am lying to myself when I say I can’t, because ultimately, I know that I can.

Chalk it up to personal accountability and taking responsibility for my body. But, make no mistake: Drinking is a choice. It’s not a “don’t” or “can’t.” And that’s where the whole self-talk thing really comes into play. For a long time, I told myself something I knew wasn’t true. Just like a child, I said, “don’t tell me I can’t, because I can.” This weekend, I paid a price, and my self-respect took a hit.

The good news is, it’s only a wasted experience if I DON’T learn anything from it – and I have. Hey, if I have to shovel this much horse-poo, there’d better be a pony under here somewhere, right?

Okay, I know what you’re saying: But, Cari, where is the bigger lesson in all of this???

Here it is: If I CAN drink, but CHOOSE not to, then the same must hold true for FOOD. I CAN eat Oreos, cheap carbs and unhealthy foods, but I must CHOOSE not to because, doing so will compromise my personal values.

Phew..that is some heavy stuff…and I won’t say I’m “there yet” (because I’m not) but I am closer than I’ve ever been  – AND I believe I’ve made a breakthrough. I’m on my way.

Here’s the take-away? I am (finally) learning to hear what I’m actually saying, and learning to say what I actually mean.

How do you talk to yourself and what do you hear yourself saying? Do you have a “sliding scale” of acceptable things you put in your mouth? Do you tell yourself, “Hey, I don’t eat this, so I should be able to have a little of that…?” I’d love to hear the conversations you have with yourself, so leave me a comment and let me know.

My binge addiction is like a teenager who parties when the parents are away for the weekend. You know how it goes, the parents leave and say, “Now, don’t have a bunch of people over and absolutely NO PARTIES.” And the teenager says, “I know. I won’t. Gosh, don’t you trust me?”

So, the parents leave (thinking they’ll have to learn to trust their teenager eventually) and the kid is thinking, “OMG, I thought they’d NEVER leave. Now, let me send a Facebook Group Invitation to all 1500 of my closest friends…”

What happens while the parents are away is not pretty and definitely does not fall under the heading of “good, clean fun.”

Nope, when the parents return (early, usually) they are met with a scene straight out of Animal House: There are pizza boxes strewn everywhere, Doritos crunched into the carpet, and those red plastic “SOLO” cups with stale beer on every piece of furniture in sight. There are bottles of flat Coke, empty chip bags and paper plates with orange grease spots on them.

OH. MY. GOD. WHAT. HAPPENED. HERE???!!!

One thing is certain: The parents were not at home when the eating orgy ensued, and they DEFINITELY did not get to ‘enjoy’ the festivities…BUT, THEY WILL HAVE TO CLEAN UP AFTER IT.

I know, I know…fellow parents are out there saying, “Oh no. I’M not cleaning ANYTHING up. My KID is gonna to do THAT.” But, we all know that the kid is passed out on the futon in the den, and besides, he’ll deny everything, blame everyone, and do a lousy job of putting things back in order.

But, that’s not all: That antique that’s been in the family for generations? Broken. And the couch cushions? Torn. The carpet? Stained. Nothing is going to be the way it was…but it has to be returned to some semblance of order.

So, why am I telling you about a “party-while-the-parents-are-away” weekend? Because my stubbornly recalcitrant binge addiction is a lot like that teenager: IT WANTS TO PARTY EVEN THOUGH I TELL IT NOT TO.

Guess who gets to “come home” to home to the carnage?

Guess who gets to stumble across chalk outlines (where the box of Zingers WAS), clean Oreo cookie crumbs off the counter, and tear down the yellow police tape blocking the refrigerator door?

You guessed it: ME.

Bingeing gets the party and I get the hangover.

My Party-Girl-Binger wants me to believe we’ve had good times – BUT WE HAVEN’T AND THE PARTY IS OVER. The bingeing teenager is officially GROUNDED, and it’s time for the adult to hire a “house sitter” (more like a therapist, trained in addiction and recovery), clear out the pantry, and get back to an OA meeting.

