Psychologists have documented again and again that victims of childhood abuse, or neglect will often seek to repeat the abuse in adulthood. There are many different patterns and themes that tend to show up again and again. Until we change these beliefs and behaviors they are bound to continue to resurface in all our future relationships with others, because as we’ve said in previous blogs, our relationships with our primary care givers is the template for all our future relationships with others.”
There were six thousand nine hundred and nine classified distinct languages in the world as of 2009.
If we add to that body language, the various dialects, conlangs (ASL, Klingon, Na’vi, and Tolkien’s many languages), jargon (legal, medical, craft, etc.) and internet speech (inclusive of emoticons and text-speak), it is possible to see that human beings have spent a great deal of time and effort attempting to communicate with one another.
Still, we manage, oftentimes enough, not to understand each other.
Even though we hardly need another language, I propose to add another “speak” to the mix: Fibromyalgia|Speak or FMSpeak for short.
Why? Because I realize that there is some clarification needed for certain expressions that I use when discussing my well-being. So, I thought I would share some of my entries here. My hope is that it will be useful (and perhaps amusing) for you. Here we go.
The first 5 entries:
When I say…
“I am tired.”
I mean…
“My body feels as though I do not know how I could possibly move it another inch. My brain isn’t forming thoughts clearly. My eyes are not sure when the last time they closed or opened themselves was. Even if I had/have the opportunity to sleep, I can’t sleep. I am too exhausted to move, sleep, think, talk, cry, laugh, care, be, feel, eat, drink, deal, know, want, need…Please, don’t ask me anything else about my health, because if you do, then I just might fall apart.”
When I say…
“I am not well.”
I mean…
“Every movement makes me nauseous, tired, hurt, cry, angry, desperate, and scared of what will come next. Every thought is no thought, and I’ve probably forgotten your name or what we were last talking about when we met. Every minute feels like I am being pierced by hot needles all over (or, if I am lucky, just some parts of my body). My brain is splitting apart and I am sensitive to light, sound, smell, motion. Please, don’t ask me anything else, because it will be too much and I am barely holding myself together. I want to cry and sometimes I will…if you keep asking me if I am okay. I am not, and you already know that.”
When I say…
“I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.”
I am mean…
“Why me? I thought I was feeling better. Why won’t this go away? Why can’t I get it (medication, work, relationships) right–why does my illness get in the way? Please, don’t ask my anything else, because I won’t be able to deal. (See last two entries).”
When I say…
“No, I can’t.”
I mean…
“No, I can’t, physically and/or psychologically. What you are asking of me is counterproductive to keeping myself well. The conditions are inauspicious. It’s winter. I haven’t slept in four days (literally). It’s been raining and dark for days. Walking is a challenge–smiling, too. I don’t want to be around others when I am like this. I don’t want to bring others down with my illness…and you can’t bring me up, because you can’t make me better. It’s impossible at the moment. I mean ‘no’ at this time, this moment, but who knows about the future. So, please, ask me again, even though I may say ‘No, I can’t.’ Okay?”
When I say…
“Yes, I can.”
I mean…
“Yes, I would like to and think I will be able to, if the conditions are auspicious, i.e. the weather is good, my stress level is low, the season is right, and I have actually slept. I am really happy that you asked me and I want to do it–really, I do. Please, believe in me. Please, give me time to do my best. Please, help me to challenge myself to do more than I think is possible.”
And so there we have it. A bit tongue-in-cheek, but quite true for many, if not all, people who have fibromyalgia (see video below). At some point or another, we have had thoughts like these–And I am sure that most people have had thoughts/feelings/experiences like these…the thing is that we just happen to have them more often. 🙂
I hope that these entries will help to spread more awareness and give some insight into what it feels like to have fibromyalgia. It’s no walk in the park. 😉
People with fibromyalgia, we are strong and we show that every day. Regardless of who we are, where we are, what we do, how we live; we are trying…and in trying, we survive and eventually thrive.
Below, I leave you with “Voices of Fibromyalgia”, the video that inspired this post. Many thanks to its creator!
Perhaps, like me, with the start of a new year, you begin going through a list of stuff that you “should” or “shouldn’t” do. For example, I should clear out the clutter of random and unnecessary papers that have been occupying my bookshelf for the most part of the last year; or I shouldn’t spend so much time online looking at the random and unnecessary aspects of online life.
Well, I think you get my meaning. Either way, the start of a new year, oftentimes, means a break with the old and an incorporation of the new.
So, what have I decided to keep or to let go this year?
