Category Archives: Thought Patterns

What’s going on in my head

Cravings, Motivation

Two Weeks In

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And, frankly, I’m more than a little discouraged. I don’t see or feel much difference at all. I have a little easier time getting up off of the floor; but, that’s really kind of it. I almost wish that I had stepped on the scales two weeks ago so that I could see if I have lost any actual weight. But, I didn’t; so, I can’t. I can’t even point to measurable progress to keep myself motivated. I’m just having to trash talk myself through.

I know. I know. Weight loss isn’t the end game, the Why. But it’s certainly the road to getting to the Why and I can’t see that I’m any further down that road.

Because I’m on leave, I don’t socialize much, which is certainly not helping the situation. I’m alone a great deal of the time and I’m being bombarded by cravings from a sugar addiction. Okay, maybe it’s not a bombardment anymore – maybe it’s more like an incessant tapping. Still, I know the cravings are there and there are times when it’s really difficult to overcome them. To this point I have pretty well, though. No Blizzards. No Frosties. No frozen cashew milk. No chips. No candy. I did have some wine and a serving of the carrot flan cake Saturday night; but, that’s been my only step off the straight and narrow.

It’s hard, but I have to keep the faith that if I continue making healthful food choices and continue exercising that I will begin seeing results. Clearly I’m not seeing them as quickly as I’d like; but, I am confident they are coming.

weight-loss-is-hard

 

 

Emotional Eating, Thought Patterns

Having Dinner With Failure

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This weekend, I had some friends over for dinner – that’s not the failure part.. Over Jamaican black beans on brown rice with tropical fruit chutney, roasted green beans and carrot flan cake (not on the diet), we had a wonderful time! The atmosphere was laid back and friendly. Since not all of the guests were acquainted, it was an easy environment to get to know each other. Dinner is a wonderful way to sit back, relax and let people tell you about themselves.

A friend of mine was once struggling with a rather profound failure in his life. The failure was the culmination of a series of bad decisions; but, my friend could not pinpoint the first one. He mentioned this struggle to his Rabbi who advised him to “have dinner with his failures” in order to discover that pivotal moment. I like that idea.

I have often joked that I would make a horrible spy. I don’t ask enough questions. I don’t probe people. Probing makes people defensive and they hide things. I believe that by letting people tell their own stories in their own time, I get a much more accurate picture of them than I would if I probed. I believe the same thing is true within my own mind. Over the years I’ve seen a number of therapists to puzzle through whatever issues were bothering me at the time. Therapy is putting my own self on the spot. It’s probing myself and, just like most people do when someone probes at them, my own mind can become defensive and lock me out. Once, my mind really pushed back to my probing when a therapy session resulted in a full-blown anxiety attack. By having dinner with my failures rather than probing at them, I don’t trigger that kind of defensive response. I slow down. I listen. And, often, I find that first bad decision.

I hadn’t gone from a non-smoking smoker back to a 2-pack a day smoker overnight. It had happened gradually – so gradually, that I had a hard time discovering where I went wrong. By having dinner with that smoking cessation failure, I pinpointed the initial lie I had told myself – my Gateway Lie of “I can have just one.” That lie started me down the road to being a smoker again. In a similar way, my dietary failure didn’t happen at that meal where I had Baconator, large fries, chocolate Frosty and a Diet Coke. I didn’t go from months of healthful choices directly to this greasy faced, carnivorous orgy. My diet gradually deteriorated. Like I had done with smoking cessation, I had to pinpoint My Gateway Lie. That lie was that I could eat processed foods and sugary treats as long as they were vegetarian and marketed as “healthy.”

