LOA

After studying my past entries, I find that I am in a better emotional state.  Sometimes, we just need to get to the root of a problem before we can come to terms with it and find an effective solution.

So WeightWatchers is going great!  I’ve been on it for 17 days and I’ve lost 14.1lbs.  I feel awesome – my clothes fit me better… I feel prettier!  My confidence level is at an all-time high.  For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have a drive.

So a few years ago, my aunt/GodMother introduced me to “The Secret.”  I watched the movie and read the book, and it made a lot of sense to me.  However, it took about a month-long of listening to the audio CD in my car everyday for it to really sink in.  I recognize “The Secret,” or the law of attraction (LOA) as my reality.  While, in theory, this is a very simple concept, practicing it all day everyday is a whole other story.  How do you constantly remind yourself to think positive?  How, when you are a very thoughtful, strategic person, do you ignore the negative when everything you’ve learned up until this point has taught you to look at both sides of the coin?  How do you analyze something when you are supposed to ignore the alternative to what you want?  This is my problem.

I am a Libra.  Now, I don’t believe that each zodiac sign is true to every individual, but I am a true Libra as far as the justice/equality characterization.  I like to see all sides of a situation… this makes me a very indecisive person.  It takes me a while to really figure out what I want.  When communicating a problem or scenario, I can get lost in the debate of a topic and completely forget to make my point… or settle on one at all for that matter.  On the bright side, I am an excellent problem-solver, but when it comes to the LOA, you have to know what you want.  You have to decide on something, believe it to be, and it will be.  Well, while my brain is analyzing all the reasons why it could NOT be, I am losing focus on bringing it to me.  How do you quiet a thoughtful mind?  How do you decide on something and focus all your energy into it without contemplating alternatives?  How do I not try to figure out all the ways it can possibly come to me and just believe with unwavering faith that it’s coming regardless of route?  Once I figure this out, I will be a master of the LOA.  I have enough emotion to put into what I want… it’s the focus that fucks me up.

This will be another step in my journey… learning to focus my thoughts and desires.

Let’s see… what are some ways to focus your attention throughout the day on what you WANT instead of what you don’t?  “The Secret” suggests things like vision boards.  Basically, you make up a poster or a collage of the things you want.  Find pictures or things that make you focus on the things you want to bring into your life and place them in a spot where you’ll see them everyday.  While you are looking at your vision board, imagine already having these things and feel grateful for them.

Okay… so when am I supposed to do this?  I lead a rather busy life.  I rarely sleep in the same bed two nights in a row and I’m always in my damn car.  My whole job is basically driving to and from clients’ homes or to and from my home and my fiancé’s home.  Perhaps I could make something for my car?  What a distraction that would be.  You know what the first thing on my vision board is going to be when I finally find a place for one?  My own home.  A place where I can keep all my shit together in one place, sleep in my own bed every single night (preferably next to my fiancé), and look at my damn vision board in the same place every single day.

Focus.  I will focus on the things I want and feel grateful for having them.  Until next time…

Men... can't live with or without 'em

In seventh grade, my family got a computer and after a lot of begging, my mom agreed to get us hooked up with AOL.  Like a whole lot of teenagers back then, I eventually became addicted to the internet.  One day, in a random chat room in 7^th grade, I met a boy from Arizona.  We chatted about everything.  Our friendship went through a lot of ups and downs over the years, but looking back, I can see that it was probably one of the most important relationships in my life.  I didn’t speak to my peers in person by this point, so communicating to this boy who would never really know me came easily.  In a lot of ways, I owe him a great deal of gratitude.

I was the type of girl who just loved boys.  I loved them in all sizes, colors, creeds… my most favorite boys at the time were in boy bands, however, because the ones I knew in real life sucked.  But this friend who was a boy gave me a certain degree of assurance.  I idolized boys and all they ever did was make fun of me and cut me down.  This boy saw a good friend in me.  Of course I had girlfriends, but I held boys up on a pedestal.  Looking back, this relationship helped keep me grounded.  It’s the reason I didn’t give up altogether.  I had something to look forward to.  I would turn out to be the girl who was best friends with her boyfriend, and in turn, my relationships would be the long-lasting kind.  I just had to have patience.  I didn’t really want a boyfriend, anyway.  Not yet.  A hopeless romantic, I even declined games of Spin the Bottle and came with a disclaimer when it came to Truth or Dare (it was a rule of mine – I’ll play, but I’m not kissing anybody!)  I wanted the excitement and the memory of a REAL first kiss.  One from a boy that really liked (maybe even loved) me.  This was an instinct I knew I could trust.  I didn’t want to cheat myself of meaningful experiences.  Perhaps this way, my experience came slower, but the reward was that my heart was in each one.