First, I decided to keep my spirits up. 🙂 How? By continuing the new part of self-care journey that I started towards the end of 2013. That is, I am going to continue to work on achieving holistic self-balance.
Why? Because I realize that I have a tendency to abandon my self-care when something or someone “more important” comes along. As therapist, I know that this is a big no-no. Still, in my personal life, it has not always been easy to practice what I preach. Thus, it leads to my second decision.
I have decided to let go of the bait(s). Nope, really, I won’t take them, no matter the form. Not interested. Zero percent, nada, niente, zip, zilch. None of it!
Now, you might be wondering what I mean by bait. It’s very simple: it’s anything that depletes you emotionally, physically (in a negative way), mentally, or spiritually. So, how can you spot it? Well, here are four examples:
Always being a “yes” or people-pleasing person. Think about it. Are you the type of person, who when asked to do x, y, and/or z, you immediately say “yes”?
“Under Pressure” photography by Dolores Juhas, 2008. Copyright (c) Dolores Juhas. All Rights Reserved.
If so, STOP…or, at the very least, decrease that action. Why?
Well, I like putting it this way: if you are saying “yes” to someone, then you are, oftentimes, saying “no” to yourself. And just why would you do that? So, the next time someone calls you up and asks you to sit through a 10 hour back-to-back special of a watching grass grow nature show just say “no”…unless you are into that sort of thing.
Always being a “fixer”. Yes, really. Do people (friends/family/acquaintances/random strangers) like to come to you with their problems? And if they do, does your mind transform into a Mr. or Ms. Fix-It mentality.
“Zed” photography by Dolores Juhas, 2008. Copyright (c) Dolores Juhas. All Rights Reserved.
If so, STOP…or, at the very least, decrease that action. Why?
Because the reality is listening might just be what that person is seeking, rather than your intervention. Or better still, ask yourself this question: Do you have the emotional space to manage listening/dealing with someone else’s issues?
If the answer is “no”, politely back up and say, “You know, I am really sorry to hear about that, but I am not in the best (emotional/mental/physical) space to listen/discuss that with you.”
It may seem callous. It isn’t. The reality is that there are times when things are beyond our capabilities to manage them, and it is better that we acknowledge or limitations rather than jumping blindly into fixing someone else’s life (before they ask), especially when we have our own lives to manage.
Always being “right” or coming out on top.You know what I mean. 😉 Were you ever in the debate club in high school or really enjoy being contrary just for the heck of it…or rather for the thrill of being “right” in the end?
“The Revenge of Pride,” photography by Dolores Juhas (2010). Copyright (c) Dolores Juhas. All Rights Reserved.
If so, STOP…or, at the very least, decrease that action. Why?
Do you have any idea of how much mental and emotional energy (read: capital) goes into making an argument? Seriously, picture it!
Now, imagine using all of that energy to plan your future rather than arguing over whether something is black or white. Find the grey already and move on with your life already!
Always being the “victim” or “martyr”.It happens to all of us at some point in our lives. You look around you and your life feels empty and desolate. Or perhaps you are in a relationship or job that is sucking the very life out of you. Do you find yourself looking at your life and asking yourself or anyone available questions like “why me?” or “why does my life have to go this way?” Seriously?
If so, STOP…or, at the very least, decrease that action. Why?
Because it is time for a reality check. Yes, your life may not be what you want it to be in the moment. But you know what? Asking those types of questions won’t get you out of the place you are in!
Instead, challenge yourself to pick up the phone and call for professional help if necessary (therapist and/or life coach). If you believe that you don’t need that, then grab a planner and start writing down the ways in which you are in control of your life…and then what steps you would like to take next.
So, that’s my start for the New Year: taking care of myself and not taking the bait. After all, it is when you are most true to yourself that you can be most authentically available to everyone else.
Also, please, remember that you are never alone. Someone out there is walking a similar path or has walked it. Someone out there is willing and available to help you. You simply have to want it and reach out to accept it.
Until Next Time,
D.
Self-portrait by Dolores Juhas. Copyright (c) Dolores Juhas. All Rights Reserved.
Photographs are by Croatian photographer, Dolores Juhas, whose work has been featured in such magazines as Italian Vogue.
Work-in-progress, started November 3,2011, acrylic
These words by Nina Ellis-Hervey were important for me to hear today, especially as I have been dealing with managing my body and my illness. Sometimes I do feel like giving up and feel like I am alone in my struggle to reclaim my life from the grips of my illness.