During The Great Reduction, I shunned nearly all prepared and processed foods. I was still eating meat; but, I was watching my caloric intake closely. I dropped weight. Quickly. Eventually, I stopped eating meat simply because I could eat more volume in the form of plant foods. Then I learned about many of the health benefits of eating a whole-foods, planted-based diet. Eating all of that fresh food took a huge amount of time. It took planning. It took preparation. It took effort. Snagging an Amy’s vegetarian entree out of the freezer section and throwing it into the microwave for three minutes was WAY faster. Plus, it was vegan; so, it wasn’t that bad. And I could tell myself that I was just going to do that for this meal. I’d be back to eating healthfully next meal. On a PMSy day, I wanted ice cream. Frozen cashew milk is vegan and has fewer calories than ice cream. So I rationalized that choice, as well. Both of those prepared foods are better choices than some alternatives; however, they are not better choices than fresh, whole foods. And for me, they were the Gateway Lie – if it says “healthy” or “vegan” on the package, it is nearly as good as the fresh foods I had been preparing for myself.

Yeah, well, Sour Patch Kids and Oreos are vegan, too. I Oreoed myself right back into my fat pants….and beyond.

Prepared foods, regardless of whether they are marketed as “healthy,” have added sugar, fat, and/or sodium to improve either their flavor or their shelf life or both. For instance, a cup of Amy’s Hearty Rustic Italian Vegetable Soup has 680mg of salt – that’s nearly 1/3 of the Mayo Clinic identified upper limit RDA of 2300mg. I made a cauldron of vegetable soup last week, adding no salt, using lots of herbs instead; so, mine contained only the sodium naturally occurring in the vegetables. Amy’s is a lot faster and, while it isn’t just awful for you, mine is better.

Mine leads to success, which makes a much better dinner partner than failure.

 

 

 

 

 

Cravings, Motivation

The Belly of the Beast

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After a full week of making more healthful food choices and avoiding nearly all processed foods, I feel fantastic! My energy level is up. My eyes are sparkling. A song perches on my lips the moment my feet hit the floor! I am practically Cinderella.

Yeah. Right. What a load of crap.

“And the noise was in the beast’s belly like unto the questing of thirty couple hounds” (Book 1, chapter XIX) -Le Morte d’Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory, circa 1469

“Thirty couple hounds” is, I think, what my mother used to refer to as “forty, ‘leventy dozen.” Ever how many it is, though,  it is still the number of dogs that sound like they’re in my belly looking for something to eat. Maybe not dogs, but something else that’s growling and looking for snackage, for sure. Like Jabba the Hutt’s sarlacc (from its holiday portrait above), my stomach feels like an open pit ringed by teeth and tusks, ready to consume all ice cream, cup cakes, or Kaminoan bounty hunters that happen to come my way. I have been eating whole, plant-based foods all week and am jonesing for an Oreo Blizzard so hard that I’ve even dreamed about it. Seriously, I’m ready to make my way to the Crossroads to make a deal with Ole Scratch. I woke up from the dream feeling guilty even though I hadn’t actually done anything. It reminded me of when I quit smoking seven or eight years ago. I had the same kinds of dreams and the same kinds of guilt.

I was a moderate to heavy smoker for the better part of 20 years. I liked the ritual of tapping a new pack five times on each side before opening it. I liked the smell of the pack when I first opened it, particularly if the cigarettes were really fresh. The tobacco smelled wonderful! Then I’d put that first one between my lips and light it. The sulfer dioxide smell of the match entered my nostrils just as the sound of the sizzling tobacco burning reached my ears. Then I’d inhale and the nicotine would hit the pleasure centers of my brain, lighting them up. Fantastic. Just fantastic.

I know people who are social smokers. They can smoke a whole pack while out drinking with friends, then not pick up another cigarette for months. That’s not me. I’m a nicotine addict. I love the feeling of when that nicotine hits my brain producing the buzz and calming my nerves. (See? At least seven years after my last smoke and I can still remember the exact feeling.) Because I enjoy that feeling so much, I never experimented with hard drugs like heroin, cocaine or ecstasy. I was always afraid that I would like them too much. For the same reason, I steer clear of opioid pain killers. (Even with as bad as my foot and ankle have hurt these months, I’ve stuck to various NSAIDs.) What I have not steered clear of is ice cream. Or cake. Or chocolate. Or pastries. Yet, the sugar in those items hits the pleasure centers of my brain exactly like those other drugs would. And the lack of sugar causes withdrawal issues exactly like the lack of those other drugs would.

