On Valentine's Day in 2013, my husband and I celebrated our elopement with family and friends. My step-brother and his (then) wife did not come to the party. (Please take note that I am speaking about my step-brother who is a year younger than I am, *NOT* my half-brother who is 11 years my junior; this distinction is important). I don't really remember the excuse he gave and honestly at the time I didn't really care.
We were never all that close. We had very little in common other than the marriage of our individual parents. He was a trouble-maker, a pathological liar, always causing drama, every few years getting a new girl pregnant, never could hold a job, still lived with his mom; you get the picture. To say that I am his opposite is a vast understatement. He liked to blame all of his issues on the fact that he was adopted (old school closed adoption in the 70s), but I know plenty of adoptees who would take issue with him using that as an excuse to be a fuck-up. People will find excuses for whatever they want, wherever they want.
A few weeks after our reception, he came to my mom and step-dad's home to eat dinner with them and "talk". He told this very convoluted story about him "accidentally" trying to have sex with a minor child (in the family). My mom said the whole time he was talking to them, all of it seemed plausible (he is a pathological liar, after all). But after he left, going over the details in her mind, it just didn't make a lot of sense. She called his (then) wife, who told her the truth. She called the victim, who told her the truth. She chose to believe them, not him.
He had, in fact, orchestrated a series of events, to end up alone with this child. And then tried to have sex with the child. This all had occurred three years prior, but the child had just found the courage (and the voice) to tell someone. His wife was leaving him. A nuclear bomb went off in our family. My mom called him and lit into him about ruining our family and that she was done. None of us have seen or spoken to him since, though we try to maintain relationships with his ex-wife and his children (at least the ones we can see; 4 baby mamas makes it difficult).
The victim's parents had not pressed charges. He didn't have to go to jail. He didn't even have to admit to anyone what he did. When the preacher in his church brought his divorce before his men's group, it was under the guise of him "making a mistake" that he couldn't repair in his marriage. Are you fucking kidding me? I wanted to call him out. I wanted to post flyers on every car in the church parking lot with his photo on it. CHILD MOLESTER. I wanted his shame written across every public space he could possibly come in contact with children. But I was not his victim. Putting him on blast, would also put his victim's shame in the spotlight (at the time). I had nightmares about it, but it was not my place to speak for someone else's pain.
He was banished from our side of the family. He has disappeared from our family before (thanks to a different set of lies and circumstances), but this was permanent. Maybe he didn't realize that, but we did. Since he had disappeared before, it took a few years for extended family (aunts, uncles, cousins) to notice that he hadn't come around for the holidays in a while. My mom and step-dad were ashamed of him and what he did. But they finally came to a place of honesty with the family so they would quit asking about him.
A couple of years ago, one of his children posted something on Facebook that disturbed me to the core. It was a smiling photo of my step-brother, his new girlfriend, and her children (two daughters) and a caption about moving into their new place together. Alarms went off in my head. He must have lied to her about why half of his family doesn't speak to him. He must have lied to her about what happened, or completely omitted what he did. There's no way she knows the truth and allows him to live under the same roof with her babies. No way.
I struggled with what to do. I wanted to write her a letter, but I also didn't want to get involved. Again, I was not the victim. And again his abominable behavior was hidden. I tried to put it out of my mind, but the guilt about not telling this woman what he really is was overwhelming. I would want someone to tell me if I were her, I would want to know the truth. But I am not her. I remained silent and stuck in the place of not really knowing how to handle it.
It has recently come to light that this woman is marrying him. And not only that, but she has been told the truth about what happened. The gory, painful truth directly from the victim's mouth, and from his ex-wife. And her nonchalant response? "Well, I had something similar happen to me." You had something similar happen to you, and you don't think enough of your daughters to protect them from the same fate? I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand.
How many people in your life (men and women) have told you of being abused as children? How many of their abusers were family? How many abusers never had to pay for it or even admit it? And this person, this gentle soul who's childhood was marred with unspeakable horror, just has to live with it? And try to make a life after it? And try to overcome the shame, and hurt, and learn to trust people while on shaky ground (at best) for the rest of their lives? And there this abuser is, just walking through life with the ability to do it again and again, and just left to the assumption that the next victim (and the next, and the next) will just swallow their shame down and sweep those deeds under another rug to be hidden forever?
You know, I am a big proponent of therapy. And I have the belief that any person can choose (or not choose) wellness and progress. I do believe in the possibility of rehabilitation for someone who has molested a child. But that will never happen if they never have to see a therapist, or even admit what they did, or acknowledge that it was wrong. The cycle will just continue.
