Everybody has a story

Posted by BecomingBetty

I’ve never attended a twelve-step meeting, but I’m familiar with the one day at a time concept. I have often used it, or variations (one semester at a time, one month at a time…you get the idea) to deal with difficult or stressful events. I got through law school 16 weeks at a time. I told myself that I could do anything for 16 weeks, and having resolved to do so, I finished on schedule.

I started making some big changes in my life in March. There was no plan. I was afraid that I was going to die. I had a couple of scary medical events. I was hypertensive, morbidly obese, and full of excuses. With a thyroid disorder, a busted up leg, severe arthritis, COPD and likely close to type II diabetes, I was a mess and convinced that my sedentary lifestyle and obesity were beyond my control.

One day in February I was in a meeting in my conference room and the room began to get black around the edges while a ringing in my ears got louder and louder. I didn’t pass out. The event passed and I lived in far that it might repeat itself. Soon thereafter, I was walking through the grocery store with my husband when I broke into a cold sweat. I could feel my heart beating, and I couldn’t wait to get back home to crawl into bed and see if I lived until morning.

This pattern repeated itself a few times over the course of a few weeks. I did not seek medical attention because I was convinced that my physician would scold me about my weight. I had a gym membership that had been unused for at least 9 months. Several times I got dressed for the gym only to have a panic attack on the way there and scream at my husband until he drove me back home. I was convinced people would stare. I was convinced people would laugh. I was convinced that people would find me disgusting – and tell me so.

One day, I hit rock bottom. My health was scaring me. I was short-tempered, my family was bewildered, and I was depressed. I went to the doctor. He added a prescription for an anti-depressant to my list of meds and told me I needed to lose weight. I said I would (like I had each time I saw him over the many years before), and scheduled my follow up visit.

The next day, I decided it was time to “get busy living, or get busy dying.” I dusted off the treadmill (we won’t talk about the thickness of the dust layer) and took a step. I don’t remember how long it took me, but I walked a mile that first day. I went back the next day and tried jogging a little bit. I was thrilled when I was able to “sprint” 2.5 mph for 30 seconds. Day after day, I went back to the treadmill, and was amazed at the difference those 20, 30 or 40 minutes made in my attitude.

I began to share those little successes with my facebook friends. I found a iPhone app that tracked my runs. My feet starting hurting, and I asked my facebook friends to help me pick out a pair of running shoes. I received scores of comments and suggestions from runners and walkers who are scattered all over the country. Boosted by their well wishes, and filled with a sense that this time would be different, I entered a running store and plunked down $120 for my first pair of running shoes. On that day I posted a photo of my new kicks and decided “I am a runner.”

Having found the confidence to walk into a store for athletes without being met with scorn or laughter, I resolved to try the gym again. Armed with my new shoes, I made it through the door and through a circuit without anyone laughing, pointing, or (to my knowledge) posting a picture of my backside to their flickr account.

I have a hugely supportive circle of family and friends. They have “liked” and commented on my runs (which makes my phone cheer), they have put up with me posting photos of myself in spandex, shining with sweat and holding up a medal. I began posting for accountability’s sake, and along the way I have received many messages telling me to keep posting because I have inspired my friends to make changes in their own lives.

As I share my story, those friends keep telling me to write a book. I love the idea, but didn’t know where to begin. I finally know where the book is coming from. I am a survivor. I am a fighter. I am a listener. I am changing my life one day at a time, one step at a time, and one mile at a time.

My name is Betty. This is my story. It’s still being played out. I want to help you become the person you were meant to be. I can’t tell you how to do it, but I can tell you how I’m going about it, and perhaps you will find inspiration to do the same.

Every story has to have a beginning. You may see parts of mine in flashback, but for now, we’ll start here: “Once upon a time there was an unhappy woman who was scared of life. She was sick, and tired, and didn’t know where to turn. This is the story of how she took her life back.”

It’s a journey, not a destination

Posted by BecomingBetty

I’ve been neglecting this blog for a while. I’ve had a few “when life hands you lemons” moments, and seemed to have lost my recipe for lemonade at the time when I needed it most. Yesterday one of those moments happened, and I was reminded that although we have no control over many of the things that happen to us, how we react to them is 100% within our control. I’m sad to say that I didn’t react to some of those things the way that I wish I would have, but I learned a powerful lesson.

Whatever the goal, be it fitness, happiness, or health – it is a journey, not a destination. If you think that you can achieve any of those without continuing to work at it, you’ve lost the battle.