Although Nina’s words are geared towards those struggling with weight issues, I believe that they are powerful word useful for all people who may be struggling with any illness, physically or mentally, that may cause daily struggle with your body.
—-
“…I am living life day by day and trying to do everything that way…I am trying to keep in touch with family, with my friends… I have a million and one stressors in my life. And in the past, those stressors made me eat, made me gain weight.
And so now you can see how all that stress could cause me want to want to relapse, to go back to not working out, to go back to not taking care of myself. But that’s not an option. It’s not an option anymore…
It doesn’t matter what excuse you have. You only have one life. You only have one body. And nobody can take care of it, but you. Nobody is going to be responsible for it, but you. And so for me, everyday is a struggle… The battle never ends. This is for the rest of my life.
For the rest of my life, I am going to have to think about where I came from and where I don’t want to go back to. For the rest of my life, I am going to have to think about the foods I put in my body…
I have to always think ahead…I have always prepare myself…and unfortunately, it is a repercussion of my past…and not wanting to go back there…not wanting to even ever let myself go like in the past. I will never do that again.
I owe this to me…You owe it to yourself… It gets to a point that you cannot even listen to outside people. What they have to say is irrelevant…
Your journey is your own…It is not just happy-go-lucky every day for me. I am not just kicking the breeze and skipping through the flowers and the grass.
Some days are hard for me. But when I get back in it, I remember what I am in it for. Adjusting to the new you, it is rough. Everybody is going to grieve the old you…
Anything you do carries. It carries some kind of baggage behind it. I can choose to look as my baggage as negative, or I can choose to let it motivate me to try and to at least do my best…”
—–
Below is the video of Nina. Again, it is dealing with her own struggles regarding weight. So, watch it if you feel it is relevant to you. In any case, the over all message is a possitive one.
The other day my sister, Michelle, posted the following to my Facebook page:
“Why are you skinny people doing this to yourselves??? I thought insanity was designed for overweight individuals???”
As you might imagine, the “insanity” to which she referred is the Insanity Workoutexercise program by Beachbody and led by Shaun T. Nine days ago, I decided to take the 8 week challenge and have been reporting my progress to friends and family via Facebook. I am happy to say that I have completed each day thus far and intend to continue so doing.
Now, back to my sister’s comment.
You see, she is right. I am not overweight and thus it would seem that I would have no just cause to take on such a workout program. Right?
FIBROMYALGIA (Photo credit: *SHESHELL*)
Wrong.
I decided to take on the Insanity Challenge, because I wanted to prove two points to myself:
1. I can achieve a high level of fitness as a person with fibromyalgia; and
2. I can take care of my body as I choose to without fearing input from others.
——
A world of secrets…
Back in 2008 when I was first diagnosed with fibromyalgia, my body had been changing rapidly. As I wrote in my recent posts, I had gain a significant amount of weight in only a couple of years. You see, before I started graduate school, I worked as a personal trainer and fitness instructor from 2002 to 2004. That period of my life was one in which I experienced a high boost to my body image. I was strong and healthy.
My weight then was higher than what it is now, but it was never a concern to me. My major concerns: strength and endurance. And if there is one thing that I have lamented greatly since having fibromyalgia was the loss of my physical strength and endurance.
With my weight gain came real health concerns, such as being warned about my blood pressure and having some other health issues being labeled as “due to excess weight.”
“If you had 5 minutes…,” collage with magazine and cardstock by Diedré M. Blake, (2010)
It was frustrating to find myself in that state and feeling that I couldn’t do anything physically about it…like exercise in the way that I had in the past. I was too tired. I felt too much pain. There was a bigger issue though…
Work.
As many of you know, I am an art therapist and counselor. I specialize in the treatment of eating disorders. This area of specialization developed from my second year internship and subsequent job. So, why would working within this area create a problem for me? Simply this…
How does a therapist embark upon a health improvement that would mean significant weight loss while reinforcing to her clients that their desire to lose weight was unhealthy?
For a long time, I did not have an answer. I worked in a place where there were strict rules on how food could be discussed and what foods could be eaten. Discussion of weight loss, weight loss programs, and diets was forbidden. This is not to say that these rules were always followed.
Also, there seems to be a very strange expectation, i.e. that all Black women are happy with being overweight. I write this because of various experiences I had while trying to manage my weight issues. The most memorable of these was an experience I had with an older White female nutritionist who worked at a local hospital.
I was given a referral to visit this nutritionist because both myself and my doctor believed that it would be good for me to have professional advice on how to safely and slowly lose my excess weight through diet, since exercise was proving difficult for me. At that time I was about 50 pounds overweight.