Can anyone else relate?

So, yesterday, I wrote about INTERACTIVE FOOD and how much fun it used to be to create an eating EVENT. I recalled with great zeal the wonder that WAS the food *experience* in my before life. Needless to say, it WASN’T PRETTY.

I then asked my very smart friend and business partner, Dr. Connie Stapleton, to read it over and tell me if there was something to it.

Oh, there WAS something to it – no doubt about it — but not what I expected. Let me first remind you that she calls herself “Your Recovery Conscience” for a reason. Not only is she a recovering addict herself, she is an addiction specialist who understand the messy mind of the addict (me).

Here is what she said, and I thought it was so important, I’m going to share it:

“Your story is really fun, but I’m concerned, because what you are describing as ‘interactive eating’ is something we call ‘euphoric recall.’”

WHAT? There’s a NAME for this? In some DMSR…PDQ Book somewhere on some medical bookshelf??? I am alternately shocked and impressed! Not only did I come up with something ORIGINAL that already EXISTS…I am a completely normal recovering addict!!!

Oh boy.

Here’s what I want to stress (and didn’t do a very good job of doing yesterday): If you are eating for sport, then you are *PROBABLY* participating in your addiction, and you are *PROBABLY* seeking the “high” from the euphoric recall. Either that, or you’re tempting fate. Gosh, that really isn’t fair, is it?

I think the lesson I am learning here is this: It’s not a good idea to even give energy to the memory of interactive eating since I am an addict, as this could trigger a binge.

Hmmm…More thought is definitely required here! What do you guys think?

We hear it all the time: Life is about choices.

In my case, perhaps the biggest CHOICE of my life was the one I made when I CHOSE to have gastric bypass surgery in 2007. At the time, I didn’t really know that I was choosing more than just surgery or weight loss; I was choosing a complete and total lifestyle change, as well as emotional upheaval that would expose a food addiction and require intensive therapy.

I can already hear you asking, “Okay, so if you knew then what you know now, would you still make the same CHOICE to have surgery?”

• Absolutely
• Unequivocally
• Certifiably
• 100% YES

“Even if you KNEW it was going to be this hard?”

(See above answers and add exclamation points)

So, I CHOSE to enter the Bariatric After Life™, and then I CHOSE to start a blog…and then I CHOSE to start a Youtube Channel (remember Gastric Bypass Barbie?) and then I CHOSE to start a Facebook page. Of course, since I’m “all about excess,” I also chose to attend Obesity Related conferences around the country and become a motivational speaker. All of those things are commitments that take time…time (it might and HAS been argued) that I really don’t have.

But I am PASSIONATE about my Bariatric After Life, and I am PASSIONATE to help others thrive and ACCEPT the CHOICE they also made when they had surgery. Interestingly…I don’t view my commitment to inspire, motivate and educate others as a choice at all. At least, not a choice *I* made. No. I feel that the choice was made for me…on some deep level that is super hard to explain (so I won’t even try, LOL).

Alright, so recapping, I made a choice to have surgery, and then I (did or didn’t) CHOOSE to share my Bariatric After Life with the world. Got it.

But, then I CHOSE to return to graduate school.

Oh boy…Now, there’s a choice I’m still questioning. But that is not exactly the reason for my post today.

Since I CHOSE all of these things, I have NO RIGHT to complain to anyone about the time that they take. I am not entitled to lament that I “have no life” and don’t get to “relax and enjoy my weekends with MexiKen.” It is not okay for me to snipe and whine about how “tough my life is,” or how “nobody understands.”

You know what? It’s not anyone else’s job to understand, tolerate, or indulge the choices I make. While it IS super important for my family to support me, even they can’t entirely grasp the true meaning (or wisdom?) of my choices…but they love me, and do their very best to be patient while I CHOOSE to chain myself to my computer — LOL.

