I Hate My Stepmother

Recently, while looking through old photo albums for some "Throwback Thurday" shots, I came across my biological father's journal.  This is actually about 5 months worth of journaling, scribbled on yellow legal paper from the first few months of my life.  My grandma found it in her stuff on a trip to Nicaragua about 15 years ago and brought it back for me.  It is fascinating.  It's clear that he loved my mother very much and that he loved his new daughter very much as well.  He definitely excelled at being a father, especially of babies. I was his fourth, although my mom's first...so he took lead on everything from feeding to diapering to general care.  It's particularly poignant to me, since I felt quite abandoned by him as a young adult and right up until he died.
In the journal I also placed a series of letters I wrote to him (I printed more than one copy) and his response to me.  Re-reading those, which represented the first time I ever really spoke up to him in an intelligent way, at around age 21, was moving...especially putting together the memories of the circumstances that surrounded the letters being written.  I read them aloud to my very patient husband because I was impressed with how young adult me had handled the situation, and I felt the response I got from him was such great insight into his weird, narcissistic personality that I needed to share it.  My husband only met him on a couple of occasions, and while he's heard many earfuls of stories about him, and even attended his funeral, this letter was a window into the kind of father he was to me, and the kind of person he was.
He died 3 years ago this month.  It's felt very peaceful since he died.  No stress or guilt on his birthday or on Father's Day, no second guessing if my cutting ties was the right thing to do...but a strong sense of his presence.  Seemingly positive and quite evolved from the person he was in life, his energy spent a lot of time around me when first he passed, real or imagined.  It was comforting to feel the father I had always longed for around me.  He was an incredible father to many of my siblings (he had 7 children), but that isn't the straw I drew.  Luckily, the universe granted me a second chance by way of my incredibly stalwart and honorable, if somewhat withdrawn, stepfather...but there's something about being loved by your dad that every kid yearns for, even if they don't realize it.
That man loved me.  I know he did.  I read it in his writings.  Unfortunately, he fell into a relationship with a hate monger.  A manipulative, horrid woman who could never be trusted, should not have been trusted with the care of his young child.  He turned a blind eye, although apologized for it later.  She was a terrific mother to her own children...and why not, she had me on whom to take out her frustrations.  As I grew, and became less tolerant of the kind of parent she was, I became the pariah to that family.  Their stories about me made it seem as though I left them out of some kind of spite or desire to hurt my them, especially my dad.  My story is one of survival.  I left to reclaim myself. I left to stop the pain.  I found a way and was lucky enough to be able to stop the cycle of physical and emotional abuse, but my younger siblings were taught otherwise...and I won't ever be able to convince them of the validity of MY version.  The last time I saw them was at our father's funeral.  They didn't make eye contact with me.  I didn't speak to any of them.  They made it clear that I wasn't welcome.  If I wasn't sure, the phone call I got the night before from one of them saying I wasn't welcome made it pretty clear.  I went anyway, as I was there for my older siblings, who have always been my protectors.
It's been 3 years and for a long time I was able to happily not think about my stepmonster.  I vaguely worry when I go to Santa Monica...concerned I may run into her...but I carry on.  I am a big girl now and she can't hurt me anymore.  But that hurt little girl isn't all that far away.  I sometimes daydream about the confrontation that would take place if I could.  It's a scene from a movie, really, where I yell at her in perfect Aaron Sorkin dialogue about why she's such a wretched human being and her children hear me and finally believe me and love their big sister again.  But that's not the ending to this story.   The little girl needs to be heard, and maybe will be one day, but the big girl knows that the only behavior you have control over is your own.  There isn't going to be a movie ending on this one.  Those 3 people who share my genes, the one who I carried home from the hospital, the one whose birth was the first I attended, and the one whose diaper I changed and hair I brushed...they have a different movie in their heads.  I'm the bad guy in their movie, and as much as it pains me, I accept that I cannot change it.  So, instead, I thank my lucky stars for the siblings I DO have who love me and hold me up, and for the rest of my family, who listens when I complain, and hold me when I am sad, and who love me.  Because that has to be enough.

Hashtag Compliments

Do you ever get a random compliment out of the blue and it completely makes your day ?  Sometimes a remark from a complete stranger can lighten your mood, put a smile on your face, or make you think differently about that "old shirt" you pulled out of your closet.  For the last few years I've noticed an upswing in people suggesting more compliments be given as you go about your day, and I think that's great. Random Acts of Kindness (or compliments)are awesome.  I feel it's time to take it one step further and create a movement to consciously compliment the people you care about.  Complimenting is best with very specific and sincere statements about how you feel about them, how they act, what they do, how they look, whatever strikes you. And I'm not talking a random "you look nice today" (although those are great too). I'm talking about taking one minute out of your day, every day to text someone that you know or leave a message on someone's Facebook wall or send an email just letting a friend know how you feel about them.
I do this a lot, and sometimes I think people think that I'm creepy, or they think that I might be trying to sell them something. I may very well be creepy, but I forge on, because I can't help myself. I like connecting with people, even for a moment, and making them feel good. It's what I do. It's something I'm good at, but I think that everyone could do it. Can you imagine a world where periodically you receive messages from someone you care about with an unsolicited compliment? Wouldn't that be wonderful? Maybe it needs a hashtag, or a specific day of the week, or even both. It would be nice to not limit such things, but life gets so busy. Traditions are good and Reminders are better. I wish there was a day of the week that began with a C, as alliteration seems to of helped "Throwback Thursdays" quite a bit.  Conscious complementing sounds a little bit too much like "conscious uncoupling", (thanks a lot, Gwyneth Paltrow).Okay, so I don't have a hashtag or a catchphrase yet, but I'll work on it, if all of you are willing to try doing this with me. I have over 1000 Facebook friends, all of whom people I know personally. Imagine the brightness in the world if each one gave a compliment to someone they love today. You CAN brighten someone's day.

