PERSONAL BLOG

Dear Reader, As I just sat down to write in one of my favorite coffee shops I was met with a less than pleasant person from the waitstaff. She took my order and proceeded to blast the music when I opened my computer to write. It’s interesting, you know, maintaining presence and not being attached to the idea that I was going to sit and write quietly while sipping on my ice cold frappe. Instead, there’s reggaeton blasting in the speakers directly above my head and even if I change tables, I can’t escape the sound. It’s hard to not be attached to our preferences and what we would like in a moment. I would prefer to write in peace, but maybe God is challenging not only my patience but my creativity?  Is there a gift in not getting what we want - even if it’s really fucking irritating? 

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10. You, your story and your body were made in the likeness of God: Ok, maybe this is too far fetched for you and I’m too spiritual, but I had a moment very recently while I was working on my self-talk, that God made me and my story perfectly - even the shitty parts. Especially the hard parts. Even my loose skin is perfect because it’s part of my God given story. When we can deliberately choose to love ourselves and see ourselves in the image of God and the universe, details of weight, scars, marks and trauma can fade. When we can say, I love you, I accept you, thank you for my story - I am here - there is healing and there is moving on.

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I’ve lived in my body for the last 44 years and, somehow, she is still surprising me. Rich with story, skin, stretch marks and some trauma; we are still in the process of making complete peace with one another. In the past, when I was heavy, I often thought my life and body would be perfect if and when I lost the weight. I don’t know if there could be a bigger lie that I told myself; that we tell ourselves because I know that I cannot be the only one. I think women tell themselves this lie, and I think men do too. But maybe the truth is, when it comes to our thoughts and self-image, that we don’t speak often enough about the lies we tell ourselves and the hurt we cause in return.

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After a few fast days days in Mexico City, everything about today was slow and steady. I walked around the city in a state of romance, passing the tree where I first got sick in Oaxaca. On my third day of being here, in 2022, I found myself kneeling on this very sidewalk in a state of heat stroke. A race of fast walking, not eating and trying to see every landmark within my 5 day stay in the city center - I learned my lesson. After a call from God, I decided to stay in Oaxaca for 6 months and start to unravel myself. I soon understood why I would push limits to the point of sickness in order to accomplish something, anything. I would soon learn how much control I needed to have in order to feel like I was participating in life.

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Dear Reader, Is it strange to talk about giving away our power, celibacy, sex, food addiction, and God all in one newsletter? Well, if so, this week I am breaking the rules and going for it. Without courage there is no vulnerability, and sometimes we have to remove our armor. Thanks, Brene Brown. Because of my foot injury, it’s been another week of stillness. Rest gave me time to let my head and my heart catch up. Do you ever give yourself time to let your heart and your head say hi to one another? You know, so you can be vulnerable and honest with yourself? I don’t blame you if your answer is no, the whole process can be liberating and sickening all at once …

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It has officially been two years since I have had sex and one year since I’ve experienced physical touch and even being kissed. My bed has been empty with the exception of me and my decisions How do I feel about this? Well, honestly, some days I feel totally fine. Like a super sexy, energetic, gracefully graying woman who can now stand on her head. And, then, some days I feel as though I’m being tortured by God himself for my past transgressions. Like a semi-chubby yogi who is trying her best to fit in at class, but who constantly makes a spectacle by falling down. Celibacy has been a mixed bag of emotions

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Dear Reader, For the last ten days or so I’ve been somewhat out of commission; nursing a painful case of tendonitis that has slowed me down. A few weeks ago, on my morning walk to yoga, I met an older man, Arturo, who uses a wheelchair because of an accident that caused him to lose one of his legs 10 years ago. I began helping him get to work in the morning, but I’m afraid that between the extra movement, weight and the sloping rocky streets - I took on too much. Seeing others in need always gives me pause and because I have the gift of time while in Oaxaca, I always go to help. I realized a lot this week, and I am grateful for the lesson - even if I can’t walk well at the moment.

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Writing about my faith, my belief in God and a higher power, well, honestly, sometimes feels strange. It feels strange because religious people are often judged and, I know this, because I used to be one of them. I questioned faith, God, the universe and often asked - Why me? Why us? Why my family? But when God showed up in my life, almost 3 years ago, when I was in need of help, I listened. And I have not stopped listening to him since.  For me, having faith and a sense of God’s presence in my life is more about spirituality than it is about subscribing to Catholicism or one religion in particular. Although, yes, I do go to church. And, yes, I am Catholic. And, yes, I also consider stepping on my yoga mat every single day to be just as, if not more, holy than going to church. What I’ve come to realize is that God is around and inside of me. This, alone, gives me daily comfort, as I’ve changed so much about my life.  

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When I was growing up I always wanted more than we could afford, especially when it came to clothing and material items. I was the kid who received all of the hand me downs and my grandmother would sometimes make my clothing because of my size. We used to shop for canned goods and clothes in a local Brooklyn store called Telco. When I needed a special dress, or a new coat, mom would put one on layaway. On payday from the bakery, each week, we would walk to the store and she would take some of her cash and pay a little bit more for my new clothes. After a few trips, I would have the dress or coat. I used to think it was embarrassing when I saw friends get new things instantly. Why did we have to shop on layaway?

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Dear Reader, This week I spent some time typing a July 4th confession that many of you may not agree with, but here goes nothing. July 4th always presented a series of traumas and challenges for me when I was a child and, honestly, I don’t know that I’m too keen on summer BBQ’s to this day because of it. The smell of OFF (mosquitoes loved my sweet chunka-wunka legs and they still do), hot dogs grilling and the chance that I might have to wear a swimsuit in front of family and/or strangers. Squeezing in at a table and having to sit outside but WISHING, WISHING our Brooklyn yard had an air conditioned force field. No such luck.

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After leaving my job in April of 2022 and going to Oaxaca for a vacation I realized that what I created inside of my apartment existed in the real world. It existed in Oaxaca. Admittedly, I didn’t know much about Oaxaca and went on a recommendation from a friend. I went on the trip with no planning, but a hotel room booking and a desire to eventually go to the beach. I took one walk on my second day in the city and encountered plants growing with wild abandon; the same ones I cared for in my home. The murals on the streets even bore a likeness to my very own paintings. The colors of the walls, 90 shades of sherbert and creamy, fruit flavored gelato. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

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At 20 years old I left my home in Brooklyn and moved to a small working farm in Connecticut for 3 months in the Summer of 2001. I arrived in my dad’s 1991 Plymouth Voyager. I was sweating. It was hot. I was excited, but not really. The sentiment, I am sure, of most 20 year olds doing something new for the first time - like temporarily moving to a farm […] 23 years ago today, I began teaching myself how to grocery shop and cook. Life on the farm allowed me to experience a series of many firsts that would become a set of lifelong habits. After hot days, and during the cooler nights, I cooked from taste memory the food of my childhood.

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