Maybe start at the end...

I have needed to share my feelings and haven’t really felt like I had an outlet or that anyone would even care to hear what I have to say. So, I decided to write on my blog again. To write my ups and my downs and the ins and outs of my life.

I have been thinking about a lot lately. I’ve been thinking about how I feel broken. Worried that it is a little beyond repair. I suffer from anxiety and depression and recently I came to terms that I have an eating disorder of binge eating. Then I heard a podcast that I thought was going to help me but now I wonder if it made me hurt even more. In the podcast the speaker said that taking medicine is just masking an illness and that you are hiding the fact that something is broken, that you are sick. I internalized this as I have taken depression medication for nearly 10 years. What about my life makes me feel so sad that I mask it with medication? So, I started to analyze myself. Started thinking the worst of myself. Then the next podcast suggested that I learn to love myself, and that loving myself would stop the binge cycle. Again, what I thought would help, actually started to hurt as I realized that I didn’t love myself. I didn’t know how to love myself. It’s a completely foreign idea to me. I realized that my whole life I have been searching for others to love me, because I didn’t love myself. All the years that I prayed to find a husband who would love me, I should also have prayed to love myself.

       What I don’t want is for my feelings written out to hurt another person. I really just want to get it out how I feel about things so I can clear the air and heal. I grew up watching my mom. Most of my life I remember her just surviving. She never seemed truly happy, or able to find a peaceful moment. I can count on my hand the times I have heard my mom belly laugh. She seemed to be missing happiness. It felt fleeting to me. Never able to stay for longer than a camping trip, or a sink empty of dirty dishes. I grew up in a broken home. A mom that worked full time so we could survive, siblings that were just old enough to not always be around. We each dealt with things differently, and communication of our feelings with one another was not really taught. I remember while visiting my dad one summer I saw my step brother give his mom a hug and kiss before bed. I instantly realized I desired this affection. So I started to try with my step mom and dad. They were gracious to give me it. I returned home eager to have that same affection and touch from my own mom, and it was not there. Rather it felt uncomfortable. I was always told while growing up that I was very affectionate and that I loved to be loved. That fact has not changed. I still desire more than anything to be affectionately loved. I’d more than love it from my step dad, and I would welcome it from friends all the time too. But maybe this is uncomfortable for them. I know that this is something that brings me joy and happiness. I’m going to try and hug and show affection more to those I love, and to my friends. So back to my mom. I grew up seeing my mom’s weight fluctuate. She seemed her happiest when she was uber thin. I started to associate happiness with weight. I saw how even to this day it still bothers her. I wonder, does she love herself?