I sat with the lady and stated my reasons for coming to see her. From her lips came the following response:
“But you’re Black! Why would you want to lose weight? Aren’t all Black women a bit fatter that everyone else? Aren’t you people use to being like that?”
Now, some may believe that I am exaggerating…but I kid you not. Those were her exact words that are engraved upon my heart and mind. I was in disbelief.
There I was seeking help to lose the weight that was causing me severe health problems…and there was that lady telling me that I didn’t need to lose the weight because of my skin colour. Huh?
——
So, I realized that I had to do it on my own. I decided to take matters into my own hands as I wrote in my previous post. The thing was that at work, although I had explained to some that I was planning to lose weight, there was apparently discomfort that I had made such a choice.
Moreover, I did not discuss just how much weight I intended to lose, because that was no one else’s business except for me and my doctor. Looking back, perhaps it would have been better if I had simply stated a number, even though I did not have a number in mind.
The world in which I worked during that time became closed. I watched as people stared at me with curious and suspicious eyes. I listened as people made side comments about me. I answered as people kept asking me, “haven’t you lost enough now?” or “why are you still losing weight?”
And then there were the painful rumours regarding eating disorders and even my sexuality. It was a truly discouraging time. I often felt alone; and between having fibromyalgia and being the only Black clinician on staff as well as the only art therapist, I often felt misunderstood.
My studio space became a place of refuge during the last year of my weight loss. I watched as people, who were once willing to speak with me or were friendly with me, stop interacting with me. And, in all honesty, the decision to move to Italy came at the right time as who I had been no longer was. The new person did not fit in with my old world.
So, why have I written about this or about anything else?
Because it was time. Especially as a counselor specializing in eating disorders. You see, even counselors are human. 😉 Even we struggle with our bodies, including food concerns, weight and body image.
It is a strange paradox about the world of psychology. As a counselor you are expected to help others in overcoming their problems. At the same time, however, it is seemingly frowned upon by peers if you have problems of your own.
This Cold Hard Floor: II, watercolour and ink painting by Diedré M. Blake, 2006
some of us feel that there is a need to be invincible. That there is a need to hide what hurts us, to hide our struggles, to hide our true selves. We walk about attempting to be the tabula rasa (blank slate) for everyone, including our peers…and it just doesn’t work.
There is a reason why…
many of us, who were once bright and shining candles, finally burnout.
There is always a reason why…
I write about this, as well as the previous blog post, to write the truth about a topic for which I held tremendous fear: my weight loss.
I write because I believe that it is the job a therapist to be human and to show his or her client that there is always a path to be found out of the difficulties of life, not just via book lessons but through setting the example by how we live our own lives and how we take care of ourselves.
“True Mirror Image,” photography by Dolores Juhas (2010). Copyright (c) Dolores Juhas. All Rights Reserved.
So what happened after March 2009?
I decided enough was enough. I was sick, tired, self-pitying, angry at the world and at myself, and just generally feeling that I was inadequate that my existence was quite pointless.
I wasn’t able to participate fully in either my personal or professional live. It was hard. When I looked in the mirror, the image smiling back at me was still sad. I decided then that neither Fibromyalgia nor my mind nor my surrounding was going to stop me from finding a way to live.
I decided to do what I could do…take one step forward. I joined up with two other ladies to do a walk/run for 15 minutes for most mornings.
I decided to do Weight Watchers Online for three months to learn more about nutrition and to be inspired by others who were taking positive steps to make effective changes in their lives.
I decided to become vegetarian, slowly (and I mean very slowly) removing meat products from my life.
I decided to begin learning how to love myself as I was in that moment, not lament who I had been. I wasn’t always successful, and sometimes I still struggle with that.
I decided to become more natural with my medication, finding ways to decrease the amount of medications that I had to take. It took consulting with my doctors and taking time to research, but it was worth it.
I temporarily joined a Fibromyalgia Support Group (though I did not always find it supportive, especially when it came to improving my physical health).
I began to speak out more about my needs and take steps at work to make sure that others understood the nature of my illness.
Waiting, photography by April Rivers (Fall, 2010)
The Result?
After almost two years of doing this work, I found myself a bit more than 70 pounds lighter. My blood pressure which was unreasonably high was lower. My body that I could barely move most days began to move more. My mind was less foggy. I began to wake up to many realities of which I was not aware.
