This elusive place called Onederland

If you have read my blogs before, I think I know what you're thinking. She did it! She made it to Onederland! What an accomplishment?

Nope.

It's been three weeks and my weight has just...stalled. My doctor said eat more carbs. My nutritionist said eat more often. My nurse said eat more protein. My body is changing but the scale just...isn't.

I share this for one big reason: this weight loss thing is a battle for my heart and my soul. And I don't want to only share the victories. The real truth is that I am wildly frustrated. And I am wondering when I will get to see a "1" at the beginning of my weight on the scale. I thought I would have crushed that milestone by now. A three week stall when I am training for a half marathon and running 15-18 miles a week?

Come on.

The thing that I hate about social media is we don't really post what's truly going on. We post the best stuff. The stuff we are proud of. The moments that we want to remember. Because why would we post about the struggles? The stuff we are ashamed of? The moments we want to forget?

Amidst this frustration of a perceived "lack of progress" I am reminded daily of how far I have come. And God gives me three words every day when I want to quit.

Stay. The. Course.

Stay the course. Remain and be present in the process. Embrace the discomfort. Do the work. Share all of it. All of it. Because our collective story will never just be the "facebook moments." Our story is the highs and lows and all points in between. 

We will make it to Onederland. When it's time. And until then, we will stay the course. Today I ran 9 miles, because that's what is on my training plan. Tomorrow will reveal itself to me. 

When it's time.

This magical place called "Onederland"

When I first started my bariatric surgery journey, I was 318 pounds. But that was not my heaviest.

Have you ever noticed the maximum weight on almost every doctor's scale? In case you didn't know, it's 350 pounds. And I remember a time, in my 20s, when I tipped that scale. I remember it because it was one of the most humiliating experiences I've ever had. But that didn't wake me up when it should have. Instead, it made me crawl back into the overeating hole I was used to. Food for comfort, making me more uncomfortable than ever.

March 2018 was my first appointment towards bariatric surgery. That was my initial 318 pound weigh-in. I had lost and gained and lost and gained many times before. But admitting I needed help was my biggest struggle. After two back surgeries in the past 5 years, my lowest adult weight of 239 crept right back to 318. What I had worked so hard to lose seemed to come back so easily. Isn't that always the way?

The bariatric surgery community always talked about something called "Onederland." It's when you finally see a "1" as the first number on the scale. I can't explain how intangible and out of reach that felt to me at 318 pounds. When was the last time I saw a 1 as the first number on the scale? I have racked my brain and truly can't remember.

As a kid, one of the most terrifying sentences I heard every year from my mom was this one:

"It's time for your yearly physical."

Back to school meant getting a physical. Getting a physical meant getting weighed. Getting weighed meant humiliation and shame for me as a middle school girl. As a kid, doctors don't really know how to address your weight. Parents don't know either. My mom and dad did the best they could do, but unless I wanted to change, there was no changing. And so it went for me for years. College was no better, and as an adult, I found other ways to compensate socially. I was always outgoing, always funny, always the life of the party.

"Onederland" is not just about a number on a scale. It's a victory that I have never thought was meant for me. It's a dream. It's a myth. It's a magical place with leprechauns riding unicorns and jumping over rainbows. But it was never made for me.

Through my surgery preparation between March and July, I went to a lot of support groups and therapy appointments and listened. A lot. And I realized that sometimes, we believe a lie for so long that we start to live up to it. I never thought I would get to Onederland, because I believed the lie that I didn't deserve it.

So here I am, at 204 pounds. Onederland is coming. And when it does, it will be the biggest victory yet. The victory I thought I couldn't grab, the goal I thought I would never reach, the life I thought I could never live. I don't know when it will happen, but that doesn't really matter, because I know it is coming.

What is your Onederland? Whatever it is, you deserve it. We all do.

Take me out to the ball game

Tiny seats. Tiny sweatshirt. Massive dimples.

For most of my adult life, a simple social question created complex social anxiety in my heart:

"Want to go to the game this weekend?"

That question would bring up a slew of follow up questions in my mind: Where is the game? Is it at PNC Arena? What are the seats like? How big are they? Am I going to fit? Are there arms on the chairs? How will I fit past people on the aisles? Will anyone be sitting next to me? Because if so, they are probably going to be squished sitting next to me.

If you've never been overweight, you might think this sounds neurotic and dramatic. I assure you, it is  the series of questions that always went through my head when anyone asked me to a game. Or a concert. Or a restaurant. Or a trip. Or a movie. When you get to be a certain size, your world also gets to be a certain size. I got bigger and my world got smaller.