      This example from my mother of dieting her whole life rather than making a life change has affected me my whole life. I remember the first time I went on weight watchers. It was after 8^th grade when I had to wear a size 12 dress to my 8^th grade dance, and I felt different than the other girls my age. I remember shopping with a friend for pants. She shopped in the girls junior section. This was not something I was familiar with but something I desired. So weight watchers it was. Through high school I never felt pretty enough, skinny enough, lovable enough. What solidified this for me was the fact I was never asked on dates, or to dances. I often would try and hide my body in gym class. Ashamed of how white my legs were and that clothes never fit me the same as other girls. I would change in a stall rather than be seen by other girls my age. I joined a weight training class desperate for it to make the change on my body I so wanted. I remember I finally liked a boy. I had told one of my friends this, a friend I thought was a good friend. One day I drove her home. She accidentally left a note from this boy in my car. I found it while cleaning my car out. I opened not realizing what it was. It was a note from this boy to my friend stating that he didn’t even know “Kelly liked boys” and that he couldn’t imagine me liking him. It grossed him out, but that he really liked my friend. I was crushed in more than one way. This friend had told this boy I liked him. And they were making fun of me and it was in writing. My friend called in a panic and asked if I had found something in my car. I lied and said no. But the damage was done. I felt uglier than I had ever felt before. Then came every church dance. I loved to dance and have a good time, and yet other prettier skinner girls were asked and I stood awkwardly on the side lines. I always appreciated my brother coming and asking me. He was my hero. I remember the first time a guy asked me to dance was a guy named Stephen. My heart fell instantly in love with him, all because he asked me to dance. He was from a stake in Virginia and so our chances of meeting again would only happen if I made it so. After finding out that one of my friends knew him from EFY I decided to reach out and ask him on a group date. He said yes. We had a great time, and for once I didn’t feel ugly. But he was a year or two older than me and would be headed to college. We wrote emails to each other. Nothing romantic, simply spiritual. I fell in love with his spiritual side. Off he went and my senior year came. Again, no dates asked, no boys to like. I finally got the courage to ask a guy to hang out. He stood me up. I will never forget how broken I felt that night. How fat and ugly I felt. No one to love me. Then came prom. I couldn’t fit into my dress and my mom had to alter it. We tried to hide the fact that it didn’t fit, but everyone could tell. I felt self-conscious the whole time knowing that not only was I with a group of my friends who all had dates and I didn’t, but that I was in a dress that didn’t fit. Struggling to know what to do after high school became another stressor along with losing church friends left and right. I became even more alone, even more unlovable. My mom had remarried, and my quick to anger didn’t help. I somehow managed to feel so lonely. I remember my friend Stephen calling me in my senior year to tell me he was going to Ukraine for his mission. He told me not to wait for him. I mean I knew I liked him, but how did he know? And yet he called ME to tell me about his mission. So, he must of cared, right? So, my friend I would write about spiritual things left. He tried to encourage me to go to BYU, said I would love it. But honestly, I didn’t think my grades were good enough, that I was good enough to even hope for BYU. So, I pretended I didn’t want it. So then when the rejection letter came in the mail it wasn’t a big deal. But still I had no plans for my life. I met this guy while working at Turf Valley. He wasn’t great looking, but he was confident and that is what attracted me to him. We hung out one night and he made out with me. I couldn’t believe that a guy thought I was cute enough to want to kiss. But apparently it was so horrible that he didn’t want to hang out again. I felt rejected and associated it with being not pretty enough, not good enough. I never had my mom’s support of her pushing me to go to college, or what I wanted out of life. I felt alone. I prayed every night, read my scriptures and felt close to God, but yet I still didn’t know where I should go with my life. I didn’t even really think it mattered in the grand scheme of things.  