My first kiss was memorable.  I was in 11^th grade and the boy even loved me!  Maybe I didn’t love him, but I trusted him.  I liked the way he loved me, admiring me from afar all those years.  I wanted it to be the fairytale ending… I wanted to love him… but I knew it wasn’t going to happen.  I broke up with him after about three months.  This experience, too, did wonders for my self-esteem.  I am so grateful to have had that experience with such a kind and caring boy.  Even though I would never love him, I would always be grateful for what he was to me at the time.  He was my first real boyfriend… one I could actually talk to.  It was a confirmation that just because most of the boys I knew hated me, it didn’t mean that every boy was the same.

The only friendships that I currently still value and maintain from high school are with boys.  Boys are so much less dramatic than girls.  They are better at keeping secrets (possible because they don’t care about them as much as girls do) and they are less likely to get mad at you for whatever reason (girls are notorious for getting pissy if you look at them the wrong way or your joke offends them).  Overall, I just get along better with guys.  It was a lonely time when I was afraid to talk to them.  High school, though some people hate it, I loved it.  I learned so much.  While I was still afraid to talk to the boys that I actually had crushes on, I made some great friends who did a world of good for my esteem.

Looking back, going to an all-girl’s college at Rutgers University sounds like the dumbest decision a girl like me could have ever made.  But I’d made it… Douglass College’s campus was gorgeous!  I loved everything about it… until I actually moved in.  All girl dorms?  Really?  I can’t stand most girls… what was I thinking?!  Thank God for Marching Band, though – I became friends with some freshman girls I actually had things in common with… although our campus was not one of them.  They lived in adjacent buildings across the river.  About a half hour’s bus ride on a good day.  I stayed there a lot.  I even had a boyfriend for two weeks in the beginning… he was a weirdo, but for some reason (let’s call it insanity) I found him intriguing.  The more I got to know him, though, the stranger and even more annoying he became.  But dating him was apparently written in the stars because through him, I met my first serious boyfriend.

We started dating in April of 2003.  He was the kind of guy who always was better friends with girls.  He originally had a thing for one of my friends at the time, but we hung out more and more and somehow, it turned into an almost four year relationship.  This relationship, no matter how damaged it was, was one of my greatest lessons of all time.

He broke up with me about three months after we moved in together.  We were both 22 years old and had just started school at Rowan University.  We spent all of our time together.  I made no time for friends.  I only spoke to other people when I was at work, or when we hung out with his friends or our families.  I made him my whole world.  We fought a lot.  I didn’t think about why.  I knew he was the man I was going to marry, but I was so unhappy.  But again, I didn’t think about why.  The break-up seamed so out of nowhere to me.  I made him say the words while we were out to dinner after class at TGI Friday’s.  I could tell he wanted to say something, but I hadn’t known it would be that.  We had broken up once before, but this time I knew it was for good.  We talked and cried into the night.  He had work all day the next day, so I called a friend and got all of my shit packed and my parents came to help me move home.  He had no idea.  I just didn’t live there anymore when he got home.  We still saw each other every now and then, but eventually after a couple of months, he surprised me with a new girlfriend.  I knew I couldn’t keep holding on.  I threw myself into my friends.  Eventually, I got over him.  I learned probably the most important lesson of my life.

I needed to live for me.  I had no idea that up until that point, I hadn’t.  I lived for him.  I ignored a lot of the things I needed to do and was unfulfilled.  I was 18 when we started dating.  I hadn’t had the experiences I wanted from college.  He left after that first year, and a lot of my time was spent travelling to see him.  I left Rutgers after my second year because I was unhappy without him there.  I let him define who I was and what I wanted.  I had blinders on.  Letting him go was the first time I thought about what I truly wanted.  The life I truly wanted.  The kind of man I truly wanted.  Being without him, I could be myself.  Toward the end of our relationship, I wanted to keep him so badly that I lost who I was completely.  I thought I was keeping him happy.  I had no idea that I’d lost myself in the process.  That is why our relationship ended.  I vowed again to never let a man define me.  I promised my friends I would never lose touch with them because of a man.  What was it about a man that distracted me so much?  Maybe it was still that pedestal thing?  Maybe I trust them too much?  Maybe I hated myself.

Maybe I still don’t like or trust myself.  It’s become a vicious cycles of building myself up and slowly crumbling down into the little lost pieces of myself.  This time, I’m going to catch it just in time.