Last week I was shopping in Kohl's with a friend and her kids. I mentioned needing a new hoodie and  instead of going to the "big and tall" men's section, we went to the women's Nike hoodies. I found a grey XL sweatshirt and held it up when my friend promptly told me "that is WAY too big for you." She handed me a large purple sweatshirt instead and told me to try it on. I panicked for a second, thinking "there is no way this is going to fit, and I am going to be in the middle of Kohl's wearing an impossibly tight sweatshirt looking like a dummy."

But the women's large sweatshirt fit. When 6 months ago I would wear a men's 2xl. I got in line to buy the sweatshirt and I was just staring at the tag. When was the last time I wore a large? When was the last time I wore a women's Nike large? I was fighting back my tears in the checkout line. It was such a victory for me to finally buy something that wasn't the largest something in the store. Even my friend's kind son leaned up against me, looked at me and said "This a lot to take in, huh?" Smart kid.

So I went to the ball game. In my Nike women's large sweatshirt. And I sat in those tiny seats at PNC Arena. And I sat in that moment with thankfulness for every single one of the 108 pounds I have lost so far. What a victory it is for me to fit in anywhere I want now. Any game. Any concert. Any movie. Any airplane. Any Nike sweatshirt.

And as usual, without my friends there, I would have bought that too big grey sweatshirt. And I wouldn't have gone to PNC Arena for fear of not fitting in. And I would not have realized the weight of the moment. (see what I did there?)

Let your friends be your mirror.

When the boat splits from the dock.

When I was in high school, I worked at a young life camp in New York called Lake Champion. I was there volunteering for 5 weeks, and it was the best summer of my life for all the reasons. One of those transformational experiences that every 17 year old needs and longs for.

I worked in the kitchen, and on a break one day I went on a little boat ride across the lake with one of my staff friends. We got back to the dock so I could go back to work. Right at that time, all of the kids were getting out of club (which is like a big assembly) and about 500 of them were walking along the waterfront. 

I got up to hop out of the boat. I put one foot on the dock, and kept one foot in the boat. And I hesitated. I hesitated just long enough to look down and watch in slow motion terror as the boat split from the dock. And my legs split from each other. And the windmill arms started, and I took a swim.

I took a swim wearing jeans and kitchen gear (complete with apron). Have you ever tried to gracefully emerge from lake water in jeans and an apron? Don't.

The best part as I shimmied myself up onto the dock was the silence from 500 high schoolers on the waterfront. But then, the impending applause and general laughter at the balancing act they just got to see. To this day, watching windmill arms when someone's falling is one of my favorite things. Because when have windmill arms ever saved you from falling?!

The morale of the story? Don't hesitate. When you need to jump, jump. Don't waffle between where you were and where you're going. I am finding it so scary to navigate this new life that is revealing itself to me, because I don't trust it yet. I still think I will be the one medical anomaly for whom duodenal switch surgery doesn't work for. Even though I have lost 39 pounds since I started the program (and that's down 20 pounds since July 11th surgery date), I still can't picture what's to come as the scale continues to go down. And I still can't believe it's going to work, because I have lost weight before and then watched it come back.

The boat left the dock for me on July 11th. The good news is that I was safely drugged up on the dock when the boat left. I didn't have a choice to stay in it. Now I get to explore this new land that the dock is connected to.

Shrinking circles.

A wise, dear friend of mine, who happens to be legally blonde and legally blind, told me a few years ago that as you get older, your circles shrink. And that, with those shrinking circles, you lose your self-confidence in relationships with age.

That was lost on me ten years ago, but our conversation never left me and lately I am realizing just how right she was and still is.

Remember when you were in college how you had that core group of friends that hung out EVERY weekend? It was just understood that the 10 or 20 of you had standing plans. And then you get out of college and you hold on to that group as long as you can. Some get married, some move away, but the rest of you keep it alive for as long as careers and marriages and pregnancies allow.

Over the years, the circle shrinks. And I don't think it's just because of relationship quantity. I think it might be more about relationship quality. We always say that we would rather have one or two great friends than ten acquaintances, but we don't really mean it until it slaps us in the face in your thirties. Some of you smart people saw it earlier than me, but I haven't seen it clearly until lately.

Being ok with who you are means shrinking circles. It means you don't allow yourself to be all things to all people. It means you trade popularity for depth, quantity for quality. It means you are often lonely because you crave that depth and won't settle for less.

