madermouse's Diaryland Diary

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Dear Body

Boy - you'd think I could actually update this thing more than once a year, eh?!? Honestly, it is usually a reader of "Mouse in the House" that writes and reminds me that I still have a blog.

I can't believe they haven't deleted it after this long inactivity. THANK YOU DIARYLAND!! :)

Anyway, life is good. Life is great. Or at least, I should say my job is great. Black Radish Personal Chef has been one of the best things that ever happened to me....next to meeting my husband, and losing all that weight. (not in that order, of course...dear hubby!)

But I can't say enough about how important it is to do what you love for a living. Instead of letting the life get sucked out of you daily at your desk job, instead of rotting away behind a phone or a computer(Unless that's what you enjoy!) it feels so good to actually get up in the morning and not DREAD work.

I mean, looking back on this year, I've only called in sick once....and I was REALLY F*ING sick!! At my old job, I used my 1.6 accrued sick days as soon as I'd get them...and then call in sick as often as I could get away with it on top of that.

I hated that job.

Okay, I didn't hate that job. The job was actually a great job. But it was a job to "coast" on. It was a job that never gave me any personal satisfaction, any confidence, or any self-worth. I was just a drone on the phone like everyone else, and chances to shine were few and far between.

Anyway, I look back on the past few years and realize that everything really does happen for a reason.

My back injury and a deep, paralyzing depression along with a nervous breakdown lead me to finally walk out on my job - despite my mountain of bills and debt hanging over my head.
Quitting my job lead me back to Wyoming, where I gained some cooking experience, and a mental break from being the breadwinner as I filed for bankruptcy and experience financial freedom for the first time in my adult life.
Getting my cooking experience gave me the confidence to come back to Portland and open my own business, free from debt, and really do something I loved for a living.

Come this October, Black Radish Personal Chef will be year old and I can't say I've regretted a single moment. Even working 50-60 hours a week, I've loved being my own boss and feeling really proud of what I do. Oh - and getting to cook for people - that is a HUGE bonus!! :) :) :)

Still, I come back to this journal with a heaviness in my chest. A lump in my throat that feels like a choke.

At the end of my day, with terribly aching knees and hips and feet that burn and cramp, I know that my success can only go as far as my body can.

This is the hardest part about being happy....the part where you know everything still isn't perfect, even though it is supposed to be.

I am 375....my highest weight ever recorded. How I can shop for 1 1/2 hours a day, cook for 5-6 hours a day, and put in 50+ hours a week - I really don't know. But my body knows. It knows on a deep level and it complains with groans and burning legs, and numb shoulders and knees that just won't quit reminding me that I'm too heavy for this work.

And the excuses have been extremely easy this year to come up with. For instance: I work too much. I'm already on my feet for XXX hours a day, isn't that enough? I don't have time in the morning/night/afternoon to work out. I can't cook for myself after cooking 5 family meals at my job all day. I can't put more stress on my body right now because if I do - and I can't work - I'll lose my business!

The list goes on and on and they've all sounded pretty legitimate to me this year. Oh, well, except for that little voice in the back of my head that is screaming, "IF YOU DON'T, YOU'LL BE SORRY!!" And that's the one I've been hearing a lot of lately and trying to ignore.

I will be sorry. I am so sorry. Deeply sorry for what I've done to my body, my head. If I could write a letter of apology, I would.

Dear Body,
Frail and so tiny you made it into this world - barely - struggling to breath, premature and deprived of oxygen for so long the doctors said you'd be brain damaged for sure.
But you made it. And you were fine...perfect. And you were loved. And you were a beautiful little baby with the whole world staring down into those baby browns.
It seems a shame what I did to you, as you grew into a little person. I filled you up with guilt and shame about your body. And when you were old enough to understand the feeling you felt was "emptiness", I started to fill you up the only way I knew how.

And I fed you more. And this went on. And I stuffed you until you didn't even know you were full anymore. Stuffed was normal and stuffed pushed emptiness away and yet the shame and guilt grew bigger.

I'm sorry you hurt now. I'm sorry that I caused your blood pressure to rise, your chest to pound when you climb stairs, your blood sugar to go out of whack when I was stuffing you with sugar, your liver to clog up, your gallbladder to burst, your brow to sweat in an air-conditioned room. I"m sorry that people stare and children point, and that you cannot fit into places that normal people fit into. But mostly I'm sorry I destroyed that beautiful, perfect little baby girl. I'm sorry I turned her into some sort of a monster that is afraid of reflections and clothing stores and booths at restaurants and afraid of getting older and afraid of more stuffing but can�t do anything but be stuffed.

I'm sorry body, and I hope by writing this letter, you can forgive me.

Signed,
Heather Mader

5:20 p.m. - August 22, 2006

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