Saturday, January 15, 2011

The Club I Want To Get Kicked Out Of

The Maori people of New Zealand, have a saying, “Never spend time with people who don’t respect you.” I couldn’t agree more. After a delightful holiday with the family or even a corporate retreat where “sharing” has become vogue, we often leave with brand new psychic injuries or scabs ripped off old wounds that have never quite healed. Apparently these people did not get the memo that a public gathering (especially a funeral, though it happens all the time) is not the most ideal setting for parading their “concerns” and thinly veiled insecurities that they have dressed up in the costume of Truth, Justice and the American Way. Where is Dr. Phil and his tranquilizer dart gun when we need him?

I start with this because a big part of changing our food consumption habits for the better means that eventually, the tightly wound cuckoo clocks around us are going to start to notice our bodies changing and they are going to want an explanation, damn it! I read on a blog that a member brought a salad to a pizza and cake party at her mother-in-law’s house. Instead of a thank you from the MIL, she got a raft full of grief about how she was insinuating that her MIL was a bad hostess. Really? Sounds like the MIL may be more than a little jealous, nervous and insecure about who the daughter–in–law may be when she reaches her weight goal. Maybe she’s afraid that the DIL will finally lock down and change the combination on the vault door of her self esteem so MIL can’t break in and steal pieces of it anymore.

Telling people that you are on a weight loss program is actually harder than it seems. It’s an issue that we prefer not to have an open discussion about with just any old person. The ones who respect us, no matter what, get to hear our dreams and plans first because they will not stand at the edge of our lives with a howitzer ready to blow them away like those character assassins will.

In the world of addiction, there are alcohol and substance abusers who function at work and home with co-workers and family clueless to their condition. Doctors perform surgery while their fifth vicodin kicks in. Soccer moms drive game car pools with Grey Goose in their Dasani water bottles. Food abuses, though it’s just us that it injures, are obvious to anyone that can see us.

Explaining to a character assassin why you are declining a snack can prompt a “Well, good for you” from their mouth, but their facial expression says, “It’s about damn time.” Thanks, Lie To Me TV show, for confirming through Neuro-linguistic programming technology, what babies can figure out in their first month. When the words don’t match the facial expressions, games are afoot. This is also why so many people are afraid of clowns but I’ll save that rant for another day’s blog...

Yes. I need to lose weight. Duh. I know this. But sometimes we behave as if others are unaware of this little detail and WE are shocked and hurt when some moment in the world confirms what we assumed was a secret; we are fat. I used to have a beach side gift shop and used my stealthy “ego preserver mode” when I slipped a larger size into the dressing room for a customer attempting to shoe horn her way into a swimsuit by telling her that particular brand ran “very small”.

Overweight people are members of a club we never intended to join and it is one of the only clubs where it is impossible to deny our membership status. Unless we intend to live in a community of sightless people, our membership is instantly known. And the jig is up if they want to “see” you with their amazing sense of touch.

This is a club I want to get kicked out of. I want someone to say to me, “Move your skinny ass lady. This club is for people trying to reach their weight goal.” I’m working on that dream right now. I’m also changing the combination on my self esteem vault today to squelch the burglars who would steal pieces of me that I need to be a whole, healthy, happy person.

Any one else want to blow this pop stand?

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