Shiloh. 100% havanese, 100% adorable.

Believe it or not, this is all in my brain because of Shiloh. I have fought dog ownership my whole life but now that I have him, he is teaching more about life than I thought. Someone asked me last week "Does he know he's yours?" What a question. What a deep, beautiful, life altering question.

And in true God fashion, he put that question to me: "Do you know you're mine?"

In the midst of shrinking circles, yes I do. The disappearance of my social game has allowed room for God. Is it possible that my circles are shrinking just so God can grow in the spots once filled by disappointment?

If shrinking circles means quality over quantity, then I am in. And I will no longer beat myself up for expecting the same out of my friends. May we all live up to the kind of relationships that Jesus had with his boys. Thousands of followers, twelve disciples, but really - Peter, James, and John. The three guys that were privy to the most exclusive circle in history.

If three friends was good enough for Jesus, my shrinking circles shouldn't be an issue. And hey, I will always have my dog!

-Liz

A healthy heart.

I've been reading through Henry Cloud books lately. He is a well known speaker, author, psychologist, general bad ass christian guy that keeps things very real. In this world, that's rare. In christian circles, it seems to be even more rare.

Is it ok for christians to admit to struggle? Yes. Do we practice that? No.

I am about halfway through his book "Safe People" and it's fascinating. He has this way of breaking down relationships that will make you nod your head in relief and be reminded that you are not crazy.  I wanted to share this. Read this list slowly, his list of the "Interpersonal Traits of Unsafe People" as follows:

1. Unsafe people avoid closeness instead of connecting.
2. Unsafe people are only concerned about "I" instead of "we."
3. Unsafe people resist freedom instead of encouraging it.
4. Unsafe people flatter us instead of confronting us.
5. Unsafe people condemn us instead of forgiving us.
6. Unsafe people stay in parent/child roles instead of relating as equals.
7. Unsafe people are unstable over time instead of remaining consistent.
8. Unsafe people are a negative influence on us instead of a positive one.
9. Unsafe people gossip instead of keeping secrets.

While this is not an inclusive list, I think he pretty much sums up the traits that can turn any relationship bad quickly. How many times have you been an unsafe person to someone else? I was SHOCKED to take a personal assessment of how many times I have done any of the above things to someone else. Now that doesn't make us unsafe people, it just means we are prone to treating each other in unsafe ways.

Healthy eating ultimately leads me to a healthy heart. And a healthy heart wants to be healthy in every way. This is a big part of that. It's not enough to work on the outside when the inside needs attention. I am taking stock of the food I eat. The work outs I do. But now, how about the thoughts I have? The way I treat others? The things I share? The things I keep private?

Still waiting for My Fitness Pal to develop an app to include my mind intake and my emotional intake. A healthy heart is a lot more than proper calorie intake.

-Liz

"If you don't like what they're saying about you...

Mad Men premieres TONIGHT!
(See what I did there? Talk about a
timely blog post.)

....then change the conversation."

Don Draper is so tragic. But so wise.

I have noticed lately how we can live our entire lives fulfilling what people say about us. I have noticed how for some, this is a blessing. For some, this is a curse.

Who in your life do you listen to? Who do you lend your ear to and who gets to speak into your life?

I am a recovering people pleaser. I say recovering, because I have realized how so many of my friendships in the past have been about the other person and not about me. I pinpointed this one night when I was explaining my lack of desire to open up to others to a group of friends.

"I just don't want to offer up information about myself that much." Yes, I said it in that wording. To which my friend said "Maybe because you consider sharing something you have to offer up, like it's painful to let go of it. When the reality is, people just want to know you."

Hmm. I have been unpacking that statement for years since. Wait a minute, people want to know me? Like, the real me? The me that I am when no one is looking? The me that I am when my guard is down? The me that I am when I am exhausted and emotional and just need to vent?

Yes, world, that is true. There are people that want to know YOU. The problem is, you are too busy being someone you're not because you think that's what people want. This fake, got-it-all-together, perfectly manicured, exhausting person that you project.

I know that, because that's what I think too. I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of pretending like I have it all together. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, all of it. That mask is getting very, very heavy.

I propose that we change the conversation. Maybe drop the small talk once and a while and say deadly statements like "You know what? I'm really struggling" or "I can't lie to you, I don't have it all together" or even "I need your help."