I no longer have to live the with guilt of not telling this woman about what he did. I don't have to warn her because she has been warned. Now I sit in the uncomfortable reality of the choice this woman is making, despite every indication not to. I absolutely cannot understand why any person would knowingly put their child in this fucked-up situation just to be in a relationship with a man. And I never will.
Sunday, July 15, 2018
Wednesday, July 11, 2018
Fleur De Lis
I have created rewards in my mind for myself for losing weight as long as I can remember. More often than not, they were a food reward (I know, I know) of a spectacular cheat day at one of my favorite restaurants. Of course, those days are over since eating in a restaurant with my husband is mostly just... well... awkward.
You are taking up the time (and table) of a server with a check that amounts to one appetizer or one meal. We aren't supposed to drink anything while we eat, and we usually have leftovers from just the one thing. There is inevitably this weird vibe from the staff that something is wrong with the food that is just easiest to avoid in the first place.
Anyways, I digress. About six years ago, I decided that the next large tattoo I wanted was Ganesha, the Hindu god who is known as the remover of obstacles. As some sort of motivation for myself, I also decided that I wasn't getting it until I lost weight. I didn't set in my mind how much weight I needed to lose, I just couldn't have the tattoo until I lost it.
I still don't have a Ganesha tattoo. I had weight loss surgery, and I have lost 96 pounds from my highest weight to where I am now. But I guess that isn't enough to deserve my reward? I don't have an explanation for it except that although I did lose a lot of weight, I am still not in the normal range on the BMI chart. My weight loss surgeon would not call me a success story because I don't weigh 135.
The thing is, I am not ever going to weigh 135. I don't even want to weigh 135. The lowest adult weight I have seen on the scale was in the 170s and I didn't like my body when I was there because I felt it was too deflated. I actually wanted to gain some weight after that, which I did, I just overachieved.
Anyways, I am getting off topic. The point of this blog is that I want to have a tummy tuck. The plastic surgeon I saw for a consultation suggested something called a "Fleur de Lis" procedure where you basically have a vertical and a horizontal scar. The shape of the skin they remove is (in general) the shape of the stylized lily you probably recognize from the New Orleans Saints logo.
They remove skin from the middle that pulls everything in from the sides, as well as the loose skin (going out to either side) from the bottom. I never thought I would have (or even want) something like this done. My husband and I had surgery to lose weight for our health. I have already found my life partner so who cares what my deflated stomach looks like?
That was all fine and dandy until I almost died in 2016 and had to have the exploratory abdominal surgery and the shit bag. After it was removed last November, I have a horizontal scar where the stoma resided, as well as a vertical scar that extends from three inches above my belly button all the way down. Which, again, who cares - it's just a scar and I am still alive.
However, the tight tissue of a scar right down the middle of a belly of loose skin creates what I can only describe as "front butt". It makes finding flattering pants pretty difficult. In addition, where the stoma used to be, I have hernia repair mesh over my abdominal muscles. The skin hanging and pulling on this mesh is painful with every step I take. I thought it would ease up at some point, but I am 8 months out from surgery and I have come to terms with the fact that this is just part of my new normal.
I could learn to live with front butt, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life in pain on a daily basis because of loose skin. The tummy tuck would fix both. Here is where we come full circle (and the beginning of this blog seems less random). In my mind, I don't deserve to have it done.
In my mind, I am not a weight loss success story. In my mind, if I haven't lost all the weight I need to lose, then I am not ready for the tuck to fix my skin. The thing is, I am at the stable weight I was at before I got sick in 2016. And I have been there for three months. But for whatever reason, it is not enough. In my mind, I need to lose ten more pounds. Why ten pounds? Who fucking knows. If I lost ten more pounds, it would be my lowest adult weight (outside of when I was ill).
I question myself about this all the time. Why don't you think you deserve this? What about that ten pounds makes a difference? If it is so important, why do you keep cheating on your diet and not losing the ten pounds? Because in addition to deciding I need to lose this arbitrary amount of weight, I am also not sticking to keto and essentially self-sabotaging my efforts to get there.
I lose a couple of pounds after a week of sticking to my eating plan. Then I eat ice cream sandwiches for a few days and gain the few pounds back. I have gained and lost the same pounds for weeks by doing this. The thing is, I know if I just stick to the keto, it works for me. So what gives?
At the end of the day, I think this goes back to my lack of self-worth. I would be 100% supportive of my husband having skin removal surgery if he chose to do so. He deserves it. He has earned it. But when it comes to doing the same thing for myself, I balk at spending the money. Or I make arbitrary goals for losing ten pounds, then do things to ensure I don't. Or I talk myself out of having the surgery at all because I am still "fat". I tell myself that I don't deserve it. That I haven't earned it.