Those of you who know me in real life know that weight has been a lifelong struggle. I’ve gained and lost hundreds of pounds over the last 30 years. Each time, I looked at the weight loss as a project, thinking that once I reached my destination I would be free and happy and the problems that got me to an unhealthy weight would miraculously be cured and I wouldn’t have to struggle.

This past March, I reached a crisis point in my life. Some of the stressors were within my control, but many were not. My health was bad. My mood was depressed. My life seemed to be spinning madly out of control. I was not fit, healthy or happy. In desperation, I turned to diet and exercise because those were two things that I could control. By taking control of what I could control, I was able to better deal with the aspects of my life that were beyond my control. I had an outlet for that stress and negativity. This time, instead of dieting, I am focusing on remaking my life. I know that to be happy and healthy, I must fuel my body with healthy foods and get plenty of exercise. This isn’t a “fix,” it is a journey that will never end. If it ends, the trip is back to an unhappy, unhealthy place.

I have spent part of this journey sharing my story with others through Facebook and on this blog. Sharing keeps me accountable, but I hope that it also shows others that depression, obesity, arthritis, auto-immune disease and a host of other problems are not insurmountable. My journey began when someone else shared their journey and I was inspired to make a change.

On the days when I put in the work (eating clean, exercising, practicing thankfulness and being kind), I enjoy happiness. I enjoy the benefits of increased health and stamina. On the days when I slip back into my old habits and cure hurt feelings with potato chips and lash out at the person who I perceive hurt me, I wallow in pain. The emotional pain becomes physical pain as my body becomes inflamed and my joints hurt, which makes me put off exercise, and throws my whole system into a mess.

I cannot claim that happiness is merely a choice for everyone. Some people are suffering so much that telling them to “choose to be happy,” minimizes their pain. I do not want to do that. For me, though, happiness began with a choice, and it depends on me making the right choice every time I am confronted by something that makes me want to crawl back into the hole that I created for myself.

Fitness is a journey (one that I’m enjoying more and more as I progress). Happiness is a journey (one that is becoming easier day by day). Some days the journey seems solitary. Other days I am surrounded by people who inspire my every step. I am not content to just keep doing what I am doing. I want to be fitter, happier and healthier than I am today. I am doing this for myself, but if I can inspire others by sharing what I learn that is a bonus.

I am learning to reach out and reconnect with others. The journey does not have to be solitary (and it’s much more fun when there are companions!

We all need goals, but they are mere milestones on our journey. When we reach one, there must be another to look for or we will lose our way. The journey never ends. Thank you for joining me on this step of the way.

The Face of Depression

Posted by BecomingBetty

The new Facebook challenge is the Mrs. Doubtfire “Helloooo” face for suicide prevention. The person challenged recreates this scene from Mrs. Doubtfire (see below) and tags three friends. Unlike the ALS challenge, there is no monetary penalty attached, but donations would, I’m sure, be gladly accepted.

Click here for more information on the Mrs. Doubtfire Challenge

Youtube Hellooooo Clip

The articles I’ve seen that promote this challenge don’t seem to spell out how this is connected to suicide or depression, other than the obvious link to Robin Williams. That’s why I’m writing to you today. You may not recognize the face of depression because those who suffer often learn to smile through the pain. We wear a mask.

When my husband committed suicide in 1998, I found a therapist to talk to. I had actually scheduled the appointment before the death happened because I was very troubled about how my life was unfolding. I’d never met this wonderful woman before, and I sat on her couch and spilled out the story of how his bipolar disorder affected my life, the events that led up to his suicide, and finding him lifeless. She didn’t say a word. She just listened. When I stopped, she looked at me and said, “you just spent the last 30 minutes telling me about upsetting things – terrible things… and the smile never left your face.”

Mrs. Doubtfire hid her “true face” with icing so the visitor wouldn’t see the truth. People who suffer from depression do that too. Smiles are effective masks. Some people use false bravado and angry attitudes to hide the sadness.

Earlier this year I had a very difficult period of time. The issues that were troubling me were not something I felt comfortable sharing with anyone else. In addition to my own troubles, real and imagined, my profession brings with it the troubles of others. All of those things added together had me feeling like a failure as a wife, a mother, a daughter, a professional, a volunteer, and a person in general. Despite it all, I went out to a local festival and tried to have fun while I was there. I talked with people, I smiled, and then I went home and crawled back into my dark cave. I posted something vague about my dark mood on Facebook, and a dear friend replied that she was concerned. She had just seen me and had no idea that anything was wrong. My mask was on. She could not see the pain.