I have no doubt that heroin withdrawal is FAR worse than anything I’m going through right now; but, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still going through my own thing. I’m cranky. I’m hungry. I’m unfocused .But mostly I’m cranky. I want a hit of Phish Food. Badly.

But I’m not going to go get one.

I’m not because I have my eye on my Why – to become able again, rather than remaining disabled by my own hand.

While I may never reach the happy nirvana of our morning songstress Cinderella, I know that my days of feeling like a subterranean Tantooine carnivore are limited. Just as surely as better health and (hopefully) healing are coming, so, too, is relief from the cravings.

Body Changes, General Health, Thought Patterns, Uncategorized

The New Why

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Way back on March 9, 2016, I shared with you that I had missed a night of work because of what I suspected was plantar fasciitis in my left foot. At that time, I had already been struggling with foot (but mostly heel) pain for months. Now, ten months later, I find myself at home on a second medical leave for that same foot; but, it’s more than just plantar fasciitis.

As you know, I work in an industrial environment for a company that sells EVERYTHING from A to Z. (Think about it for a minute and you’ll get it.) Anyway, on a typical shift, I walk from 15K to 17K steps (there are an average of about 2K steps in a mile). I know this because a friend gave me a Fitbit that counts them for me. In July, we have a ginormous sale marking the anniversary of the program we offer for our premier (or you might say prime, even) customers. That sale increases production activity dramatically for about three days. During those three days, my average number of steps jumped from between 15K and 17K up to between 20K and 23K. The grumblings from the labor force of my left heel spread to rest of the foot and ankle. And they got worse. You know that of course I ignored the grumblings until they became a work stoppage. My ankle and foot went on strike! After all, they were 49, far too old for this nonsense of walking those kinds of distances. On concrete. Carrying this fat body. The pain was absolutely excruciating! I couldn’t make it through an entire shift at work in spite of my boss’s efforts to make me as stationary as possible. On August 8, I went to see an orthopedist who diagnosed an inflamed subtalar joint (or, as my boyfriend says, a swollen ankle) and who put me in a walking boot with instructions to wear it all the time.

Yeah, because I follow instructions so well.

feet-comparison

I tried it for a week with poor results. By poor results, I mean that the pain was as gawd-awful as ever – see the photos above. By the unhealed abrasion on my lower left shin, you can see that the photos were taken in a short time frame. I bought some hiking boots and wore those instead. That was the tiniest bit better. The pain continued unrelieved by the meloxicam the doctor had prescribed; but, I continued my normal routine as best as possible. I worked at work; but, I did nothing at home. The pain while walking around was bad enough, but it was nothing compared to the pain of standing up after having been seated for awhile. There were times that I seriously considered just sleeping in the car to avoid having the make the walk into the house. When I did finally get inside, I went straight to bed where I stayed unless my bladder dictated otherwise. Clearly, the labor situation was not improving. My foot and ankle were still on strike. I was just existing. I had no life.

So, I returned to the doctor. An MRI showed stress fractures in the navicular and medial cuneiform bones, as well as a fibrous coalition between the talus and navicular bones. Some of my pain was still coming from that inflamed subtalar joint; but, some of it was coming from the stress fractures. He put me in a hard cast on September 26. (Luckily, the cast was pink and super-cute.) But it meant that I had to go on a medical leave of absence from work. After several days of being in that non-weight bearing cast, I was pain-free for the first time in months and having WAY too much fun zipping around on my borrow little knee scooter.