And finally, I became aware of something that I knew to be psychologically true…but never imagine I would ever experience. I became aware of the fact that people were angry about my changes.
I had to deal with rumours about my weight loss, i.e. how I lost weight, for whom I lost weight.
Of course, when you go from a larger size to a smaller size, you need new clothes. I was fortunate to receive some vintage clothing from April’s grandmother, which were more fitted to my figure. Wearing these clothing turned into gossip that I was trying to attract men…even though these people knew that I was married and highly committed to my marriage.
“The Revenge of Pride,” photography by Dolores Juhas (2010). Copyright (c) Dolores Juhas. All Rights Reserved.
There was also a humorous side to all of this (actually, I found the rumours humorous too). I discovered that suddenly people felt more comfortable giving me compliments. I even had someone say that they were surprised by how good I was looking lately.
Suddenly, too, many people were ready to chime in on my general appearance: how I should look, what I should wear, what my weight should be.
I guess you could say that losing the weight brought me both joy and distress. I was happy to be free from some of the physical difficulties posed by my weight gain…but I was equally distressed by the growing hostilities coming from various parts of my life. Still, I do not regret it.
And then…
I cut my hair and moved to Rome, which brought on a whole host of other issues, of which you can read about in earlier postings in my blog.
———
Until Next Time,
D.
P.S. Check out School Psychologist and Professor Nina Ellis-Hervey regarding mind and body well-being. Link to her website here. Also visit her YouTube site “BeautifulBrownBabyDol“…You won’t regret it.
Self-portrait, August 2010, photography by Diedré M Blake
Preface:
Simply shocking…this article. I am taking a momentary pause from my hair issues to write about something that has really been on my mind lately: racism.
—-
From reading articles about racial profiling to even a Black woman being chased and threatened that she would be raped and lynched, I have had enough. Black women have been seemingly under blatant attack over the last few years…or better yet, centuries.
It seems that as Black women move up in society and make a place for ourselves, as we demand recognition for our work and our intelligence, as we endure hardships from inside and outside of our community, there are some who are trying their very best to stifle our voices and reduce us to those caricatures that plague mainstream media.
We are neither “hoes” nor are we “bitches” nor are we “mammies” nor are we “domineering,” nor are we “baby mammas,” nor are we “welfare queens,” nor are we any other form of degradation that many may want to lay at our doorsteps.
Indeed, consider us strong and proud women, who are unique in our self-expression and our external beauty; there is no shame in that. I hope you will agree.
—-
Here we go…
I am beginning to understand just how much in the “dark” I have been over the years. Sometimes I think that being from the Caribbean prevents and has prevented me from really understanding the mental and social plight that many people who look like me experience on a daily basis.
Recently I said to my partner, Matteo, that I see myself as being an extremely privileged Black woman. You may wonder why.
The reason is this: I grew up in a predominantly Black society until adolescence. I was never overtly taught about racism. It was only later in my early twenties that I came to understand that there was indeed a form of internalized racism going on in Jamaica.
That is, from childhood we are subliminally taught that those who were considered to have “pretty skin,” or “pretty hair,” or “pretty eyes” were those who had a lighter complexion, less coarse hair (think hair types 3c and above), and to have lighter coloured eyes (not dark brown like mine).
I remember blatantly hearing people who were very dark-skinned being referred to as “duppies” (ghosts) amongst other terms. Now back to my privilege.
For the love of the universe, I grew up listening to heavy metal, classical music, reggae, alternative rock, and country. I suppose I could add some more to that, but you get my point. 😉
The result of these characteristics is that I am a non-threatening entity to a potential dominant White majority. That is, I fit better into that world rather than in one that is dominated by people who look more like me–as I have often been accused by other Black people of being an “oreo,” i.e. Black on the outside, White on in the inside.
It is a sad thing to realize that because of all of these factors, I am shielded often from the prejudice that people who look like me face on a regular basis.
Even here in Italy, where racism is rampant, I was bluntly told that because I am perceivable “attractive,” then I would certainly not experience racism here.
What?? Let me state that again, I was told that Italians are only racist against Black people (or in my case, women), who they do not consider attractive. Really?? Okay…
This is not to say that I have not experience overt and covert racism as well as sexism. Indeed I have, both in my personal life and my professional life. I have been told things like “Oh, you aren’t ugly like other Black women;” “Oh, you are just like a man, intelligent.”
In high school in Florida, I had wanted to attend Berklee College of Music. The band director knew of my desire and had many times lauded me as an excellent musician…
I was, however, not given a letter of recommendation (even after multiple requests) , even though I had proven myself and was acknowledged as a multi-instrument composer and musician, who even led her own Baroque woodwind trio.