While visiting my dad before my senior year we went to UCLA. I fell in love with the beautiful campus, and for the feel of it. I liked the idea of independence and the fact it was UCLA. It was what I wanted. But again, I didn’t think myself or my grades were good enough. So, I told myself I would move out to California, go to a community college get good grades and transfer to UCLA after two years. This sounded exciting. But then weeks before my move it just felt wrong. I felt so uneasy. My sister came into my room and with me crying she said, “Why don’t you just move out to Utah and work and live near Bryan and I?” It felt right. I stopped crying. I didn’t have to have a life plan with this one, I could just go and work and have fun. Earn money and spend it, and figure things out. A day or so after moving there I met Justin. He seemed nice, but I wasn’t instantly attracted to him. Plus, it wasn’t why I was there. I wanted to figure out me. My sister took it upon herself to find out why I hadn’t gotten into BYU. They said it was because my ACT scores were two points too low. They told her if I took it again and raised it by two points I would get accepted. So, she and my mom convinced me to take the ACT test. I found out right after that I had gotten a bit higher than the two needed points. I was told to walk over the results to the admin building. I waited for a few minutes before a woman welcomed me into her office looked at my test scores and said welcome to BYU. You have been accepted. I walked out of the admin building feeling empty. I wasn’t good enough before, did two points really make a difference. BYU never felt like mine after that. I took classes, tried to find things that made me happy there, but it felt empty in my heart. Then I feel in love with a boy that asked me to dance. Justin. Well I didn’t really fall for him until I had invited him to a few activities and at a bon fire we were laying on the grass looking at the stars when he started to talk to me about God. He had my attention. After that I fell hard. The worst part was that he was pre-mission. When he left, I left BYU also. I didn’t feel like I belonged there and I definitely didn’t want to be somewhere that reminded me of something I didn’t have anymore. So, I moved to California, went to singles wards, tried to draw closer to God. I wanted to go on a mission so I started preparing myself. When I moved to California within just a few days of being there my dad suggested I lose some weight. So, I worked on it, and lost a little and then I started to get attention from a few guys at church. I correlated being asked out with me being skinny. I went back to Utah did a semester and realized I couldn’t do it. It was the start of my first experience with depression. I had received a letter from Stephen. He was coming home soon. I was torn between Justin and Stephen. So, I left Utah and went to stay with my dad again. Within a few days of living with him my dad suggested I lose weight. So, he signed me up for Jenny Craig. I lost weight, and guess what happened a guy came into my life. Yacov. I met him at work, while working temp for during the holidays. He intrigued me. He asked me if he could go with me to a shopping center I had mentioned I was going to. I hesitated, feeling I was being unfaithful to Justin. But was assured we were nothing more than friends Jacob and I went to the shopping center. That turned into hanging out more. It turned into meeting his family. This was at a point in my weight loss that I was at my lowest in years. I felt really beautiful and good about myself. And Yacov introduced me to his family and a world I had never been introduced to. It was filled with Art and Judaism, walks as a family in nature, farmers markets, dinners together. I was welcomed into a loving family that seemed to love me for me. My dad disapproved of my friendship with Yacov. Once sighting that it would look bad on him that I went with a boy to a bike race on a Sunday then to church. It was during this argument that I felt my dad could snap and that he would hit me in my face. I dared him too, and he walked away. During this weight loss journey, I was getting compliments, shopping at stores I wanted to, felt happy in my social life. I felt happiness. So naturally I fell for Jacob. I knew he was not the right direction for me. He was an atheist and I very much knew God was real. But somehow my brain was trying to convince me that it was okay to follow your heart. That is when my dad told me to pack my stuff and that I was moving back to Utah. No notice. I told Yacov over the phone I was leaving. He became mean to me. Again, I felt rejected. Not just by Jacob but by my dad also. So, I called Justin’s dad and asked him if I could stay with them for a bit til I could get a job and move out on my own. He more than happily welcomed me. On the drive to Utah my dad told me to continue Jenny Craig, that I needed to look good for my return missionary. I felt torn because I was in love with three guys. Stephen, Justin and Jacob. But which of them loved me? Jacob called me several times in Utah, and I felt horrible sitting in the driveway talking to a guy while I was living with Justin’s family. It felt like such a betrayal. But then I told Jacob about Justin finally. And told him I intended to marry him. Jacob never called back. I had heard that Stephen was living in international housing. I thought, he is going to meet some beautiful international girl there. So why even try. Justin was so good to me. So, forgiving and I was able to be all of me with him. Even through the two years I wrote to him practically every day. He knew everything. Which I am sure at times may have distracted him, but I tried my hardest to encourage good missionary work. But as I distanced myself from Jacob, and from Stephen, my love for Justin grew deeper. We had spoken for two years about ourselves, and about God. He truly knew all of me. So, we wed four weeks after he got home.