This time, the change is certain.  I will complete myself.  If you aren’t full, how can you give yourself to a lover?  If you don’t love yourself, how can you expect someone else to?

Thankfully, this time – my man isn’t a quitter.

A sweaty day in September

Growing up was hard for me, never feeling like I truly belonged anywhere.  Of course my family loved me and gave me a good home, but there was always something just a little bit off.  I remember the exact day everything changed.  It was the first day of 8th grade.  I had gotten my first period at the end of 7th grade and over the summer, puberty had NOT been kind.  I got really bad acne, which made my whole face red and I couldn't even go a full day without oily hair, even if I showered that morning (I fit that greasy Italian stereotype perfectly).  As a hormone-ridden teenage girl, I grew self-conscious.  But the cherry on the sundae was that first day of 8th grade.  In the new outfit my mom had gotten me with my new sneakers and long hair, from the moment I walked onto the bus that first day... my armpits started sweating... and 15 years later, they have yet to stop.  This was the first day of what would be many many many years of hating my body and myself.

I was always a bit different, even from birth.  I was born with a genetic metabolic disorder called Phenylketonuria (or PKU for short).  Actually, I have a mild form of it known as Hyperphenylalanemia, but same basic principle... Instead of lacking the enzyme that breaks down phenylalanine (enzyme found in protein and artificial sweeteners - go ahead, look at the warning on the back of your pack of sugar-free gum.  I'll wait.....  you find it yet?... yep!  I'm a phenylketonuric.), my enzyme that breaks down phenylalanine is slower than the average person's.  Overall, this disorder really isn't a big deal, as long as it is caught at birth and a strict low-protein diet is enforced throughout development.  If left untreated, the brain is damaged and children become retarded, for lack of a better word.  (Thank you, baby Jesus, for being born in a time when all babies are screened at birth!)  So growing up, my diet was always different than other kids'.  I was jealous, essentially.  My brother, who is only 18 months younger than I am, I was most jealous of.  I remember, he could eat whatever he wanted.  Scrambled eggs?  A second helping of cereal with milk?  Sure!  And man oh man, if you saw how pathetic my sad little peanut butter and jelly sandwich was with the teensiest  smear of pb compared to his?  What was the point?!  Thanks for the jelly sandwich, Mom!  Eventually, when I was almost 7, my parents had another baby, a boy - and he had PKU just like me.  But the damage had been done.

I was always hungry.  Maybe it was the fact that protein is what keeps you full?  Maybe it was that I wanted what I couldn't have?  Either way, I began to love food.  When this first started, I was young.  I loved the fruits and veggies my parents got.  We rarely had junk food in the house, but when we did, it was chips.  My daddy likes chips.  Sour cream and onion was my favorite.  Or BBQ fritos... mmmmm :)  They never lasted long, though, even though we had to ask for food in my house.  We weren't allowed to help ourselves for a long time.  Looking back now, though, maybe it was because of my PKU, but I thought it was just to be mean.  I was always hungry!  I wasn't fat, though.  Maybe I was a little chubby in the midsection compared to some of my friends, but fat was a bit drastic.

My best friend lived across the street from me.  She was 2 years younger than me in age, but 3 years younger than me in school and 1,000 lbs skinnier.  I had a huge crush on her brother when we met, who was in my grade.  He too was 1,000 lbs skinnier than me.  Next to them, I looked like the beached whale that the boys in the neighborhood started calling me, even though I wasn't.  There was one boy in my neighborhood in particular, you know - the one who ended up in juvie a handful of times even before high school... he was the one who started with the name-calling.  All the boys thought it was hilarious.  Even my nextdoor neighbors who had been my friends since we moved in... even my brother at one point.  Apparently they didn't care that the "Pillsbury Dough Girl" had feelings.  Unfortunately, I cared what these boys thought of me.  Hell, I'd had a crush on one of them since second grade and worshipped the ground he walked on!  I began to see what they saw.  The fat slob of a girl who was best friends with the skin-and-bones girl who'd no doubt grow up to be a model (which she did actually dabble in a bit in high school).  What would I be?  Unfortunately at the time, I didn't realize I was the one in control.