So, the point is, I hear a lot of complaints from a lot of people — the very same people who claim that life is about choices — and it’s withering.

You know what? Life IS about choices, but it’s YOUR choice to live with those choices; it is not my responsibility to make you feel better about your burdens, because you know what? I’m going to tell you the same thing I tell myself: If you don’t like the choices you made, change what you can and accept the rest.

Does this sound harsh and uncompassionate? It shouldn’t. It SHOULD sound like someone who supports anyone who lives up to their own promises.

If you CHOSE to have weight loss surgery, then you CHOSE to live with all of the consequences. Anything that you add to that super-teeny-bariatric-sized plate is up to you, and if you find you’ve piled too much on it, then it might be time to take some off. But, please…don’t tell me how miserable you are about what’s on thta plate; scoop some off and enjoy what’s left.

Life IS a choice. So is a positive attitude. I CHOOSE both…even on those days when life has piled a bunch of lemons on my plate.

CHOOSE LIFE, people.

I now return you to the celebration of your BARIATRIC AFTER LIFE!

I was talking to my good friend, Frank Surace, this morning about how I have experienced a very definite “shift” in my thinking — away from that of a “BARIATRIC PATIENT,” and to an “ALMOST- NORMAL PERSON.” He stopped me right there and said, “Oh, I have a name for that. You’re a Survivor. A Bariatric Survivor. Not a Bariatric Patient.” The lightbulb came on instantly! “You’re absolutely RIGHT!” I said.

And…he was.

I don’t know why I’d never thought of it that way, but it really explains my feelings so completely and so accurately that I had to share.

Let me back up just a titch. Last night, I went to my support group meeting (I haven’t been able to go due to my extensive travel schedule, so this was a real treat). I had the opportunity to address the room about the importance of support and advocacy, and took a poll to see how many people were online (not many), how many participated in online support groups (fewer) and how many attended outside bariatric events, like Obesity Help Conferences, WLSFA M&Gs, or other local get-togethers (ZERO) That’s right — NO ONE in the room did anything outside of…well…that room. It was frustrating and sad, because I realized how vital this component has been to my overall success as a post-op.

I am absolutely CONVINCED that I would not be where I am today in my Bariatric After Life™ were it not for the support of my successful bariatric buddies. I would not be living in recovery (today) were it not for the support of my fellow recovering addicts. You’ve heard it a million times: If you want to be a winner, hang with the winners. Well, it’s true. I spend my days plugged into the community. I read about the state of obesity in the nation; I read about new surgery techniques; I connect with fellow WLS people, help those who are struggling, and celebrate those who are succeeding. It is my passion and I see it as being part of my living and breathing self. Ironically, as immersed as I am in the industry, I don’t define myself as a bariatric person, even though I had bariatric surgery.

How do I reconcile this? Hint: Remember the title of this blog? I’M A SURVIVOR.

Think about people who have cancer. In the beginning, they typically undergo intensive therapy, like chemo, radiation, and surgery. They live and breathe cancer treatment. They read up on the latest techniques and remedies, and their entire lives are devoted to reaching remission. It’s very similar in the early months after bariatric surgery. Everything is about the “treatment”…“Am I doing this right? Am I eating enough? I am eating too much?”

Eventually, for many cancer patients, the cancer goes into remission (goal), and they are free to live their lives – as long as they continue to monitor their condition (just like us), have annual bloodwork done (just like us); and make healthy choices that will not contribute to a relapse (or regain, just like us).

The best way to be a cancer survivor is to not live in FEAR of relapse.
The best way to be a bariatric survivor is to not live in FEAR of regain.

Like learning to drive a stick-shift. In the beginning, you’re ultra-focused on everything…timing…smooth shifting…which gear am I in…Oh no, I stalled! But, soon enough, you begin to do it without thinking. Not to say that you don’t remain MINDFUL of your driving; you just don’t THINK about every shift. It’s the same with a bariatric person: I don’t THINK about every bite, but I am MINDFUL of my eating.

