Well, I’m home after a few days in Queensland, visiting ThirtiesGirl and my three grandchildren. They are growing up without me, mostly. Every time I see them, they’re taller, and more independent. Grandma snuggles are going the way of the rotary phone. The two boys are happy to hang out near me, but aren’t too keen on cuddles any more. I am allowed to hold a foot or ankle and provide reiki in that way.
The girl, age 7.5 going on 23, is getting too cool for cuddles also. The first couple of days, she kept close to me, but as the days wore on, I became less and less interesting and it was suddenly fun to ignore me, give me vague answers, and not want cuddles at all.
This is the way of kids getting older. They don’t want, or can’t admit they do want Grandma cuddles and time. I know that. It’s still painful though. I have to let it happen. It’s normal. They’re not babies any more.
I do think it’s a shame though. Australians, on the whole, aren’t a super huggy bunch to begin with, and the push is always there, culturally, to be cool, to be tough, and not need affection, love, or loads of attention.
Maybe they see the time I take away from them to decompress my autistic self, and be alone as me not wanting to be around them. I do, but I can only do so much and endure so much noise before my nervous system starts sending out the ‘we’re getting super itchy, scratch until you draw blood’, ‘bite your nails’, and ‘bite the inside of your mouth’ signals. All stimming things that I do when I’m disregulated and stressed.
There’s no other solution than getting somewhere quiet, or at least away from their immediate needs.
Anyway, I’m home. Thanks to my Loops ear plugs I survived the flight and noise, and I’m now in bed, tucked up in soft pyjamas.
Tomorrow I’ll fully unpack and make sure everything is put away, and my toiletries bag is restocked ready for my next trip.
Oh, the quiet pleasure of being able to choose from my whole tea pantry instead of the 20 or so tea bags I took with me.
The Beverly Hills Diet; Dukan Diet; Paleo; Keto; Fast 800; CSIRO diet; Dr Gundry; Dr Axe; Mediterrean diet; Noom; Isogenics; Isotonix; Atkins; South Beach; 5:2; The Zone; Grapefruit diet; Raw food.
I could go on.
We have a world of abundance in western culture. A mountain of food in the home, at the shops, in cafes.
Very rarely do we meet up to walk, go to the gym, swim together, or just watch a sunset. It’s a coffee date, a cafe catch up, business breakfasts, dinner parties, picnics. Food everywhere.
I consult with a naturopath, a regular GP, an integrative doctor, recently a sleep specialist, and also see a psychologist.
The first four have outright said that I should lose weight.
For the record, I am: 60 years old, 157cm tall(5’2″), and I weigh 71kg(11.1 stone). I have Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, an artificial shoulder, some arthritis, some food sensitivities, leaky gut syndrome, autism, ADHD, and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. I wear glasses, and my genotype is Celtic: I am built like a peasant who is made to milk a cow and carry it uphill afterwards. I have an hourglass figure, and yes I do weigh more than I would like. I have cellulite, very fair skin, freckles, and dark brown eyes.
I am on an anti-depressant for low-moderate depresssion that used to be chronically bad, and for anxiety that has gotten worse with age. It can make you gain weight. I am on a blood pressure medication that makes you gain weight. I take a 1/2 sleeping pill, which can make you gain weight.
I do yoga, belly dance, walk, Active Seniors at my gym, and have taken on burlesque. I swim on occasion, and last weekend, I kayaked for an hour. I can dance for over two hours at a retro band concert. I am mostly stronger than ThirtiesPerson.
I have been told that if I lose weight:
I will sleep better, although sleep apnoea is linked to weight gain. (Tackle the sleep apnoea in ways that my neurodiversity can cope with, and when I get better sleep, watch my weight go down. Not the other way around, fuckers.)
my knees won’t creak. (Weight loss = arthritis reversal and cartilege regrowth now?)
my feet won’t ache. (Weight loss doesn’t sort out high arches.)
I won’t sweat so much when I work out. (It’s called working out. Sweat, and buckets of it is normal.(
I won’t need anti-chafing gel for chub rub. (Well, at least that would be nice.)
I won’t need specialist bras for my size 16F boobs. (I have needed specialist bras as a 14D.)
My mental health will be better. (Will it? Will the weight loss be all about shedding 25 years of trauma, and suddenly having ThirtiesPerson not dependent on me? Will it be about shedding those unexpected 60 kilos of offspring that have so far caused 31 years of stress?)
I won’t crave sugar. (Oh honey, I will always crave sugar. It’s one of my few pleasures.)
I’ll look so much better. (Better than what exactly?)
Uh huh. These have been said to me mostly by women, medical professionals who are in their late 30’s. They are Asian, have Mediterranean background, and all are of slim build in the first place. None have gone through menopause.
I went to one doctor about an ear infection and before we could get to the matter at hand, I was weighed, and it was suggested I pop next door to the weight loss clinic. Only after she’d written me a referral did we talk about the fact that I’d just thrown up in her sink from the ear infection.
I AM SHITTED OFF AT FAT PHOBIA, AND FAT SHAMING. Walk five miles in my shoes before you say it’s the solution to everything.