This is the face of depression:

Currently, there is too much stigma attached to mental health issues for a campaign asking those suffering from depression to share their faces with the world so others suffering can know they are in good company. Until then, be kind to those around you. Everyone you encounter is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

You’re the inspiration

Posted by BecomingBetty

I began my fitness journey on March 9, 2014. I’ve done the “diet thing” many times before. As a 47 year old adult female who has been overweight for most of her life, I have mastered the art of the excuse. I can justify nearly any unhealthy food or activity. I can procrastinate with the best of them, and the person it has harmed the most is me.

This time, it is different. My husband says he, too, can sense that this time, it is different. This time, it is about changing my life, and not just about doing what I need to do to make the numbers on the scale come down.

The difference, this time, is inspiration. With Robin Williams’ tragic death in the media this week, I will share that depression played a major role in this change. I was struggling with some issues that had me feeling awfully bleak. I was still struggling with my father’s death in early 2013. I was struggling with feelings of inadequacy as a partner, a mother, and a lawyer. I looked in the mirror and struggled with the signs of age and bad health. I was tired of the struggle. I was so unhappy that I lost sight of the many things that make my life so beautiful.

A series of coincidences, or perhaps providence, led me to step on the treadmill instead of eating a package of gluten free cookies or a chocolate bar. I have a group of people in my life who I refer to as my “invisible friends.” Some are ladies I met on or through an online “mom” forum I was active in for many years. Others are people who I met through DDP Yoga forums, or other lawyers I reached out to on Facebook. These people have played an important role in my journey.

When I posted in a “secret group” on Facebook that I was feeling very depressed, a mom suggested I join “Moms Run This Town.” I poo-poo’ed the idea. I never envisioned myself a runner. Soon, another invisible friend suggested we train online together for a 5k. Running took over my facebook feed as friends, both in real life and my “invisible” network, began sharing running posts.

One night, hurt, angry and sad, I brushed off the thick layer of dust that had settled on the treadmill, and I took that first step. I came back the next night, and the next. As is typically the case, life began to get in the way. One night as I was browsing Facebook instead of getting some exercise, I saw a conversation between two “invisible friends.” One asked the other how to ensure success at getting in shape. His response was a photo that said, “Commit.”

I found my inspiration in that graphic. I think of it daily. To succeed at something – anything, you must commit to succeeding. I found inspiration in the “cheers” that my running app sent my way when my friends “liked” my status that said I was on a run. Each cheer inspired me to take another step – to go another 1/10th mile.

I wasn’t sure how my friends would react. I worried that I would annoy them with my fitness posts. I kept posting anyway.

Soon, I began receiving messages. “I wanted you to know that you inspired me to get back to the gym.” “You inspired me to get moving.” “Thank you for sharing your journey. I wanted you to know that I joined a gym.”

I thanked each of them for reaching out, but on the inside, I was saying, “I’m not an inspiration. I’m a morbidly obese person whose bad decisions led to this state.” “I’m not worthy of being your inspiration.”

I started to craft a response that said I’m not someone to emulate- that I have too many weaknesses, I’m too flawed…” At that moment, I realized that inspiration is a very individual, personal experience. What right do I have to say that I’m not an inspiration? If someone can find inspiration in my words, my actions, or my photos, what right do I have to tell them they are wrong? In that moment I simply thanked God for the opportunity to inspire others.

I don’t write to inspire. I write because I really enjoy writing. If, however, it inspires you to look at a sunset, to buy a coffee for someone, to run a half marathon, to clean out your closet, or to bake a gluten free cake, that is a gift to me.

Find inspiration everywhere. The world is an awesome place. If someone inspires you, let them know. Don’t be afraid to share your accomplishments, no matter how insignificant you may feel they are, because someone somewhere may fin the inspiration to improve themselves through your example.

Every single day, you inspire someone to feel happy, or sad, or angry through your words and actions. Being mindful of that fact, choose to inspire others with love and kindness, with your positive energy and your lust for life.

You’re the inspiration.

I just want you to like me

Posted by BecomingBetty

Some time in the 90s, I read a book called “Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway” by Susan Jeffers. I’ve been meaning to go back and re-read it, because I found it very enlightening at the time, but now I don’t remember much of what it said. I do, however, remember her talking about how very much of what we do is motivated by our desire for people to like us.

I think that “people pleasing” falls somewhere on a spectrum between “I don’t care what you think,” and “I will just die if you don’t agree with me.” I’ve spent most of the past 40 years on somewhere on the latter end of the scale.