You know, as MexiKen and I sat at support group last night, we were both struck by the fact that I am no longer living in a constant state of panic; I’m no longer struggling to “get it just right.” I know myself and my limitations; I know what I’m capable of accomplishing and I’m living my life on life’s terms. It is so liberating to know that I have successfully made the transition…at least for today. (If I’ve learned ANYTHING, it’s never to take a single thing for granted! I must work hard at maintenance every day!)

I am a batriatric survivor. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, anymore than a cancer survivor does, but I know that I am healthy and happy today. I have been given a second chance at life. I don’t intend to waste it by worrying about what’s around the next bend.

Are you worried about relapse, or are you living the life of a survivor? If you AREN’T there yet, do you believe you ever WILL be? Feel free to share your thoughts.

At some point in our Bariatric After Life™, we learn that our goal is to stop being defined by our surgery and start living life. And yet, we can never forget that we had surgery, because we don’t want to return to our old habits. I’ll admit, this concept has really tripped me up, because I spend my days reading, writing and talking about bariatrics!

How, on earth, do I stop thinking about food, when all I think about is food? Throw in a food addiction and, by all rights, I should have a barrel of monkeys on my hands. Only…I don’t.

How can that be?

Well, in the past few months, I’ve had the strangest feeling wash over me. It’s something akin to “normalcy” – or, as normal as a surgically-altered person can be – and then, not quite normal at all. If I had to define it for you, I believe I would call it: PEACE. Yes, that is it. I am at PEACE within my body. The warring factions have laid down their weapons of mass disruption, and I am now living life on life’s terms. Not to confuse PEACE, with PERFECTION, or CALMNESS — because neither of those things comes even remotely close.

To be clear, what I am feeling is a reunification or reassociation with my SELF. I have been torn apart for so long, I’d forgotten what it was like to actually BE ME — if I ever really knew at all.

Thanks to therapy and the support of good friends, I now know what it’s like (at least as far as anyone can determine) to be ME: It’s crazy, fast-paced, gung-ho, exciting, outrageous, magical, frustrating, disconcerting, energizing, exhausting, invigorating, maddening, brilliant, radical, awesome, mellow, unlimited, liberating, compassionate, honest and everything in between. It’s like a zoo and a circus and a day at Disneyland, all rolled into one.

For the first time in – probably EVER – I am at home in my own skin, and I like the way it feels. I know what makes me happy, and I know what frustrates me. I know what triggers a binge, and I know what recovery feels like. I know what being fit does for my emotions, and I know what being sick does to my heart. I am in touch with myself and…I like me.

Guess what? I am not really about food at all. At least not today. Or yesterday. Maybe I will be tomorrow, I don’t know. One thing I do know is, I am hard-pressed to find someone who is not struggling to maintain (or lose) their weight (whether they’ve had surgery or not); I am hard-pressed to find someone who does not think they *could* workout at least one more day a week (whether they have had surgery or not), and I am hard-pressed to find a person who doesn’t wish they hadn’t eaten a certain food today (whether they have had surgery or not). So, you see…I’m really NOT that different from anybody else, and yet…I am.

How? I surround myself by like-minded, successful post-ops. I get filled up daily by reading inspirational blogs, hearing from my Facebook and Twitter friends, and just chatting it up with healthy, balanced folks. Like me I remain a staunch advocate for the disease of obesity, and I speak to whoever will listen.

If you were to take away one thing from this message, it would be this: The further away from my surgery, the more normal I feel. It’s like swimming away from the shore. I can’t touch the bottom with my toes anymore, but I’m not freaking out; I’m actually wondering what’s beyond that next wave. I never thought that could happen….

Have you ever experienced this?

As a recovering people-pleasing/perfectionistic/control freak, I can tell you that some of the hardest things to come to terms with in my Bariatric After Life™ have involved what other people think of me. Or, rather, what I ASSUME other’s think about me, because, you see, I can’t really KNOW what they think of me unless they tell me. Of course, there are plenty who DO tell me what they think of me, and that’s the next hardest thing I’ve had to deal with.

