Perfection is a Tough Place

I probably could look back in my personal history and pick a worse time to be studying for the GMAT exam. There is the time when I took the GRE. That was pretty awful. I was pregnant in my first trimester with Zac. I did fairly well considering that I had to go to the bathroom every 10 minutes and only briefly glanced at the review book. Looking back, though, I was only two years out of college and had been teaching English and learning a hard language. If my brain is a car, it was finely tuned and running smoothly then. I can't say as much for my brain now. I frequently forget where I park the car and have been known to fall asleep while sitting up. Really, the only worse time than now to take a graduate entrance exam would have been the periods when I was severely depressed and in and out of hospitals.

Yet I've decided to study for a difficult exam and enter graduate school, upon admission to the school of course, in summer 2009. I've been debating this decision for the past six years. I graduated college in 2002 and finally, just finally, decided that this was the year that I should get a graduate degree. It feels like now or never, even though rationally I know that isn't the case. I just feel committed. I bought a study book and CD. I have asked my people to be my references, for the first time ever. I've requested copies of my transcript to be sent to various schools. I'm farther along in the process now than I've ever been in the past. Usually I just look at programs and dream wistfully about possibly studying again in an academic environment.

Thinking about getting a MBA has been completely new to me. I always thought I'd get my masters in public policy or international development. I didn't even think about a MBA until I was sitting in my last fundraising class and the speaker talked about getting her MBA because it was one of the most widely recognizeable degrees across the non-profit and for-profit sector. Something struck a chord in me. Maybe it was because I'm feeling so burned out. I thought I was dedicated to non-profit work, but all of the work on nights and weekends, the fights to earn a decent market wage, and the non-existent benefits have started to wear on me. If I include my senior year of college when I did an internship for a non-profit, I've been in the non-profit field for seven years. Eighteen months of that time, I lived in Mongolia and ate more sheep meat then one person should consume. Since I've been back in America, I've been my own administrative assistant for longer than I care to admit. I'm getting tired of working alone in a office. I'd like to work collaboratively with a team, to be excited about going to work, to have coworkers that I can talk to, at the very least professionally.

Part of wanting a MBA is wanting the chance to experience another kind of work environment. I'm ready for a change. God help me, though, this change is coming at a high cost. I feel like I need to be on top of my game to pull off working two jobs, "volunteering", and studying for the GMAT, and applying to schools.

Last night I stayed up later than I wanted working on a short essay for an application to a "Women's Weekend" at one of the schools I'm applying to (all three are in the Houston area. I can't imagine moving right now, not when I still have boxes that I haven't unpacked and roaches that I haven't killed yet). I was invited to apply for the weekend, which made me instantly long for Smith. I realized that in my essay about why I would like to pursue my MBA at such and such business school, I didn't even write about their support of women professionals and how much their active recruitment of female MBA students means to me. I didn't write about it because it feels instinctive to me. I'm more shocked when colleges DON'T do that. Only 30% of incoming MBA graduate students are women. It's an understatement to say that I appreciate institutions supporting the advancement of women. I was spoiled by attending a college that was dedicated to that purpose.

Unfortunately, this post has taken me almost two full weeks to write because I just can't seem to find enough time for everything that I need to do. The mandatory volunteer work involved me drafting up a solicitation letter and printing a 1,000 copies of the letter, solicitation card, and envelopes. I had to cut the solicitation cards into thirds and staple the entire packet (letter, card, envelope) together for distribution. Now I need to write another letter for my own organization and make sure that we pass the administrative and site review that's scheduled for tomorrow.

I know that I don't need to be perfect, but I need to be pretty damn good and the realization of that is hard sometimes. In order to make this all work, I need to avoid falling asleep in an idling car for an hour in the parking lot of my son's preschool. I need to keep doing the dishes and unloading the dish washer so the ants don't find Zac's syrupy plates and milk-rimmed glasses. I need to rely on family, friends, partners, and coworkers to help and support me. There is too much to do and not enough of me to be able to accomplish everything.

I'm never going to be perfect.

Can of Worms

Seems like I was right to be worried that writing about my weight would open up a can of worms inside my head. I've started obsessing about daily fluctuations and worrying that the scale is going to keep creeping upwards and upwards. With the holidays coming, I'm wondering how I can possibly keep losing weight. It seems like my best bet would be to maintain until I can figure out how to work exercise back into my daily routine.

When I lived at my parents house, I would wake up early in the morning and go for walks. Now that Zac and I live alone, I haven't been able to do that. I did wake up one morning and put on Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred . It was the first time that I've ever tried a workout video for anything other than yoga. Once I got over the awkwardness of doing jumping jacks in my own living room, I enjoyed the tough workout and my legs felt it the next day. Once I'm able to exercise again, I'm definitely going to be trying out some of the other workouts on the DVD.

Not being able to exercise is the second part of the can of worms I was mentioning before. I can't exercise right now because my stomach is riddled with deep, painful bruises. Short of being beaten, I can't really imagine anything more painful over a large portion of my body. Ahh...vanity. If you can afford to get liposuction or a tummy tuck, take my advice and just do it.