After a month, I was out of the cast, but the physical limitations set by my doctor kept me in a walking boot and off work until December 7. So, from October 24 to December 7, I walked no more than a normal person. Then, I went back to work. Because I could not walk the distances required in my normal job, I worked in a department that let me stand still more. Even so, between December 7 and 28, I was able to complete only one full work week. Granted, it was a 60-hour week because of the holiday season; but, I was still able to complete only one. I took a few days off while my son was visiting which gave the continually protesting joint some relief. On the 28th of December, I worked the eight-hour shift my doctor had limited me to; but, for those eight hours I got to do MY job. I was thrilled and I had an absolute blast! Then I came home and could not put any weight on my ankle for nearly 36 hours. I was back on crutches….and back on medical leave.

I can’t walk and it’s my own fault. My Why crystallized.

I have walked in excess of six miles a night probably 70% of the time over the four years I’ve been at this job; so, why has the trouble started only now? I’ve walked more at this job and been fine. I’ve been fatter than this and not had these kinds of issues. I’m older than I’ve ever been, sure, but, I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s a combination of the three things. I have never walked this much, weighed this much and been this old at the same time.

My age is my age. I can’t do anything about that. My job requires a great deal of physical activity (which, frankly, I enjoy). I can’t do anything about that. My weight. THAT, I can do something about.

Five years ago, my Why was getting healthy in order to take care of my son and to meet my potential grandchildren. In the intervening years I’ve had small Whys of a gorgeous red dress (hush, you don’t even know!), a pair of cute blue shorts, and an intriguing man with a massive chest and odd green eyes; but, I haven’t had an urgently compelling Why. Until now.

Five years ago my weight made me a potential candidate for heart attack, stroke, diabetes and some cancers. Today, my weight makes me an actual partially disabled woman. I went from a Maybe to a Sure Thing.

It’s time to stop messing around and take my life back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

General Health, Thought Patterns

Child’s Play

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I grew up in Brookhaven, MS, about two hours south of where my maternal grandparents lived in Winona and about four hours south of where my paternal grandparents lived near Memphis. Christmas day at our house began REALLY early, with my sister waking first (always), sending me into the living room to see if Santa had been there, then both of us charging into our parents’ room to bring them the glad tidings that loot abounded down the hall! (Mother told me years later that, often, she and Dad had just gotten back into bed when they would hear our feet hit the floor.) After playing with our new treasures and having a little breakfast, we would pack up into the car heading for Mamaw and Papaw’s first, then to Nannie and Pop’s. Each of us were allowed to bring one new toy for the trip.

red-tricycleFor my second or third Christmas, I got a red tricycle. It was fabulous and it was the obvious choice to make the trip north. It stayed in the car for our stop at Mamaw’s, but, because we spent several days with Nannie and Pop, it came out of the car at their farm. (It had been a farm when they bought the place; so, even though they didn’t grow crops or raise livestock, it remained The Farm.) Anyway, although this shiny new three-wheeler came out of the car, Mother said that I was not allowed to ride it inside the converted barn that was my grandparents’ house.

However, in our family, like all families, there was a hierarchy where grandfathers trump mothers. And Pop said I could ride it in the house. I still remember Mother fussing at me and me taking her to Pop so that she could hear for herself that he had given the green light to my ankle-biter grand prix.

Oh! The glory of being able to ride my tricycle inside! In spite of having Pop’s permission, I felt like I was getting away with something.

Fast forward 47 years and I have my first cast. For at least a month I will be sporting this giant pink thing on my left foot. My first days on crutches were just miserable. I flailed around. I fell. And they hurt my ribs. I was miserable and not reluctant to say so. My cousin Jeanna recommended that I get a knee scooter. She said that it had made all the difference when her son Drew was recovering from ankle surgery. So, I rented one.

Oh! The glory of being able to ride my scooter inside!

I took it with me to run some errands and, in no time, I was zipping around Home Depot, Kroger, the library, and Lowe’s, where a man told me to be sure to obey the speed limit and where (like the consummate adult that I am) I stuck my tongue out at a jealous toddler.