I shouldn't have cared what those dumb ass boys thought.  I had a pretty face and pretty blue eyes... my mom always told me I had lips to die for... so what if I was a little thick around the middle?  But my mom wasn't fat.  My cousin whom I've looked up to my whole life was a freakin' model herself.  No one else I was close to in my family was chunky like I was except for one cousin, and her mom - my dad's sister.  I take after my dad's side... the side we hardly saw except for maybe holidays, and even that stopped eventually.  I just wasn't a dainty little girl.  I wasn't a monster by any means, but I wasn't little.  I was "healthy."  But regardless of genetics and boys I lived near, I still had hope.  So what if that stupid ass boy I was in love with thought the ground shook when I ran... there were lots of cute boys to admire in school, where my shithead neighbors thankfully weren't in my classes :)

However, needless to say, by the time 8th grade started, the groundwork had been laid out for me.  Years of name-calling and feeling large could have been overcome, perhaps.  But then, my own body betrayed me.  Pimples and grease and sweaty (though, not smelly - thank GOD) armpits... and to top it off, my boobs were not growing in evenly.  Are you fucking kidding me?!  At this point, there's no esteem to be salvaged.  8th grade was a nightmare.  Aside from one boy who had the hots for me since 7th grade and left an anonymous love note in my locker (and was later my boyfriend and first kiss when we were 16), I can't remember one good thing about my last year of middle school.

One year out of so many.  One horrible year changed my whole world... and somehow I'm still affected by it.  Maybe it's because I can still fill a bucket with the sweat my armpits produce in a day?  Or the fact that my right tit will just never catch up to the left...  There is a place deep inside me where I can't stand myself.  I feel cheated.  I feel cheated of positive reinforcement in my developing years... the years that help mold you into the adult you're going to be.  Of course, there had been a few "oh you look beautiful!" 's... but there were so many more "Jen, are you sure you want to wear that?" 's or "Jen, are you sure you want to eat that?" 's.  I did want to eat that... and I did want to wear that... but apparently I shouldn't.  I couldn't trust myself.  And for that, I didn't like myself.

I didn't trust a single instinct I had.  I became silenced.  Afraid of the words coming out of my mouth betraying me like my body did.  In my mind, I could never be like the other girls in my class.  Some were so confident and pretty in their tight shirts and baggy jeans.  I wore a sweatshirt whenever I could to hide not only my lopsided boobs, but the giant wet stains under my arms, always bigger on the right side, as if to make up for my small boob and even things out.  I got taller this year and looked less chubby in the midsection... not that anyone could tell in my hoodie.  I wished I could disappear altogether.

Thankfully, I didn't.  I had a lot to learn.

Introduction

So, welcome to my blog, I suppose.  This isn't exactly a blog that I am writing for the benefit of anyone other than myself, so if you are bored, disgusted, offended, etc. by anything you happen to stumble upon here, by all means leave and never return.  Like I said, this is for me.

reJENeration...  Obviously this is a play on my name, but I also thought it was very fitting.  I seem to be at a place in my life where I need to change something drastic about myself.  I'm not exactly sure when it started, but all of a sudden I find myself in this never ending downward spiral.  I think it may have started when I quit my job of over 5 years in the restaurant business and essentially lost the daily contact I had with the people who kept me sane.  Sane?  Maybe distracted?  Grounded?  Confident?  Either way, I'm thinking that the lack of interaction between myself and a large diverse group of people has had negative effects on my self-esteem and well-being (which actually blows my mind, because I am rather antisocial...).  While returning to the restaurant industry is not an option I wish to explore (sorry RL, but I'm so over it), I am attempting to satiate my needs for personal growth and expression elsewhere.  Not only am I starting this blog, but I have also rejoined Weight Watchers (yes, I'm a big girl).  I've become rather unhappy in this rotund, foreign body and it affects me in all aspects of my life.

This blog may turn into a psychological evaluation of myself, but in the end, I'm counting on it helping me become the person I want to be instead of the damaged person that I am.  That is what I am hoping for, anyway.  From the outside, (aside from the pudge and poundage) I bet I look like someone who has her shit somewhat together. I'm a college graduate who is still working towards another degree, I have a full-time job with benefits, I come from a great family, and I'm engaged to be married to the funniest, most handsome and kind-hearted man I've ever met...

...but looks can be deceiving.  I am unhappy.  Worst of all, I feel so guilty for being unhappy. I personally know so many people whose shit is much worse off than mine.  I put on my brave, strong face for them because they need me to be a friend who understands, or a friend who can help guide them through their heartache (cuz God knows I've been there), or a friend who they can look up to.  But inside, I'm just as broken, if not more so, than they are.  While part of me is that confident, wise woman my friends see, there is a whole other side of me that I rarely let anyone get to know... even myself.

I'm hoping unleashing this other side of Jen will help me to get to know myself better and in turn, I can then work on healing myself.  I've always been good at putting things down on paper.  Spoken words, I'm not so good with, but writing has always been my favored form of expression.  

And so the journey begins...