August 29, 2008 - Before Photo

I've been doing lipotherapy since August and each time I get it done (alternating between my genetic double chin and my distended post-pregnancy belly), I'm amazed at how much it hurts. Turns out that the process of injecting a chemical solution into your fat cells to explode the cell walls hurts. Who would have figured? The spa I go to ensures me that the pain is worth it for the results. I am seeing results, but I'll be honest, not being able to bend over for three days and having people ask me if I've been in a car accident when they see my head wrapped up is embarrassing. So embarrassing, in fact, that I didn't want to admit that I was getting it done to my coworkers, or on this blog.

10.29.08 - Two of Eight Treatments

So, yeah. That's the full story. I'm struggling with my weight and getting a cosmetic procedure done to help me with pockets of fat that would be there regardless if I lost 30 more pounds or not. That's my confession. My secret can of worms.

(edited to add: For the love of all that's holy, can someone please comment? I feel like I'm exposing myself to the world and getting 1) shocked silence or 2) extreme boredom. Also, does anyone else think that I have large ears? I never noticed before I started being photographed from the side once a month.)

Less of Me

When I stepped on the scale in August 2007, I weighed 204 pounds. I gasped when I saw the number come up on the digital screen. The last time I had been that heavy was when I was pregnant with Zac. I had just gone through intensive out-patient therapy for depression, lost my job, and was using food to comfort myself on a nightly basis. I knew that it had to stop. At 5'5, 204 was putting me in pre-diabetic, hypertension range.

I started losing weight very, very slowly. I joined WW briefly and then quit, but I didn't go back on Jenny Craig or Quick Weight Loss. I started trying not to binge at night when the panic and sadness found there way back to me.

In September 2007 I started my new job and was able to normalize my eating patterns for breakfast and lunch. Two packets (eventually down to 1 1/2) of weight control oatmeal for breakfast, one morning snack, and a Lean Cuisine for lunch. For dinner I usually ate what my parents made and tried to eat after dinner.

Part of the reason that I haven't written about my weight loss is because it feels like it isn't all completely under my control. In November I started a medication that had a couple of huge side effects: 1) I fell asleep all the time, including while driving a car, during meetings, at work, and while watching tv. It was like I was constantly sedated for about six months; 2) It decreased my appetite significantly. For the first time in my life, I wasn't constantly thinking about food or when I would eat next.

Over the months (and after more than a few flat tires from running into curbs while dozing off at the wheel), the fatigue lessened. I started to feel more in control of my body and what I put into it. I lost more weight and started exercising. I would wake up in the mornings before work and go for a walk that eventually turned into a run.

More than a year later, I've lost almost 35 pounds. I stepped on the scale this morning at 173. That's actually under my pre-pregnancy weight and closer to what I weighed in college while I was working out twice a day.

Now I'm living by myself with Zac in an apartment, working two jobs, and have a healthy dose of mandatory "volunteering" that I have to do and I've found myself slipping back into old habits. Those days of comforting myself with food aren't completely gone. The difference now is that I know what I'm doing and I usually feel sick while I'm eating. and let's call it what it really is. I use the term "comforting" rather loosely, especially since I usually feel sick and angry at myself for overeating. What I'm really doing is binging and I end up hating myself for it. Almost immediately afterwards I wish that I hadn't done it. I wish that I was strong enough to let the urge pass me by.

I have 20 more pounds to go until I get to my goal weight. Honestly, I weighed more than 150 at my high school graduation, so I'm not sure how realistic that number is, but it's just a number to me. I feel healthier than I did a year ago. I'm generally happier with how I look and I don't see myself going off any of my medication anytime soon so at least I don't have to worry that I'll regain the weight from that. I just wish that I had a better handle on the binging and purging cycle. The next 20 pounds by the hardest ones to lose if I don't figure something out.

Karma

I was hoping that I had a little extra karma built up so that when I threw some negative energy out into the universe (aimed squarely at the FOB), it wouldn't immediately come right back at me. As my friend Betsy used to say, "Karma has wide hips and what you send out always comes swinging back around." In my case, it came swinging back around with the flu and diagnosis of strep throat.

I knew as soon as I woke up on Saturday that I had strep. The last time I had it was my sophomore year in college when my tonsils constricted so far that I was having problems swallowing. Not surprisingly, I had a tonsillectomy at the age of 19 and not had strep throat since then. Any idea how hard it is to actually get strep when you don't have any tonsils? It's pretty hard. Doctors actually treat reoccurring strep infections with tonsillectomies. I was unlucky enough to find a way around the lack of tonsil problem and still contract group A streptococcus. I've been on penicillin for almost a week and I'm still sneezing and coughing out chest congestion.

Regardless, someone looked cute on Halloween. I actually went to a wedding right after work on Halloween so my parents took Zac trick-or-treating. The Yankee in me died a little bit when he told me that he wanted to go as a cowboy. "Cowboys say 'Yeee-Haww!'," he'd shout at me, usually while driving. So, one night at all-purpose store, we picked up a cowboy hat and vest outfit.

I was told that he had a great time. My Mom said that he would let her hold his hat, but he never once relinquished his candy. He's a very smart cowboy.

Fortunately his costume is so big that two years from now he can be a cowboy again. At the very least, he can learn to dress stylishly in a vest and jacket for kindergarten.

"Where are my feet Mom? Nana and Poppa buried my feet!! Good thing I have this candy."

Sorry for the late posting of Halloween pictures, but it's been a rough week. I'm hoping that by sometime Sunday I'll start feeling better. I have a fundraising event tomorrow morning and working at Pier 1 tomorrow night. In lieu of karma, I'd settle for some more energy.