One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.
-Mary Oliver
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Fifteen
In trying to collect my thoughts and figure out where to begin this blog, I decided I would post whatever was on my mind and heart on the given week and outline this by age.
Fifteen was the age when I lost my fire. My zest for life -- Gone. My dreams and goals became irrelevant and unattainable. The vivacious, always smiling girl who once dreamed of conquering the world, becoming a famous actress and had the world in the palm of her hand, had lost her spark.
At the age of fifteen was when I first realized that my body was imperfect, and my father was not the man who I set on the pedestal all those years before. I don't recall which came first, but I can pinpoint that at the age of 15 was when my dream world came crashing down.
At 15, I was into my fourth year of cheerleading and a sophomore in high school. I cheered both for my school team and on a competitive cheerleading squad. Needless to say, cheerleading was my life. I ate, slept, and breathed it.... and loved every. single. minute. Fifteen is when most people have their awkward time but also really start to figure out who they are and what makes them unique. For me, 15 was when my nickname went from "peanut" to "pudge" and my life truths became defined by my dad's verbal abuse and lies....
I can still remember the day vividly. I came home from cheerleading practice in the spring, and my dad was waiting in the kitchen for me. I said hello and gave him a big hug and started to walk up the stairs to my room when he stopped me. He said, "Ashley, how much do you weigh?" I responded with "I don't know. I don't weigh myself." To which he replied, "You look like you've gained weight; let's go weigh you." At that point my dad was my world; who was I to say no? I was comfortable in my skin. Sure, my metabolism started to fall a little and my thighs had gotten larger due to all of the tumbling and cheerleading, but that's normal right?
Off to he and my mom's bathroom we went. The scale was waiting there for me like it knew to expect me. I got on the scale and waited. The final weight read "108". I'm 5'1". 108 is a good weight for an extremely active and fit, young female right?
Apparently not, according to my dad. He told me, "Your new name is Pudge. I knew you were looking heavy. You could drop five pounds." He and my mom were on the Atkins diet, and he suggested I join them. Again, at the age of 15, who was I to question his knowledge and authority? [In hindsight, I should've been not only questioning him, but should've refused to get on that scale. As they say, hindsight is 20/20 right?]
On the Atkins diet I went. At the age of 15. I started analyzing everything I put in my mouth. No bread, rice, pasta, or potatoes. No sweets either. God forbid I reach for ice cream or a cookie. From that point on, any time I reached for something he didn't approve of, it was "step away from the [insert food name here]! You're only going to get bigger by eating that." This carried on for the next decade.
Sure, he may have had my best interest at heart, but I was FIFTEEN. He knew I hung on his every word, and he used it against me. His plan backfired. After he and my mom went to bed, I would sneak and binge eat whatever I could from the cabinet. Donuts. Cereal. Chips. Everything I wasn't allowed to eat during the day. My weight would creep up, and then I would crash diet to drop the weight. This carried on for the next six years. At my largest, I weighed in at 128 lbs in college. At my lowest, 108 pounds. Yes, you read that right, I never dropped below the original 108 lbs that my dad scoffed at until I started to take control of my life again.
Currently, I'm 28 years old, 98 pounds, and still 5'1". I'm a healthy weight for my frame and size per my doctor and my own sense of self. I do yoga twice a week and am happier than I've ever been in my life. It wasn't until I distanced myself from his verbal abuse that the weight started to naturally fall off. The more I tried to impress my dad, the heavier and unhappier I got. Shopping was a nightmare. I would literally sit in the floor of the dressing room and bawl my eyes out at what was staring back at me. It got to the point where my mom and sisters refused to go shopping with me. I hated everything I tried on. Analyzed every bit of "fat" that was pouring out of my clothes. I was miserable for 10 years. Bathing suit season was awful. I would always try and hide myself when I was around my parents. My dad got my mom in on it too. Both of them would judge and make comments that made me feel as if I was the ugliest, fattest person in the world. "You have a beautiful face Ashley, but no guy is going to want you if you're fat/don't lose some weight."
I wish I could say that was the worst of the verbal abuse, but I can't. That was just the surface of abuse and lies that filled my head until 3 years ago when my journey out began...