A more extreme example happened in college. I was directed not to file a complaint against a White student who assaulted me, because it would be difficult “for someone like me” to prove my case. Instead, I was moved to temporary housing.
While travelling as a student and even beyond, I was routinely stopped and search. Perhaps it is because I had
loc’s, (think marijuana), or
a Jamaican passport at the time (think hard drugs/marijuana), or
nowadays because I wear a head-wrap (think terrorist)–
although, I really should thank those airport personnel for the many head massages I have received as a result, and that one rather cute airport screener in London, who felt it was her personal duty to shove her hand down my pants. You know! 😉
I have been denied upward mobility in my career, by even being denied the possibility of my master’s thesis project being presented to and approved by an internal review board…
The result of this was a most necessary improvisation on my part and a scaled-down version of the project. It didn’t stop there.
Anyway, I could go on forever about the slights I have experienced…just like many other women of colour.
—-
You might be wondering why I am posting what could be perceived as a “rant.”
The reason is simple:
it is time for all people, regardless of socially-defined race and nationality, to wake up!
The colour of your skin, the organ that lies between your legs, the texture of your hair, the structure of your face, your height, your accent, your perceived physical endowments DO NOT dictate the state of your mind.
They do not dictate your capabilities.
They do not dictate your potential.
They do not dictate your intelligence.
They do not dictate whether or not you are a “good” or “bad” person.
Seriously, isn’t it about time that we stopped all of this tomfoolery? Why must we remain so divisive in our words and actions whether within or outside of our own “designated” groups?
I am afraid of the news that I see coming from various countries on the treatment of women who look like me (yes, I care about men too, but I am a woman first).
I am afraid that with the growing belief that racism no longer exists, we are becoming too complacent and letting our awareness slip noticing the everyday occurrences of racial/ethnic/sexual/gender/physical biases that are happening right in front of our very eyes.
Disclaimer:The following thoughts are simply my own. I do not and cannot speak on behalf of any particular group. These thoughts also address issues concerning weight fluctuations and its impact on self-esteem. If this type of topic causes discomfort, please do not continue reading. It took me a great deal of time to decide to address this issue…and thus, I do not do so lightly. I only hope to share some of the experiences in my life journey that have brought me to this point of whom I am, i.e. a person I love most dearly.
—–
Hair 101:
Since childhood I understood something quite clear about the value of hair as a woman. Perhaps it would be better to state, “as a Black woman.”
I understood that the relationship I would have with my hair would be one of constant struggle. I watched my mother, my sisters, aunts, and friends go through the battle of having to straighten their hair. Not only that, some even went to task of getting weaves, whether by sewing or glueing. All in an effort to have that ever-coveted “long, flowing, hair.” I didn’t understand it then, and it some ways I still don’t.
I only knew that,between my mother’s desire for me to grow my hair long and society’s expectation for me not to look androgynous, I could not cut my hair. Well…that was until I turned 15. 😉 What changed?
Acrylic on canvas, 9X12, 1998
Well, I began to embrace my sexuality.
While still living in Jamaica, at the age of 11, I knew that I was “different.” I write “different,” because at that time, I did not know the word “lesbian.” After all, I grew up in a highly patriarchal and homophobic society, and had beenand attending all-girls Catholic school for some years as well as living in a convent–even though that last point might make you wonder how I hadn’t learned the word. But enough kidding around. Seriously, I had no idea. I simply knew that I liked girls better than boys.
At the age of 13, I did have a pseudo-boyfriend…I suppose because it was expected of me. Still, I didn’t feel the expected spark or any type of magical feeling when I thought of or spoke with him. Of course, that would all change after I moved to America and met my first girlfriend at the age 15.
You see, when I moved to Florida, I was still struggling with my relationship with God/the Universe and my growing understanding that I was “different” (a.k.a lesbian). I spent time studying with the Jehovah Witness, the Mormons, and even the Moonies–yeah, I was that serious! ;).
I wrote letters to Catholic organizations, and even received a heartwarming pamphlet called “Pastoral Care for the Homosexual,” which basically told me that God/the Universe didn’t hate me, I just needed to remain celibate for the remainder of my life. Right.
After lots of studying, writing, many tears, I decided that these Christian religions had it all wrong. I believed, rightfully so, that God/the Universe doesn’t make any mistakes…and God/the Universe surely didn’t make one by creating me. So, I cut my hair…
Wait…I know it may seem like a leap. But you see, I was ready to claim my sexuality. I was ready to shed the heterosexual norm that had been dominating my existence up until that point.