Of course, I would rather have a healthy foot and, if the doctor is right, in a few weeks I will have one; but, for now, I have choices to make. Am I irritated because I have a 47 pound cast or am I grateful that I’m not in constant pain? Am I angry that I cannot work or do I take this time of forced inactivity to learn something new? Am I annoyed that getting around is much more difficult than usual or do I find ways to enjoy being able to get around at all?

Naturally, I’m doing my usual Pollyanna Glad Game thing! I’m thrilled that I’m not in constant pain and I’m learning how to make Excel do some neat things that I need it to do. I’m generally healthy. I have a good job and, truly, I have nothing to complain about. So, I’m going to take these weeks to do some self-improvement.

But first, I’m going to take my scooter back to Lowe’s and take a spin around the plumbing department!

 

 

 

 

Thought Patterns

It’s Not About Falling Down

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It’s about getting up.pillow-skater

Last night I watched a documentary called Fat to Finish Line. I watched it as I ate a pint of Talenti Caramel Cookie Crunch Gelato on account of I do that kind of thing.

The film is about 12 people who formed a team to run a Ragnar Relay in Florida. Each of them has lost an average of 100 pounds – a couple of them still have that much to lose to reach their goals. Regardless, they have run 5Ks, 10Ks, half marathons and full marathons. They are nervous, but determined.  Well, except kind of one of them. She started crying and carrying on two miles into her ten mile second leg. She kept saying, “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” At four miles in, her teammates took over and finished the leg. Frankly, I wanted to smack her a little bit.

Then I looked at the spoon in my hand.

As I sit here writing, my left foot is in a VERY pink cast and it will remain there for at least another three weeks. I am limited as to what I can do. I am limited; but, I am not powerless. I was beginning to let myself feel that way when my boyfriend (who is one of the strongest people I have ever met and whom I admire tremendously) sent me the video below and challenged me to finish five sets of ten push-ups. I agreed to five sets of one push-up. Then I watched the video and the documentary.

When I first started this blog, I was writing all the time, feeling strong and good. Then I got knocked down and I faltered. I am weak and I feel terrible. But, as one of the runners in the documentary said, “It’s not about getting knocked down: it’s about getting up.”

So, friends, once again, I am getting up. If I need to, I will watch this video every day until I believe it again.

Oh, and though it took me awhile, I finished the five sets of ten.

Food, Habits, Motivation

Detox: Day 1

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Alright, first, let me say that I get just as annoyed as most people when diets talk about “detoxing” and “cleansing.” Most of the people making those claims hold degrees in marketing, not in medicine or nutrition. Frankly, I’m not even sure those claims have any real meaning. What I’m talking about here is straight up detoxing – getting away from an addictive substance and going through the subsequent withdrawal symptoms.

You might have noticed that chocolate appears nowhere on Dr. Allie’s list. It doesn’t appear on the copy I transcribed for you and it doesn’t exist on the original. Trust me. I examined it … at length … with a magnifying glass … and with invisible ink developers. Chocolate wasn’t there neither were low-fat cookies, Oreos, frozen cashew milk desserts, peanut butter, Nilla wafers, Diet Coke, nor fruit baked into pies. Okay, yeah. That makes sense. I’ve been through this before and knew that all of those (except peanut butter – that was kind of a nasty surprise) were on the prohibited list. So yesterday saw my first day of detox from sugar. And my body isn’t freaking out.

Yet.

After party clean upAs we’ve discussed before (a really long time ago) the human brain reacts to sugar in the same way that it reacts to cocaine and sex. The pleasure centers light up and throw a giant party. Once the sugar is all used up, the pleasure centers begin to sulk, fuss and demand another party. My cells aren’t demanding a party yet; but, they are beginning to get a little disgruntled. Here’s what I ate yesterday:

Budget 1,264   Food Intake 1,209
Breakfast: 416
Tofurky Italian Sausage 1 Piece (280 cal)
German Sauerkraut 1 Cup (56 cal)
Beets 1 Cup (80 cal)
Lunch: 154
Creamy Sweet Potato and Vegetable Stew 1 Serving (104 cal)
Beets 1/4 Cup (20 cal)
Plums, Fresh, 2 1/8″ 1 Each (30 cal)
Dinner: 270
Oatmeal with flax meal and chia seeds 2/3 Serving (180 cal)
Banana, Fresh, Sml, 6″ To 6 7/8″ Long 1 Each (90 cal)
Snacks: 369
Deluxe Mixed Nuts 1 1/2 Ounces (255 cal)
Hummus, Roasted Pine Nut 2 Tablespoons (50 cal)
Cucumber, Fresh, Med 2 Cups (31 cal)
Asparagus, Spears, Cooked 10 Each (33 cal)

My nutrient breakdown was about:

Fat – 48.7g, 37.7% of calories (USDA – 20-35% of calories)
Saturated fat – 8.3g
cholesterol – 0g (no animal products means no cholesterol)
Sodium – 3088.4mg (USDA – 2300mg)
Carbohydrates – 117.4g, 40.3% of calories (USDA – 130g, 45-65% of calories)
Fiber – 32.5g (USDA – 25.2g)
Sugar – 34g (There is no USDA number; however, the Heart Association recommends 25g for females)
Protein – 64g, 22% of calories (USDA – 46g, 10-35% of calories)
USDA daily calorie recommendations for females my age:
1800 for sedentary, 2000 for moderately active, 2200 for active

I was a little over in my fat consumption (all those nuts) and a little over in my sugar intake (beets. Beets, man.) However, it was a fairly balanced day. For the next few days, I will likely remain a little high in my sugar intake since I’ll be eating fruits to try to keep my pleasure centers from going into full-on rebellion. After my body gets used to having nutrient- and fiber-rich foods again, I’ll be able to back off the fruit a little.

Until then, I’ve got to go check the refrigerator. I’m just certain I bought blueberries yesterday.

Food, Habits, Thought Patterns

Dr. Allie’s Weight Loss Strategies

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As I promised yesterday, here is the list of Dr. Allie’s weight loss recommendations. You can bet that this will be up on my refrigerator right after I finish typing it in to share with you!

  • No starches, sugars, carbs – cereal, break, bagels, rolls, pasta, rice potatoes, sweets, baked goods. No processed foods! Nothing out of a box or bag. Only eat foods that were alive – plants and healthy animals.
  • strategy cycleFruits, vegetables, eggs, chicken, fish, turkey, salad, nuts, seeds, yogurt, beans, lentils, olive oil, tea, berries. Hot peppers and spices!
  • Eat breakfast. Eggs, berries, Greek yogurt, bananas, almonds, pumpkin seeds, oats. Best bread is Ezekiel Sprouted Bread.
  • Drink plenty of water and tea. No soda, juice, milk. No diet soda.
  • No 1-2 big meals daily. Must eat small meal every 3-4 hours.
  • Nothing after 6-7PM. No bedtime or midnight snacks.
  • Baked, no fried. No greasy, fast food.
  • Snacks – almonds/walnuts, carrots, pumpkin seeds, yogurt, apple.
  • No sauce, dressing, ketchup, butter. Instead use cinnamon/turmeric.
  • Sleep enough – over 7 hrs is best.
  • Take Vitamin D3 2000 units, fish oil and probiotics daily.
  • Must exercise at least 30 minutes daily. Both walking and weights. Must be intense, and you must sweat. Not just walking on treadmill while reading or watching TV.
  • For weight loss – best time to exercise is in morning, before breakfast.
  • Also you should walk daily after eating dinner.
  • Every time you put something in your mouth, as yourself: “Is this going to help me reach my goals?”

That is the list that the doctor gave me yesterday. The list differs just a little from what I did when I successfully lost the weight before; but, it doesn’t differ that much. (Still, I will be asking him about sweet potatoes, oatmeal and peanuts, which do not appear on his list but which I ate in portion controlled ways during The Great Reduction.) I can tell you from experience that this stuff works. It’s not fancy; it’s not glamorous; and, it’s not immediate. However, it is a healthful, sane approach and it does work.

