New year, same me

Overrated. That is the word most commonly thrown around when I talk to anyone my age in New York City about New Year’s Eve. We pay upwards of a hundred dollars to be granted entrance into a club where we can barely move, words are slurred, and the music is too loud to allow for actual conversations (Am I getting old?). Us women put on tight dresses and heels, and for some reason massive amounts of glitter and sequins become permissible and even expected (Why the glitter though?).  Even when we avoid the clubs and bars, we pop champagne and pretend we can still drink like college sophomores. Oh, and is it true that some, let’s call them enthusiasts, wear diapers to Times Square in order to secure their spots in the massive crowd watching the ball drop? Please tell me this isn’t true.

Though most of us are aware that, in the end, New Year’s Eve is just another night, I for one cannot deny that everything that comes along with it has an inescapable allure. Especially in the years that haven’t been so bright and shiny for me, the idea of a fresh start or new beginnings is incredibly enticing. I have often thought that each year would bring an easier ride, a year where, for lack of a better term, I have my shit together. But with each year actually comes new struggles, the reality of being an adult in a city and a world that is constantly shifting and presenting wild challenges.

These realizations have brought me to a few decisions when it comes to commemorating 2015. I have chosen to rework New Year’s, have a sort of personal, mini-revolution. For one, I am not making any New Year’s Resolutions. The fact that “losing weight” seems to trump goals such as “doing more volunteer work” and “spending more time with family” rubs me the wrong way for obvious reasons. I mean, let’s not even get into that rant right now. But what is more significant is that setting goals for myself that are based on numbers and timelines never seems to work out. They are too rigid, and put me under unnecessary pressure that overshadows the actual progress I have made. Why can’t change begin when we want it to?

A pattern of thinking I find myself drawn towards on milestones such as the start of the new year or when turning a year older is to always consider the slate wiped clean, like my shameful past, wrought with mistakes and a shitstorm of emotions, has disappeared and everything ahead of me will be unaffected by those things. However, this is simply not the case. My past helps me to shape my identity. This is why I am also shifting my perspective when it comes to the New Year. I want to look back at the past year, the good and the bad of it, without judgment, appreciating how the sum of all of my missteps and misdirection still marks progress from where I have been before. This year, I had to go back to treatment when I found my depression getting the best of me. At the time, I looked at this experience as a failure, another huge dip. But when I see the experience for what it is, a dip on my road to recovery, a dip where I learned more about myself in one month of treatment than I ever did in one year of school, I actually see progress.

So, now it comes to the big question. How will I be celebrating the big evening this year? Well, thankfully it won’t be in a diaper. It also won’t be in a haze of substances, as has been the case in previous years. I am not coming from a place of judgment; I don’t see anything wrong with celebrating the holiday with bubbly and other fun drinks. However, I realized that I wouldn’t be using alcohol to celebrate on New Year’s Eve, rather to distract and numb. And this year, I would rather reflect and appreciate than avoid. Finally, I will be spending New Year’s Eve in a new city with two of my best friends, my roommates from my senior year of college. When I lived with them, I was too plagued by my own anxieties to be the friend to them that they deserved. So here’s to rebuilding old connections and recognizing every experience life has thrown at me as a crucial part of who I am.

Peace and love,

Molly

Body talk, real talk

Though it seems contradictory, there are many examples of moments when we must embrace and reject the same thing at the same time. Maybe our job can be something that fulfills us and provides us with a living, but some days we want to drop everything and quit. I recall arguments with boyfriends, friends, and family members, and though I love these people in the moment, sometimes it is best to step away from them in order to gain some space and perspective. These ideas are not new and unheard of, but lately I’ve been realizing that they apply to certain aspects of myself and my identity, things that are with me all of the time.

Due to my mental hang-ups and the way in which my depression has manifested itself into self-image issues, I struggle when thinking about my body. I find myself wondering why people have to first notice my physical features when they meet me, and not my openness or my sense of humor. I’m not calling other people superficial, but it is simply a fact that we notice the way that others appear physically. Some place more judgment and attachment to that fact than others, but it is a human interaction that cannot be avoided.

I am often angry with my body. I blame it for many of my problems. This has happened in two different ways throughout my struggles. During my first couple of years in college, I compared myself to a standard of perfection that was unattainable when it came to grades, relationships, and any other aspect of life I could think of. Constantly trying to be the perfect student, friend, and girlfriend didn’t exactly keep me relaxed. As an outlet for my stress, I began to abuse my body, because counting calories eaten and miles ran was easier than facing the fact that I am flawed, that I am human.

The second way in which I have blamed my body still occurs now that I am in recovery. I sometimes find myself in the space of thinking that if it weren’t for my body, I wouldn’t have many of the difficulties that I do. Obviously, this is somewhat ridiculous; my problems with my body are symptoms of much deeper-rooted issues. However, body issues do contribute to some of my slip-ups today. I can’t really avoid thinking about what my figure looks like, especially living in a city where I’m encouraged to buy a juice cleanse set on almost every corner and my gym tells me I need to “burn off those holiday calories” (Who do you think you’re talking to, New York Sports Club?).   I have at times found myself acting on those tempting thoughts.

This is why I must reject certain ideas about and even aspects of my body, while at the same time embrace and appreciate it. Lately, I have made a conscious effort to detach myself from the importance of weight. I avoid the scale and try not to have an “ideal” or “goal” weight, because for me, there can be too much negative emotion attached to those things. I also make a conscious effort not to focus too much on individual body parts, since I have a tendency to scrutinize. Finally, I realize that despite messages I am given every day about how diet and excessive exercise are healthy, I have to remember that my own health depends upon a different reality.

Recovery would be a bit easier if this is all I had to do. However, my body is a part of me. It is a function of my identity and therefore will always somewhat affect my self-worth. This is why I am learning to appreciate my body in new ways. My body is strong. It carries me through my day, allows me to walk extra distances when I need to, dance around my room when I want to, and run across the street before the walk signal ends. My body is healthy. Despite years of abuse, it continued to function and keep me alive, even when the odds were against it.

I used to want to disconnect from my body. I shivered in the cold and felt my muscles ache with every step. Now, many days I find myself walking through the city streets in the middle of December thinking of things far more enjoyable: the joke my friend just told, the new song playing through my headphones, or what’s lined up on my Netflix queue. These are the moments in which I am accepting my body and appreciating it for what it is, but rejecting the negative thoughts that berate my self-esteem.

One of my goals in writing these entries is to relate my personal journey and steps in recovery with more universal human experiences. I know from my interactions with the world that everyone dislikes or doubts certain aspects of him or herself.   Maybe one person thinks they’re not funny enough and another person thinks they’re not smart enough. But thinking about it now, it all seems like bullshit to me. You may not be a comedian but you can probably make your friends laugh, and you may not be a genius but you’re probably a hard worker. When you look carefully at the aspects of yourself that you criticize the most, there is most certainly something to embrace.

Peace and love,

Molly