Does that scare you as much as it scares me? Good...so when we start doing that to each other, we will both be gentle knowing that we have to do it, but we're afraid of it. And we can be afraid together.

-Liz

"God just wanted to slow you down!"

If I hear that one more time, I might kick someone with my good leg.

My faith has been shaken.

There. I said it.

It is still shaky. And I will tell you why.

Two steroid epidurals, icing, resting, and months of prayer from friends and family later...I am still the same. I can barely walk. My left leg constantly feels like it is on fire from pain shooting down my leg, and all week every week I grin and bear it. Every time I have to walk somewhere to pick something up from another office, or to go talk to someone, or to go to the bathroom, I have to give myself a pep talk. "You can do this. You can do this."

I can't do this.

Friends have been praying for healing. I wake up and I pray for healing. I have begged God. I have pleaded. I have written to him every morning. I have been faithful and obedient. I know he loves me. I know this is not the life he wants for me, especially when being active has been a lifeline for me and the catalyst for my weight loss.

But nothing has changed.

A week or so ago, days after my second epidural, I was doing better, so I biked. Nothing major. Nothing crazy. But only a few days after that, the pain returned to where I can't walk ten steps anymore without debilitating pain.

I can't stand up at church. I can't lay down comfortable at night. I can't go shopping with friends. It absolutely and completely sucks.

I've had to get creative with my down time. Time that
was once reserved for work outs is now reserved for
jigsaw puzzles and online sermon series.

I'm past the point of "God is teaching me patience." I am past the point of "God will heal you!" I am past the point of "God just wanted to slow me down to show me stuff!"

I think we all try to reason away pain because we simply don't understand it. Same thing with death. Ever notice how people have strange reactions to death? Some are inconsolable, some act like they knew the person way better than anyone else, some want to explain it, some want to move past it right away, some NEVER move past it the rest of their lives. We don't understand death because we were never created to experience death. 

The plan was for Adam and Eve to live forever. But sin screwed that up for everyone.

Now I don't think my back pain is some biblical warning against sin. But I do think it's just a crap situation for me and I wish more people would just sit in it with me rather than try to explain it, solve it, or reason it away by saying "God is teaching you something glorious!" It's also showing me how much I have reasoned away other people's pain instead of been beside them like they needed.

The awesome revelation here? People need YOU. Sometimes, they aren't looking for your answers. They are looking for YOU.

Once again, God is bringing beauty out of brokenness. But he didn't cause this brokenness. But I will be honest and say, I need some healing. Fast.

God hasn't healed me yet. Or allowed any significant help medically. And I'm pissed about that. But even in my shaky faith, I will pray. Because I know God can do all things. I just wish he would choose to heal my back. Monday, I have another appointment with my back specialist guy to see what's next, either another injection or options for surgery.

And so we keep praying.

-Liz

Nothing but grateful.

I was fortunate enough to go to our area's Young Life banquet last night. I saw SO MANY old friends. People I used to lead with, people I went to college with, women that have shaped my faith and walked with me through pain over the years, and kids that I know now who are experiencing Young Life for the first time like I did when I was in high school.

I was reminded how God uses other people to change our lives. And I was reminded to be grateful for that.

My whole life, God has been trying to talk to me through other people. In high school, a woman named Carol took an interest in me, asked me to come to Young Life, and that decision she made to show up at Unionville High School changed my life. And because of her faith, I have grown and God has used me to change the lives of others.

My recent back injury has been another great example of this. I had no idea of the support system I had until I was down and out. Just this morning I was able to wake up and go work out without my two hour time window to stretch and ice my back. I was so grateful to be able to walk, to feel my leg and back getting stronger, to be able to lift, to cycle, all of it.

But I am just as grateful for the people that care about me. So many people were asking about me, last night and this morning. I can't get over that. And it was a swift reminder of the things I complain about and am not grateful for.

See, tough people like me do NOT want to have to rely on others. But for the past few months, I have had to call on friends like never before. That's what happens when your toilet explodes or when you can't drive yourself home from a doctor's appointment.

I stole this picture from my friend Pam's facebook. Hopefully she's ok with it. Do I live my life being grateful? Not really. I complain about my wireless not being fast enough. My grocery store clerk for taking too long. My paycheck not having enough zeros.

Today I am going to practice the art of gratefulness. I'm going to suck at it, but I am going to keep trying. And to those of you that have encouraged me with your words, notes, texts, emails, and all points in between...you have turned this tough girl into a complete softie.

And I am grateful.

-Liz