Sometimes the best ideas strike you after some time has passed.  How about #saysomethingsweetSunday?  Or #ssss for short?  Worth a shot.

Doing good truly makes you feel good. Making someone else feel good can be it's own reward. There is a selflessness about it that would do everyone a bit of good. Who is with me?

What? I'm Fat??

Yes, somewhat inspired by the brilliant episode of Louis C.K, which has spurred on a load on internet discussion among my group of friends...but also inspired by, you know, my life...and I have more than a blogpost amount to say about that.

"Heavy" since 3rd grade.  A "voluptuous" teenager/young adult.  "Morbidly Obese" now.  That sounds sexy and fun, doesn't it?  I feel the need to justify that my actual weight only makes me "obese", but because I'm the lucky recipient of hereditary diabetes (another justification), that flips me right into that special "morbidly" category.  But you know what?  I'm done caring.

Imagine this conversation, if you would...between, let's say a black man and a white woman:
BM-So, you don't mind that I'm black?
WW- Oh, don't say that.  You're not black.
BM- Um, pretty sure I am.
WW- No, stop saying that about yourself!
BM- But...I AM.

Now, trade out the word fat for black.  I'm so done with people having the word fat be such a negative thing.  (Old, too, while we're at it, but I'll just pick one battle with society for today.)  Guess what?  I'm fat.  I'm also quite happily married to a (not fat) guy who yes, started dating me when I was a fair bit smaller than I am now, but married me at 206 pounds.  Yes, that's how much I weighed when I got married, and guess what else?  That's give or take 5 pounds what I weigh now.  Did you hear that shattering sound?  The universe combusting over an overweight woman giving the internet her actual, non driver's license (185), non 'size card' (200) weight and not because she's about to start on the next season of The Biggest Loser?  No?  Well, I'm pretty sure it was ready to...maybe it didn't because it really doesn't matter one freaking bit.

Am I a good wife?  Yes.  I support my husband in whatever way he needs, I'm a good partner, his best friend, his biggest fan and he adores me.  My husband wants me healthy and happy, but loves me at any weight and I could call him into this room right now to have sex with me and he'd leave his past deadline work pile and drag his feverish, sickly self in here to take care of business...so THAT isn't an issue.
Am I a good mother?  Sometimes, that's debatable but for the 2 incredibly awesome kids I have somehow managed to produce through all my insanity, so maybe for today's purposes we'll say yes.
Am I a good friend?  Without question.
Good at my job?  Great at it, actually.

I also eat healthfully and I exercise.  Don't believe me?  My afternoon snack today?  1/2 cup of raspberries and 6 almonds.  My dinner?  Spinach quinoa patties with hummus, taboule, and tomato.  My next 5K scheduled for June 21st.  My cholesterol is 147.  My blood pressure last week came in at 108/67.  Liver function is normal, as are my kidneys.  Even my diabetes bloodwork matches that of a non-diabetic, now that I function as my own pancreas.  I.  Am. Good.  Fat does not automatically mean unhealthy.  Skinny does not automatically mean healthy.  So, what's with the naughtiness of the fat word?  Why is it SO terrible to be fat?  When my kids were little, if they called my belly fat I'd get over the initial "ouch" feeling and pretend to laugh and I'd say- "yeah, mama's belly IS fat isn't it?  And squishy!" and then I'd tickle them and we'd move on.  Because I wanted them to live in a world (at least for a little while) where an accurate descriptive word was NOT bad.  I want to change the world, even if it's just my little world...but my kids didn't live in a bubble.  They went to school where because they weren't tiny stick figures they got called fat...and they'd come home sad until I explained to them that it didn't MATTER what they looked like, kids smell weakness.  They could just as easily have been made fun of for the color of their hair, for the length of their chins, for the dimple on their nose or for the skinny legs they don't have...kids find things to make fun of.  I explained to them that they needed to buck up and figure out how to deal with whatever the hurtful words were because even if they were the skinniest kids on earth, someone, someday would find a reason to pick on them.

I was walking in the parking lot of a store last week, when a 20 something man called me a fat cow.  This happens more often than you'd think.  I hadn't taken his parking spot, I hadn't done anything. I was just walking to my car. He just did it.  Sadly, he chose the wrong person, because what came out of my mouth was something to this effect:
"Why do guys like you always think that's some kind of great insult?  I've been married for 16 years to a hot guy who thinks I'm FINE.  I've probably had more sex in my life than you will EVER have (and am sure I'm better at it).  I am more healthy, happy, and fulfilled than you could ever imagine being...and YOU think pointing out one of the most OBVIOUS FACTS about me is going to hurt me somehow??  Your brain must be as small as your penis."

Have to admit, was pretty pleased with the last bit.

So how do we do this?  How do we make the word fat as innocuous as the word tall or short or silly or redheaded or whatever?  I'm starting with me.  You can too.  Call me your fat friend Ariella.  I don't care.  It's TRUE.  If you're lucky enough to be my friend, anyway.

The movie PITCH PERFECT has a character, played by the actress Rebel Wilson who goes by the name Fat Amy...by her own logic she says she knows the girls are going to call her fat anyway so they may as well do it to her face.  The movie does a fabulous job of making her not apologize for her weight, in fact she joins the singing group cause she's tired of all her boyfriends...as a fat actress, I am always worried about the portrayal of the fat character, and I'm happy they did it well.  So did Louis.  And so will I.  I don't need to be fat BUT with a pretty face...or sexy DESPITE the fact that I'm fat.  I can just just be all of those things.  And it can be ok.

My favorite fat joke?  (only Harry Potter fans will get it).
Yo mama is so fat that her patronus is a cake.