To add salt to the wound, starting burlesque classes has brought up all my horrible self-loathing, body-hating, cruel self-talk, and sudden thoughts of crawling into a hole to die. Burlesque is a long-term investment in working through my body issues to be okay with who I am. Which is part of a larger working with the help of a psych to be okay with all of me.
I have had the thought of printing off this post, along with my ‘raw, honest pics’ that my offspring took of me this morning, and sending it to each and every one of the medical women I see. Along with a note ‘before you tell me I’m fat, how about you ask me more about my life, my age, my activity levels, and where the stressors are?’
And now it’s back to fruitlessly rubbing coconut oil and grapefruit essential oil on my thighs, because of the slip factor, and because grapefruit can help with fluid retention, and wake up the body cells to do their optimum. Grapefruit oil, do your magical thing! Turn me into Elle McPherson. Or at least help me be at home in this body.
I am so exhausted from lockdown and the threat of covid that I’m changing up this week’s Guidance reading to be just for me. Sorry, magical folx, I can’t extend my energy to encompass anyone else this week. You’ll note that the post is already two days late, due to executive disfunction, exhaustion, and brain fritzing.
The Moon is waxing to Full from Sunday to Tuesday, then waning again through to next Saturday.
Full Moon in Pisces this time around, then waning through Aries, Taurus and Gemini.
There is also the Equinox on Wednesday 22nd. Spring for my Southern Hemisphere, Autumn for the Northern Hemisphere.
What magic can I work this week specifically to address this whole body exhaustion, and mind fritz? Never mind the greater good of the world and magical people? This is MY biggest issue, and I’m sure I’m not alone.
I’m using the Animal Wisdom Tarot as part of my Spring Celebrations, another animal-based deck.
Cow – The Empress. Earth Mother. Is this deck being rude to me? Cow? Really? I know I’ve put on some covid kilos, but sheesh!
Anyway, the Empress speaks to true nurturance. Not the ‘take a bubble bath, drink some wine, eat chocolate, watch Netflix’ stuff recommended by magazines having a self-care themed month. True self care, which is a long term plan. It means saying no, having boundaries, changing things up to get the rest you need. If you’ve been putting off seeing a health or mental health professional, this is the sort of care that’s needed.
The advice to myself here is to slow down even more, be gentle and kind, quit Capricornian pushing. Drift for a while. No harm done if I do. I won’t get a medal for coming out the other side of lockdown with a fully painted house, magnificent garden, decluttered everything. I can Slow Down And Take It Easy.
And with that slowing down, some slow candle gazing, I think. Mindfulness, quiet, calm. That’s truly about all the the energy I have for this week, and The Empress comes forward to say ‘that’s okay’.
Maybe this applies to you, too. Slow down even more, take time. Have the bath if that’s what you want, but Cow advises that it’s time, with the watery full moon upon us, to address our deep needs and emotions. Pisces isn’t the best times to consider boundaries, because watery Pisces has none. Pisces is water without a container, endlessly flowing and spreading. Perhaps wait until the moon is in Taurus for looking at what you want to keep out and away from you. By the time the Moon is waning in Taurus, we could all use that waning energy to say ‘be gone’ to unwanted thoughts, people, and energies.
Here’s hoping I’m feeling a wee bit better next week.
Come on TMS, you’ve gotta help me fight the ongoing lethargy and apathy of lockdown. I had my treatment on Tuesday, but this past week, well, fortnight really, has seen me sleeping longer into the morning, eating a little less, sense of taste diminishing, and enjoyment of life falling back into a light grey cloud. I know a lot of this is situational, because of ongoing lockdown, so I’m going to have to up my game in terms of taking care of myself. This doesn’t mean doing even less, and surrendering myself to endless, mindless reading. It means staying off social media, waking up at 7.30am, and getting enough sunshine. It means moving my body enough. It means breathwork, and mindfulness.
I’ve been very lax with all of those, preferring to skim through books, and house paint. The latter is at least useful.
Spring is here, and my garden is busy, so a healthier action is to get out into it. Macro photography, nature journalling, spring planting. Let the earth have the stress, and maybe I’ll sleep more deeply, and less. I won’t be so dopey during the day.
TMS is essentially doing its job, but it, and I, have an uphill push against the weight of lockdown, pandemic, and the collective mood of fear, depression, and anger.
I still get a wee headache after treatment, but it goes a short while later.
I’ve brought forward my next phone consultation with the in-house psychiatrist, because I’m not getting any better, and I’m not getting any worse, so maybe it’s time to move to a treatment every two weeks, with vigilance to make sure my brain is holding on to the treatments.
I asked the Tuesday clinician if she knows of anyone who ‘graduates’ from treatment, and she said yes. She says some come back after a time for a top-up, as their symptoms have slowly crept back, but she has seen a few go off into their lives with a changed brain. I aim to be one of the latter.
Now, Satya, one of the best things you can do for yourself is adequate water, so go drink some, and have a careful think about how you’re going to order your afternoon to include sunshine, garden time, house painting, and whatever else needs to be done. This morning online poetry group, so you’ve sat all morning. Time to eat, drink, and get active.
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