To cope, since I can’t “eat” about it anymore, I’ve learned the fine art of “self-talk.” You know, that thing you do when you are trying to dig down deep and find courage you hope you have (but aren’t really sure you do have, until you find it?) Unfortunately, much of my self-talk hasn’t really worked, and I couldn’t figure out why. I mean, I thought I was doing all of the things I was supposed to do. You know, the stuff that everybody always told me when I was a kid:

• “Ignore them and they’ll go away.”
• “Don’t worry about what they think; they don’t even KNOW you.”
• “Why do you care what they think, anyway?”
• “You can’t please everybody, all of the time.”

It was like a mantra for me…I repeated those lines over and over, yet they somehow rang…hollow.

What was I doing wrong, I wondered?

Fortunately, thanks to some amazing counseling (therapy rocks), I have acquired powerful tools for dealing with things that used to hurt me. Over the course of time, I’ve learned about the technique of reparenting my inner child. (Can I get an “oooooohhhhhh” and an “ahhhhhhhhhh” for that deep statement?)

Now, this is NOT a bunch of psychoanalytical hogwash, and it’s not about blaming your parents. (Leave that for your therapist tell you). This is about giving yourself what you need NOW that people who loved you didn’t understand how to give THEN.

When I was a child, I knew that my parents loved me, but they unknowingly dropped the ball in their management of certain, key events in my life. They did the best they could – the adult Cari knows this – but ultimately, the message that little Cari got was that she was bad and wrong, and, though she believed the other person was wrong, she ended up thinking that she probably deserved the hurtful words or actions. She learned that it was okay to ASSUME the worst and be hurt.

Uh-oh. Little Cari was parented to mitigate and rationalize, but adult Cari has learned to validate and show compassion. Here’s how that looks: When someone says something mean, the parent (grown-up Cari) says, “I know that hurts. I can imagine how much your heart hurts right now. I’m sorry this is happening to you…” That is loving and understanding parenting.

This is not the same as: “Ignore it and it’ll go away.”

You see, the admonition to “ignore” something really put the onus on ME (little Cari). It made it seem like it was MY problem. Like I needed to do something about it…but couldn’t. Talk about frustrating! For a people-pleasing/perfectionistic/control freak, the inability to change a perception was incredibly painful.

So…I ate.
And then I ate some more.
And then I ate even more.
Until I ballooned to 320 pounds.

But, that’s not where the story ends. This morning, I put “2 and 2″ together, and this is what I came up with: I had a negative exchange at the office. Actually, it wasn’t an exchange, as that would imply that it went both ways. It was actually a one-way deal, but anyway, I found myself doing the self-talk to work through it.

I told myself: “I don’t care what they think. It doesn’t matter what they say. Who really CARES what they are doing?” But, like so much of the other self-talk, it missed the mark, and I didn’t feel any better.

The good news is I figured out that it’s not that I shouldn’t care, it’s that I shouldn’t believe I can control what others mayor may not think of me. It is not my job to try to control others’ perceptions, and it’s foolish to even believe that I can. Take heart because, what I can do, is reparent little Cari like this:

“I’m so sad for you; it hurts when someone says something like that. Remember that it not your job to try to control what they think or say because you don’t really know what’s in their mind, and you can’t control it anyway.”

Say this: I DON’T CONTROL what you think.
Not this: I DON’T CARE what you think.

That is the message for today: If you perceive that someone is being mean to you, just remind yourself that you have no business thinking you can control what they think, feel or say about you, and you really don’t know for sure, anyway.

Then, move on.

There is great power in that wisdom, and it keeps the problem squarely on their shoulders.

Happy re-parenting and may the hurt little child in each of us get the love he or she needs so we can stop feeding them cookies to try to feel better