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Homosexuality 101:
You see, I had somehow zoomed my way through Cass’ Sexual Orientation Identity Formation Model: going from identity confusion to identity pride. I cut my hair, donned some flannel (see above picture), bought Melissa Etheridge cassettes/CDs, learned Indigo Girls songs on my guitar, started pointing out every lesbian I could to my mother, cut out every article I could find about lesbians and/or lesbian life, signed up with various Youth LGBT organizations, and even began volunteering at L.U.C.H.A (an HIV/AIDS Care Centre). You get the picture.
With my decision to walk away from my Catholic/Christian faith, I no longer felt the need to pander to societal expectations. I didn’t have to concern myself with what it meant to be a “woman” or even a “Black woman” per se, because it seemed to have very little to do with me. I had simply to work on creating me, a “me” not bound by any restrictions of heterosexual society. In essence, I became a social” nomad, without a sense of belongingness.
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Weight 101:
At that young age, I hardly saw images of lesbians beyond the famous ones, singers and politicians. I didn’t see images of young lesbians like myself. If anything I understood that the lesbian community had long modeled itself on the heterosexual community, i.e. of having dominant/submissive role relationships a.k.a butch/femme. Of course, please understand, that that was in 90’s and also my exposure to the LGBQT community was very limited prior to going to university.
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So, what does any of this have to do with weight?
Well, the reality was (is) that in my household “long hair” was not the only concern, “being thin” was too.
References to how thin someone was or should be was a constant in my life growing up. Furthermore, I happened to be the tallest girl in the family as well as the thinnest (a result of both nature and nurture).
My weight was constantly observed and lauded (alongside my academic achievements). It is no wonder that there was and still is such a huge distance between my sisters and myself.
Being thin, however, had its advantages for me being a young lesbian. I wore masculine clothing with ease. I could look and was androgynous when I chose. I was more able to attract the attention of other young lesbians (whether out or not). In other words, I had chosen to externalize my sexuality in the most obvious way.
Again, this refers to that time and I am not saying that sexuality can only be externalized by dressing androgynously.
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College Years
Then something happened.
At the age of 17, I entered Stanford University. In a span of a year, I watched my hair grow by the miracle of extensions (braids), my academic abilities plummet, my weight increased by double digits, and my overall self-esteem shatter in fragments so microscopic that I was certain that I would never recover those pieces (which ended up working out okay after all…because that wasn’t actually self-esteem).
I returned home at a weight that I consider to be still below average. I was hardly overweight. The result of this gain, however, was the gift of my being signed up to take personal training sessions at a local gym. I went once or twice to appease the powers that be. Then I did the next best thing: I ran away.
Well, not really. I simply chose to spend a good portion of my summer vacation away from home. And I continued that practice all throughout college.
“Is This Your Weapon?” Acrylic on Canvas Board, 18X24, 1997
Interestingly enough, it was also at that time (after coming out to my mother on a cross-country road trip from California to Florida) that I decided to keep my extensions and try giving the heterosexual dating thing a try once again. And I did…to spectacular failure.
Many, many awful things happened that are best left undiscussed at this point.
The result was that by the time I returned to being true to myself, the damage that I had inflicted upon my body was quite severe. Thus, in the span of three years, I had gained upwards of 60 pounds and the number kept climbing up to and beyond graduation.
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Letting Go of/Creating The Image
I wore braids until mid-October 1999. I was living in Berlin at the time and my study abroad program had travelled for the weekend to Weimar to visit the city as well as to see the Buchenwald Concentration Camp and the Bauhaus School of Art and Architecture. It was during that trip that I decided to remove my braids and let my semi-formed loc’s embrace the air and light of day. 🙂
It was the best feeling in the world, i.e. letting go of something that was not naturally a part of myself.
My hair had grown long enough for me to be able to manage it and I was excited to see what it would do and how it would grow.
After graduating, as I stated before, my weight had already taken on a life of its own. I failed to take responsibility for it, using it instead as an emotional shield to warn people away from me. I decided then that I would do whatever it took to return to a healthy physical state.
Just as in my teenage years, I felt I had the freedom then to reinvent myself. And it would not be the last time.
In 2002, with the help of my eldest sister, I started working at fitness club. First, I started just as a desk attendant, but was happy to take tips from the trainers and also to have free use of the equipment.
