The scale is a bunch of numbers that mean nothing and everything. That pesky, dangerous box is a booby trap full of good and bad news math. I hate math, I hate the scale. Back in the bun-head ballerina days I would measure myself constantly and then punish or praise accordingly. On punishment days I’d yack. Tis true, tis pathetic, tis my history; a golden nugget that makes me wise and human. However, that box is just that, a small container to cage ourselves. Prison is not sexy. No matter how it looks in the movies, prison is not a place to voluntarily visit.
Food: We adore it, despise it, worship and pray over it. We obsess and curse the voodoo grip it has over us. Food is the worst and best kind of lovah. Just when we think we’ve got it all figured out, stress and/or an emotional poop pie welcomes a malaise that lures us into a state of gluttony. When I used to eat meat I would speed through the drive-through dragging my scratched-up sage voice behind. “STOP! PLEASE! You’re gonna regret it!” she’d shout. “Fuck off, you damn goody goody! I’m chowin’.” Been there? Here’s another one: At a recent CAT scan I got some terrific news. News I should have been very happy about. But since the scale barked numbers that I had never seen before, I couldn’t help but spiral. How the heck did this happen? Where was I when those lbs hijacked my temple?
Let’s focus less on our bodies and more on our perception of our bodies. Aren’t we our harshest critics? Someone or something beat us up long ago. That moment has passed and yet we still carry the Louisville Slugger—and the scale.
For many of us, a healthy weight is not the one we’re constantly chasing. It’s the one we’re at when we say, “Oh, if I could just lose five or ten pounds . . .” When I stop criticizing my numbers I have more free head-space to make and consume better meals.
Have you ever seen a picture of The Venus of Willendorf? Carved over 25,000 years ago, it’s one of our earliest images of the human body. Lady Venus was found covered in red gunk on the banks Danube River, where she was likely made by some groovy locals during “me time” breaks from hunting and gathering. Back in the ice age, fat was in. Those folks appreciated junk in the trunk! A roomy pelvic girdle symbolized the future of the human race.
Extra pounds do not mean that you are a trainwreck. Some medications will stack you up like a human pancake. Do your best to feed yourself the optimum diet as discussed in this book and relax. If the problem is you’re reed thin, there are many sound ways to return to a normal weight. More than likely you are experiencing a temporary symptom of your course of treatment. Grains, beans, nuts and nut butter, avocados, and coconut meat will add back some cushion.
Either toss the scale or use it as a signpost pointing you in the direction of knowledge and discovery. You know if you have a real problem that for health reasons must be addressed. The time to get serious is yesterday.
And while we’re chucking stuff, throw out those stupid magazines that pollute our body image. They create what I call the seesaw effect. One week we’re too thin, the next, too fat. These magazines target and magnify the cellulite on unsus pecting vacationing celebrities. How dare she let down humanity! When we judge Miss Starlet we’re measuring and judging ourselves. We’re contributing to goddess oppression. Free her!
After much trial, error, and Scream Fests (’03, ’04, ’05, ’06, the reunion tour of ’07, and now ’08), this is what I know for sure: Eating is a source of comfort and happiness for everyone! When life is out of control the easiest thing to grab is a snack. Snacks and feedbags = control. When babies realize that they have control over what goes in and out of their bodies, all hell breaks loose. Like everything else, it’s a practice; it’s a life long compassionate experiment. I can’t sever myself from my problems, but I can work to get in front of them, to issue-spot and see them coming a mile away. The rains will pass, and when they do—get back on track. It’s easy to see the neglect and “bad” choices. It’s hard to see the good stuff, to pat ourselves on the back for our triumphs.
When the storm brews it’s a sign that I am out of balance. Great revelation, but the damn storm is coming so what do you do? Prep yourself. Here’s my state of emergency plan:
1. Junk OUT of my cabinets and fridge. I cannot be trusted.
2. Healthy snacks on hand, pre-cut/washed veggies and juice stuff prepped and ready in Tupperware containers.
3. Quick and easy side dishes ready and waiting to accessorize my big nightly salad. Rice pasta, quinoa, sweet potatoes, millet, soba noodles, garden burgers, hummus, Ezekiel bread, manna bread, etc.
4. Other staples, almond butter, tahini, nuts, oil cured olives and raw nuts, organic cold-pressed oils, hemp seeds, flax seeds, avocados, avocados, avocados ...
5. Lots of yummy teas and lemon for my groovy lemonade, which I sip constantly (lemon, water, stevia).
6. Time carved out for smoothie/juice breaks.
7. A wee bit of fruit and healthy sweet treats (even though Dr. Ginger and all my other gurus say that canSer doesn’t like sugar, I do, and I can’t always say no).
8. A clean bathtub to hide in—with candles.
9. My rebounder out and ready for jumping.
10. A long walk ASAP.
Should you date and if so how many dates should you go on before telling someone that you’re a patient survivor?
This is a tough one, and there’s no right or wrong answer. Here’s what I know for sure: You ain’t dead yet, sassy! Why put your romantic life on hold? Would going out and meeting someone of the opposite sex (even for just a chat) make you feel better? If so, then go. You may have to teach him or her that cancer isn’t necessarily a death sentence and that no matter what fun you have smoochin’ in the parking lot they won’t catch it. Be patient, cancer makes us all realize that life isn’t an endless party. However, this doesn’t mean you allow yourself to be a doormat or to feel shame. HELL NO!
Timeless love stories are written when shared respect and adoration bring out the best in each of you. This love nurtures individual growth and builds a solid platform from which both parties can spread goodness in the world. Does the relationship make you better as a unit than you would be separately? If the answer is yes—fantastic! Go roll around!
If you’re not ready to date, relax, take the pressure off. You’ll have plenty o’ time to sow your wild oats when you feel better. Again, trust the voice inside you. And if the person you’re with doesn’t have the backbone to stick it out during your darkest hour, then it’s pink slip time. That’s right, move on. Harsh but true. Genuine lovers don’t drain our energy or create obstacles in our path. The wild ride ain’t worth the costly repair job. This goes for friends as well. Life is short and cancer is hard. You do not have time for babies unless you are raising them. I know it’s painful, but your recovery is crucial. Let nothing stand in your way.
One of my favorite wise women friends gave me solid advice after I got brutally dumped by a man who never saw my worth and didn’t deserve my phenomenal Goddessness. “Girrrrl,” she said with her Louisiana drawl, “bless him, thank him, and send that bastard to the light so you don’t have to drag his tired ass around in your mind.” Amen!