I’m my own worst critic. To be honest, when I receive a friend request, or when someone says something really nice about me on my facebook wall, I still sometimes wonder if they made a mistake. As a result, I don’t let too many people know too much about what I consider to be the “real” me.

I’m really shy. People don’t believe me, because I can talk to anyone. Talking is not the hard part – reaching out is the kicker. As a result, I don’t go many places or do much of anything, because I wait to be invited to do something by someone else. Last week I took a step outside of my comfort zone. I emailed two people who I knew primarily through my involvement in an organization that I recently left. I invited them to have lunch or coffee with me because I liked both of them a lot and I’ve been feeling kind of socially isolated without my club meetings to attend. One accepted and one did not.

I had a lovely lunch with the one who accepted. I shared some things about me that she didn’t know before, and I learned some things about her, too. I hope she had as fantastic a time as I did, but I have to admit that I’ve spent more than one anxious moment wondering if she’ll still like me now that she knows some of the private me instead of just the public me.

I’m sure I’m not alone in wondering,

Will they still like me if they know I’ve been divorced?
What will they think if they know that I suffer from anxiety?
Will they think I’m weak if I say I just can’t do it?
If I post this, will they think I’m just looking for attention?

This list could go on and on.

I’m on a journey to wellness which involves losing a very substantial amount of weight. For years, I cropped my profile pictures so that people couldn’t see the “fat parts.” When “friends” from other social media platforms found me on Facebook, where I had full-length pictures posted, several told me they had no idea I was a heavy person.

I’ve put off meeting people who played an important role in my life because I was afraid of how they would perceive me if they knew how fat I was. I’ve agonized over wardrobe choices because I was afraid of wearing the wrong thing. I had two full-blown anxiety attacks trying to get myself into the gym this spring to finally do something about my weight because I was afraid of what people would think of my king-sized self and potentially say something unkind (or think something unkind, look at me sideways, etc.)

I’ve censored my opinions on many timely issues on social media because I have friends on both side of the fence.

If I tell you how I feel about “X,” you may not be my friend.

I’m no longer as driven by the little voice that tells me I’m not good enough. When it makes an appearance I remind myself that a friendship based on a character I decide to play isn’t really a friendship. I haven’t been giving people enough credit. Worse than that, I haven’t been giving myself enough credit, either. I’m pretty cool. I really am worth getting to know a little better.

On grieving a suicide

Posted by BecomingBetty

I posted this as a status on Facebook yesterday. Several people found it meaningful and shared it. I’m posting it again here for those who aren’t part of my Facebook community.

The Robin Williams story has me feeling very sad today. As many of you know, I was widowed in 1998 when my husband took his own life. He was no celebrity, but there were still people who needed to satisfy their morbid curiosity about our private life and even a local newspaper reporter who decided to add the details of his death to his obituary.

My heart goes out to Williams’ wife and children. I pray that now that their private pain has been made so public that the media will allow them privacy to grieve. I hope that the “buzz” will turn from the manner of his death to a celebration of his life.

I’m no expert on mental health or theology, but I believe that suicide is the ultimate act of desperation when it seems that all hope of happiness is lost. I believe that a loving God recognizes that the act is one of desperation not based in sinful thoughts, and that the victim of that desperation should be judged on the life he lived, and not on the singular act that ended it.

There are so very many moments in Robin’s career that touched me, made me laugh, or made me think. Once favorite film was the 1990 drama Awakenings. In one scene, Robin’s character Dr. Sayer is having a conversation with his patient, Leonard, played by Robert DeNiro:

Leonard Lowe: We’ve got to tell everybody. We’ve got to remind them. We’ve got to remind them how good it is.

Dr. Sayer: How good what is, Leonard?

Leonard Lowe: Read the newspaper. What does it say? All bad. It’s all bad. People have forgotten what life is all about. They’ve forgotten what it is to be alive. They need to be reminded. They need to be reminded of what they have and what they can lose. What I feel is the joy of life, the gift of life, the freedom of life, the wonderment of life!

Somehow, Robin lost sight of that wonderment. The world lost a great talent. If you are reading this, please take to heart that you are a gift to the rest of us. The world will be less rich, colorful, and diverse without your talents, abilities, and experience.

I thank each of you for the moments we have shared. There has been more than one time when I have been in despair, and a friend has reached out just to say hello, and that has made a tremendous difference in my ability to face whatever obstacle was in my path.

We cannot take responsibility for others’ acts, but we can resolve to be kinder, and to touch the lives of those around us.

I didn’t mean to write a book here… but thank you for reading it anyway. My life is richer for having you in it.

B