In time, I became a personal trainer, fitness instructor, and a spokesperson for the fitness club. I became a fitter and healthier version of my former self. I was neither the thin/fragile-looking teenager, nor was I the heavy/tired-looking college student.
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Graduate School
2004 I entered graduate school with my hair, body, sexuality, and self-esteem intact. How I would leave it…that would be another thing.
All the discipline that I had learned while working as a trainer were tossed to the wayside and replaced with the discipline of study and working full-time to make ends meet. My long-time girlfriend from Florida had moved with me to Boston and our relationship grew further apart the more I worked and studied…until it finally dissolved.
In 2006 I graduated, and was elated to find myself already employed and dating the woman who would later become my life-partner, April. My health was steadily deteriorating just as steadily as my hair was growing. Finally in 2008, I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia; and April and I married. It should have been the happiest day of my life. It wasn’t.
The night before my wedding had found me in the hospital, barely able to move, and suffering unbelievable amounts of pain. My wedding day was a medicated fog tinged with worries about the final details and dealing with family concerns. My weight too had been skyrocketing. Eventually by March 2009, I would reach my highest weight ever…193. What happened next would change my entire life…
This Cold Hard Floor: II, watercolour and ink painting by Diedré M. Blake, 2006
25.10.13, 13:37–Boiling water.
Freshly done Kanekalonbraids over my once-loc’ed short nappy hair. Hair type 4C, I am told. The nappiest of the nappy.
It’s a do-over: my hair, this post that I have written a million times over and over again in my mind.
Apparently, I am reembarking on a natural hair journey that I didn’t even know I had started almost twenty years ago. Back then, I only knew that I didn’t want chemicals being put my hair: no more Wave Nouveau, Jheri Curls, or relaxers.
At the age of 18, I knew that I needed to take a different path from those around me. I decided to grow my hair out to its natural state, and then to form loc’s. I suppose, now-a-days, one would say that I “transitioned” over the course of three years from processed to natural hair.
Okay, perhaps it didn’t take three years for the chemicals to come out. However, I did begin braiding my hair to waist-length in 1996. I finally stopped in mid-October 1999 when my natural hair had begun to loc’ (as I had wanted it to do) :). Thus, it was until mid-October 2013 that I wore my loc’s.
It may seem odd to some to say that loc’s have a life/history of their own…but really, they do. I understood this to be true in late November 2010.
Because when you wear loc’s, you trap something very important within them: memories.
My grief, my understood existence up until that point, all of it was symbolized by my hair. With his death, who I was then or thereafter became an enormous question mark.
I staring into a mirror then didn’t help me to make sense of what I saw. My grief was beyond recognizable thoughts or words.
All I could do then was cut and cut and cut and cut. With the fall of each loc’, I felt that I would find the strength to create a new path.
By the time I was finished, I recognized something that I had not realized before: I was free of a heavy burden that had been weighing upon me, i.e. my hair. Three pounds (3lbs) of hair had been removed from my head. I felt lighter, freer, even if I still remained in the depths of grief.
Fast-forward some two and a half months, and I find myself far from Boston. I am now in Rome, beginning this blog, and trying to discover who I am to become. My short loc’s are now a source of discomfort and comfort for me as they remind me of all that I had lost prior to my arrival in the Eternal City: my marriage, my beloved Petie, my job, my sense of home, and even myself. Yet still, those short loc’s spoke to me of the hope of starting anew. And so I tried to do just that…
Masque, acrylic painting by Diedré M. Blake, 2000
25.10.13, 13:44–Boiled Hair.
Strangely enough, even though I continued to cut my hair to cheek-length in the years following, I still wanted to continue presenting myself the way I always had before, i.e. when I had long loc’s. I still wanted to wear my high head wraps, and I did–it wasn’t the same.
Somewhere subconsciously, I understood (although I fought against it) that it would never be the same until my hair grew to its previous length. So, I stopped cutting my loc’s and decided to wait for them to grow. That was one year ago.
Rewind to about two weeks ago, at about 4:00 in the morning, on a Thursday, I sat in silence in my room. A comb in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. One the bed: a bottle of conditioner and a bottle of water.
I had decided to take out my loc’s. I didn’t know if it could be done.
I wanted to keep as much of my hair as I could–doing a serious, shaved-headed “big chop” was not in the cards for me, but neither was waiting for my loc’s to grow out and loosen either. Thus, I turned to YouTube–who knew it was this useful–and I searched for “undoing” and “taking out” loc’s. Lo and behold, I found some very useful information.
Toward the within... 