And, if you’re going to live the next six months anyway, why not give this a go and live those months a little (or maybe even a lot) more healthfully?

Relationships, Thought Patterns

That Time Garth and Mick Got It Right

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Years ago, Garth Brooks thanked God for Unanswered Prayers. I’ve often felt the same way even though I don’t believe in unanswered prayers. After all, “no” is an answer.

I’ve told you before that I’m a single mom (acknowledging that “single” is hardly “alone” given my fantastic support network of family and friends). What I didn’t tell you is that I’ve been a single mom since pretty much about three days before I found out I was pregnant with him. That was the night that his father broke up with me. I know you’re probably wondering; so, I’ll go ahead and answer the question: no, I did not get pregnant on purpose. However, I wasn’t all that worried about it, either, since I thought our relationship was solid and had a future. I thought that right up until he came back from a trip and announced that he didn’t want to see me anymore. (I’ve had that happen a few times in my life – been blindsided with a break-up. I guess maybe either I don’t read men as well as I should or I don’t pay close enough attention. Whatever. That’s why I have cats now.)  To be honest, I prayed long and hard that he would love me and want us to be a family. When it didn’t look like that was going to happen, I prayed long and hard that he would want to be a father to our child. That didn’t really happen, either. It was my belief at the time that fatherhood just wasn’t for him at that point in his life. The answer to my prayers was no. I was heartbroken and just plain broken for a very long time.

That was 22 years ago – 22 years of rebuilding a stronger version of my Self, of scratching out a living, of trying to be a good mother, of recovering from various catastrophes and of watching my son grow into an amazing human being. His father and I have spoken on three occasions during those years when I initiated contact – twice for legal reasons and once because my son wanted to know if he had siblings.

To say that I was surprised to see his name in my email list in February is putting it mildly. The failure of that relationship is one of the most painful periods of my life; so, quite honestly, I didn’t know whether to vomit or cry when I saw it….so I did both. Then I put on my big girl panties and read the email. In short, he wanted to try to establish some kind of relationship with my son. I was so overwhelmed that I threw up and cried again before I composed myself enough to make some kind of response, which was that my son is grown and any relationship would have to be his decision, not mine. I forwarded the message to my son and told his father that I hoped that they could work something out.

Now, please understand that although this was the real desire of the more developed part of my brain, the petty, childish part was saying all manner of nasty, hateful things. However, we’ve talked about that part of my personality before and that she spends most of her time getting put in the corner – deservedly so. After forwarding the email, I spoke with my son about his feelings on the matter, my feelings and my opinion on how he should proceed. Since I’ve told my son little about that period of time, he doesn’t carry any of the baggage that prompted the rantings of that troll portion of my personality. To prevent his having baggage borne of my perceptions is precisely why I didn’t tell him anything.

So, the men have been talking since Spring and, in September (on his birthday weekend), my son traveled to Dallas to meet his father for the first time. The Henny Penny Mother was worried that my son would be hurt in some way, although the Practical Mother knew that wouldn’t happen. And it didn’t. By all accounts, they had a really good visit. His stepmother baked my son a birthday cake – a personal touch I thought was really kind. They are defining and creating their relationship as they go on and, you know what? I am truly thrilled. My son had a family he didn’t know; but, that is changing. He will soon be meeting grandparents, an aunt and cousins. His world is widening and, I think, becoming more complete. And you know what else? I am freer, as well.

The universe didn’t come crashing down with the contact that I both feared and craved, and I didn’t revert to the woman I once was. I’m still the strong, independent woman I’ve striven to be – the woman I actually like, the woman I don’t believe I’d be if I’d gotten what I prayed for all those years ago. So, like Garth, I’m thankful for those “unanswered” prayers; and Mick was right – you can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime you just might find you get what you need.