      Since marrying Justin, he has never once told me to lose weight, or that I am ugly. Very much the opposite he tells me I am beautiful all the time. He is affectionate with me and cares about me. Life has gotten in the way of our loving close relationship. Through our 11 year marriage our schedules have never been what we consider normal. Justin was either in school studying all the time, working, or I was working. We had babies in between which just caused more time apart. Through the physical distance I know what has kept me his, is that he loves me for me, for all of my imperfections. He loves me when I am pregnant, he loves me when I am fat. He loves me when I am skinny. He loves me when I am sad, angry, happy. He has never once stopped loving me. He is so very much the answer to my prayer of “Heavenly Father I pray that I will someday have someone to love me and I to love them.” I love him so much. I love being close to him. Snuggling with him holding his hand, touching his face and ears and head. I love his big smile and how it makes creases around his eyes. I love his excitement for the gospel. I love his zeal for missionary work. I love his desire to be better all the time. There isn’t anything I don’t love about Justin. Well maybe just that I sometimes can’t find my cooking stuff. Lol.

     So why is it that with having someone who loves me so much isn’t enough for me. Well I only see him for a few minutes each day except for Saturday and Sunday. That is one thing. But it is because I have never learned to love myself. To feel good enough for myself. I didn’t finish college. Didn’t feel like I was worth it, or that I could do it half as good as my siblings, so why try. I had found success in working without a degree which only made me dislike the idea of college. Why spend money and stress on something that wouldn’t change my career. You see I never had a life plan. All I knew was that I wanted to love and be loved, and that with that love would bring a family. I guess I dreamed about being a stay at home mom, but at the same time I thought with the first baby that the desire of motherhood would enter my heart a little bit more. I had baby sat growing up and they always say it is different when it is your own. But for me staying home all day became depressing. I felt worthless. I was not even good at being a mom. I was bad because I didn’t want to be home all the time. That in my church culture seemed to make me out of the ordinary. I felt again unlovable because I didn’t fit into a mold. Weight gain, weight loss with each baby, postpartum depression and development of panic attacks. It is hard to love yourself when you feel you are an emotional burden to others.

      Again, I felt unlovable. I didn’t feel worthy of Justin. He was so good and so kind, and I had come from a broken home which brought with it a whole bunch of un resolved issues. I felt the answer was to give up, divorce. Justin fought for us our first few years. Telling me that this was different. Our love was different. That I was not like my dad. That I would not become like him. That I didn’t need to “search for my happiness” that I could find it with him. I have had moments of pure happiness in my marriage with Justin. Has my marriage always been super easy? Not for my sweet husband. I don’t make things easy on him sometimes. But God loved me so much he gave me someone who loves me so much that he fights for me, and with me.

       A little over two years ago I decided I wanted to lose weight because I was diagnosed with pre-diabetes. I weighed in at 269 pounds. The biggest I had ever been. So, what initially pushed me was the diabetes. I did not want to add one more thing on my check lists of bad Kelly qualities. So, I started to lose weight. At first it came off great. I was feeling motivated, I was happy. Things were good. Then work changed a bit, not seeing Justin began to weigh heavy. Having opinions at church began to go on my list of reasons to not love me. Each mistake or wrong thing said was just one more tally against me. People would say you are being too hard on yourself. That is what I had been training my brain to do my whole life. I saw my mom do it, my siblings do it, I did it. So, I hit a plateau. It was more emotional than anything. I wasn’t doing my program 100% and for me it is an all or nothing thing. So, after 6 months of not going up or down, I decided to switch to Optavia. It got me over my first emotional hurdle I thought. 200 lbs. I was 205 when my dad told me to lose weight. It took me forever to get below 200. Thought I had that one in the bag. But that 200 lbs. holds my dad’s opinion from some 11 years ago. A dad that I wanted to say to me that I was his happiness. That his family was good enough. That we were his joy. Not once has he ever said that or made me feel that. Which is why I am estranged from him today. I decided to remove that toxic relationship out. But then I have my mom. Who has been trying to be skinny her whole life. She was supportive of me losing weight. Cheering for me. But this is the only time I have felt her cheering for me. And guess what it is associated with weight. My feeling accepted has always emotionally been tied to feeling accepted. My mom thinking, she was helping would buy clothes that I felt were the wrong size. That she was trying to make a point of pointing out that I was still big. Because the sizes were XL and 18’s. Even though I had told her I was in 14’s now. Just the other day she handed me a shirt that was XL. I again associated it with not feeling accepted for how I wanted to be perceived.