[Part 2 of fifteen to come...]
----------------------------------
Fifteen was the age when I lost my fire. My zest for life -- Gone. My dreams and goals became irrelevant and unattainable. The vivacious, always smiling girl who once dreamed of conquering the world, becoming a famous actress and had the world in the palm of her hand, had lost her spark.
At the age of fifteen was when I first realized that my body was imperfect, and my father was not the man who I set on the pedestal all those years before. I don't recall which came first, but I can pinpoint that at the age of 15 was when my dream world came crashing down.
At 15, I was into my fourth year of cheerleading and a sophomore in high school. I cheered both for my school team and on a competitive cheerleading squad. Needless to say, cheerleading was my life. I ate, slept, and breathed it.... and loved every. single. minute. Fifteen is when most people have their awkward time but also really start to figure out who they are and what makes them unique. For me, 15 was when my nickname went from "peanut" to "pudge" and my life truths became defined by my dad's verbal abuse and lies....
I can still remember the day vividly. I came home from cheerleading practice in the spring, and my dad was waiting in the kitchen for me. I said hello and gave him a big hug and started to walk up the stairs to my room when he stopped me. He said, "Ashley, how much do you weigh?" I responded with "I don't know. I don't weigh myself." To which he replied, "You look like you've gained weight; let's go weigh you." At that point my dad was my world; who was I to say no? I was comfortable in my skin. Sure, my metabolism started to fall a little and my thighs had gotten larger due to all of the tumbling and cheerleading, but that's normal right?
Off to he and my mom's bathroom we went. The scale was waiting there for me like it knew to expect me. I got on the scale and waited. The final weight read "108". I'm 5'1". 108 is a good weight for an extremely active and fit, young female right?
Apparently not, according to my dad. He told me, "Your new name is Pudge. I knew you were looking heavy. You could drop five pounds." He and my mom were on the Atkins diet, and he suggested I join them. Again, at the age of 15, who was I to question his knowledge and authority? [In hindsight, I should've been not only questioning him, but should've refused to get on that scale. As they say, hindsight is 20/20 right?]
On the Atkins diet I went. At the age of 15. I started analyzing everything I put in my mouth. No bread, rice, pasta, or potatoes. No sweets either. God forbid I reach for ice cream or a cookie. From that point on, any time I reached for something he didn't approve of, it was "step away from the [insert food name here]! You're only going to get bigger by eating that." This carried on for the next decade.
Sure, he may have had my best interest at heart, but I was FIFTEEN. He knew I hung on his every word, and he used it against me. His plan backfired. After he and my mom went to bed, I would sneak and binge eat whatever I could from the cabinet. Donuts. Cereal. Chips. Everything I wasn't allowed to eat during the day. My weight would creep up, and then I would crash diet to drop the weight. This carried on for the next six years. At my largest, I weighed in at 128 lbs in college. At my lowest, 108 pounds. Yes, you read that right, I never dropped below the original 108 lbs that my dad scoffed at until I started to take control of my life again.
Currently, I'm 28 years old, 98 pounds, and still 5'1". I'm a healthy weight for my frame and size per my doctor and my own sense of self. I do yoga twice a week and am happier than I've ever been in my life. It wasn't until I distanced myself from his verbal abuse that the weight started to naturally fall off. The more I tried to impress my dad, the heavier and unhappier I got. Shopping was a nightmare. I would literally sit in the floor of the dressing room and bawl my eyes out at what was staring back at me. It got to the point where my mom and sisters refused to go shopping with me. I hated everything I tried on. Analyzed every bit of "fat" that was pouring out of my clothes. I was miserable for 10 years. Bathing suit season was awful. I would always try and hide myself when I was around my parents. My dad got my mom in on it too. Both of them would judge and make comments that made me feel as if I was the ugliest, fattest person in the world. "You have a beautiful face Ashley, but no guy is going to want you if you're fat/don't lose some weight."
I wish I could say that was the worst of the verbal abuse, but I can't. That was just the surface of abuse and lies that filled my head until 3 years ago when my journey out began...
[Part 2 of fifteen to come...]
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