The ironic part about this is that if I had the tummy tuck, I would probably lose 10 pounds of skin. It has been a difficult process, but at some point I want to arrive at a place where I can say out loud, "I deserve to have a tummy tuck."
AND a tattoo.
You are taking up the time (and table) of a server with a check that amounts to one appetizer or one meal. We aren't supposed to drink anything while we eat, and we usually have leftovers from just the one thing. There is inevitably this weird vibe from the staff that something is wrong with the food that is just easiest to avoid in the first place.
Anyways, I digress. About six years ago, I decided that the next large tattoo I wanted was Ganesha, the Hindu god who is known as the remover of obstacles. As some sort of motivation for myself, I also decided that I wasn't getting it until I lost weight. I didn't set in my mind how much weight I needed to lose, I just couldn't have the tattoo until I lost it.
I still don't have a Ganesha tattoo. I had weight loss surgery, and I have lost 96 pounds from my highest weight to where I am now. But I guess that isn't enough to deserve my reward? I don't have an explanation for it except that although I did lose a lot of weight, I am still not in the normal range on the BMI chart. My weight loss surgeon would not call me a success story because I don't weigh 135.
The thing is, I am not ever going to weigh 135. I don't even want to weigh 135. The lowest adult weight I have seen on the scale was in the 170s and I didn't like my body when I was there because I felt it was too deflated. I actually wanted to gain some weight after that, which I did, I just overachieved.
Anyways, I am getting off topic. The point of this blog is that I want to have a tummy tuck. The plastic surgeon I saw for a consultation suggested something called a "Fleur de Lis" procedure where you basically have a vertical and a horizontal scar. The shape of the skin they remove is (in general) the shape of the stylized lily you probably recognize from the New Orleans Saints logo.
They remove skin from the middle that pulls everything in from the sides, as well as the loose skin (going out to either side) from the bottom. I never thought I would have (or even want) something like this done. My husband and I had surgery to lose weight for our health. I have already found my life partner so who cares what my deflated stomach looks like?
That was all fine and dandy until I almost died in 2016 and had to have the exploratory abdominal surgery and the shit bag. After it was removed last November, I have a horizontal scar where the stoma resided, as well as a vertical scar that extends from three inches above my belly button all the way down. Which, again, who cares - it's just a scar and I am still alive.
However, the tight tissue of a scar right down the middle of a belly of loose skin creates what I can only describe as "front butt". It makes finding flattering pants pretty difficult. In addition, where the stoma used to be, I have hernia repair mesh over my abdominal muscles. The skin hanging and pulling on this mesh is painful with every step I take. I thought it would ease up at some point, but I am 8 months out from surgery and I have come to terms with the fact that this is just part of my new normal.
I could learn to live with front butt, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life in pain on a daily basis because of loose skin. The tummy tuck would fix both. Here is where we come full circle (and the beginning of this blog seems less random). In my mind, I don't deserve to have it done.
In my mind, I am not a weight loss success story. In my mind, if I haven't lost all the weight I need to lose, then I am not ready for the tuck to fix my skin. The thing is, I am at the stable weight I was at before I got sick in 2016. And I have been there for three months. But for whatever reason, it is not enough. In my mind, I need to lose ten more pounds. Why ten pounds? Who fucking knows. If I lost ten more pounds, it would be my lowest adult weight (outside of when I was ill).
I question myself about this all the time. Why don't you think you deserve this? What about that ten pounds makes a difference? If it is so important, why do you keep cheating on your diet and not losing the ten pounds? Because in addition to deciding I need to lose this arbitrary amount of weight, I am also not sticking to keto and essentially self-sabotaging my efforts to get there.
I lose a couple of pounds after a week of sticking to my eating plan. Then I eat ice cream sandwiches for a few days and gain the few pounds back. I have gained and lost the same pounds for weeks by doing this. The thing is, I know if I just stick to the keto, it works for me. So what gives?
At the end of the day, I think this goes back to my lack of self-worth. I would be 100% supportive of my husband having skin removal surgery if he chose to do so. He deserves it. He has earned it. But when it comes to doing the same thing for myself, I balk at spending the money. Or I make arbitrary goals for losing ten pounds, then do things to ensure I don't. Or I talk myself out of having the surgery at all because I am still "fat". I tell myself that I don't deserve it. That I haven't earned it.
The ironic part about this is that if I had the tummy tuck, I would probably lose 10 pounds of skin. It has been a difficult process, but at some point I want to arrive at a place where I can say out loud, "I deserve to have a tummy tuck."
AND a tattoo.
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