     I decided to revamp my commitment to losing weight. I wrote down all the reasons why I was doing it. It took me a long time to write a list of 12 things. Here they are: 1. To overcome the emotional baggage associated with each pound. 2. To be the best self for my kids. 3. To show myself that I could do this! 4. To be smaller than Justin. 5. To buy cute trendy clothes. 6. To no longer see myself as fat/overweight. 7. To feel worthy of friends. 8. To be seen differently by my mother. 9. To look at a picture of myself and love it. 10. To be healthy To change my life. 11/ To no longer be the fat friend. 12. To feel sexy.

       I made a list of 6 things that if I did every day that I would feel good about myself. 1. Stay on my eating plan 2. Go to bed on time 3. Keep a food journal 4. Exercise 5. Spiritually feed myself 6. Quality time with my kids. I thought long and hard on these things. I felt that this was the key to moving along and getting over this emotional blockade.

       Instead for the past week I have binged, and loathed myself. I have felt depressed and worthless. It has been so easy for me to pray for others, and has felt so good. But now I am feeling low and that I need to not only pray for myself, but that I need others to pray for me too. What horrible thing am I going through right now requires me to ask for prayers. I’m not dying, my family is all healthy and together, we are surviving, we make enough money to meet our needs, there are others whose trials are so much greater. And yet to me I am fighting the battle of my life. I am battling for self-worth. I am trying to find my purpose, the answer to the question who am I, what is so special about me when God has so many children. I am trying to learn to love myself. I am trying to learn what that even means. How do you love yourself? What does that mean?

      So tomorrow I will wake up with the intent to reach my 6 daily goals. But right along with that intent is an even stronger part of me that is telling me that I am not worth it, that I can’t lose the weight, that even if I lose the weight I am still unlovable. I am not worth being loved. I don’t have any redeemable qualities. How could someone love me. What do I have to offer. I have no talents. No time to give. I am broken, a shell of a person. The friends I do have, I question if they are truly my friends. When these thoughts come, the thoughts of would anyone come to my funeral come to my head. I see rows of empty seats. No one to get up to say a kind word. No friends that are crying for me. These are the thoughts of someone who doesn’t love themselves. These are my thoughts.

      In writing these truths I realize some will just be concerned for me. Worry about me. Don’t tell me. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust that it is genuine. Because if it was, wouldn’t you see the calls for help, wouldn’t you see how I am hurting? I am not suicidal. I have had suicidal thoughts in recent years, but not now. So please don’t be concerned for me. I don’t want that. That isn’t what I am after. I am after people who genuinely love me. If you love me, can you not wait until something bad happens before you tell me? Can you show me you love me by doing it just the way I need it? Can you put your arms around me and whisper to me that you mean every word? That I can trust you with my heart. Can you be a real friend to me? Someone who prays for me, who thinks about me, who wants to be around me.

       What do I have to give in return? Well right now probably not very much. After all I have shared all my innermost thoughts with you. I am being the most vulnerable I have ever been. I am telling you that I don’t love myself. Somehow, I am always able to love others. I plan to show it more. Maybe the reason I shown love as much as I desire to is because I fear that the answer I dread is waiting in return. That I am not loved back. For so many years I have tried to give love to people, to only have conditional love returned, or no love at all. It stems from my parents, to friends to myself.

      So please do me a favor, if you really do love me. You really are a friend of mine. Can you tell me something vulnerable about yourself. Can we be more than surface level? Because honestly it is when I am my most vulnerable that I like myself the most. I feel the most authentic.

     Again, please do not worry about me. I have God on my side, a great doctor, an amazing husband, children that I love, and enough projects to keep me occupied. But I really could use more love, deeper friendships, more self-love.