Struggle in three parts

FOOD, WEIGHT, AND BODY IMAGE:

I've had the most stressful month at work and turned immediately to my two most trusted friends, Ben and Jerry, to get me through. I skipped the gym, drank wine and no water, and ate pizza and burgers and fries and hot wings and cookies. So many cookies. My brother tells me that I deserve a piece of pizza now and then, which is like saying an alcoholic deserves a swig once in a while. One day I will begin treating food as the addiction it is, and recovery will begin. After all, I hit rock bottom a while ago and have been rolling around on its dirt floor ever since.

My weight has been an issue since I was young. Some people have stringy hair, some people have bad teeth or major acne. My weight is the cross I bear. I am totally on board with the I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR, CURVES AND STUFF mantra and all that jazz. I do think women with curves are beautiful. I think women without curves are beautiful, too.

Before you say that I am worth more than my weight, please know that I both know and agree with you. But still, this is a struggle for me, when it takes me so long to get ready in the morning because my skin doesn't fit, much less my clothing. I have no real resolutions, except to just keep trying. And try I will.

DEPRESSION AND MENTAL ILLNESS:

Just the other day I told my good friend that it was too soon to tell a new guy friend about my struggles with depression and anxiety. That afternoon Robin Williams was found dead of an apparent suicide in his home, and I realized just how important it is for people in your immediate realm to be aware of your struggle.

I have nothing to add to this conversation that hasn't been added via Facebook or Twitter or even Buzzfeed, except to say that I am just one of the ten percent of Americans that is currently being treated for depression. I wouldn't be scared to tell him if I had a heart condition, so I'm not sure why it would be too soon to tell him I have a brain condition.

FAILURE AND PERSEVERANCE:

Yesterday a coworker gave me this riddle by Albert Einstein and challenged me to give her the answer. After about an hour of drawing diagrams and starting over a few times, I finally solved it. I spent sixty-ish minutes telling myself that I could figure it out, but also beating myself up for it taking so long. That old familiar feeling.

I hate failing at anything. I hate it when things don't come easily, and roller derby brings out all of my insecurities more than anything else in my life. I hate it that I'm not bouting yet. I hate it that I still look like a toddler learning to walk when do a tomahawk stop.  I hate it that I still haven't passed my final endurance assessment. But I really have to take a step back and realize that the stride skills I was working on just a month ago have become second nature, and my crosses (while they still don't feel natural) are becoming more fluid, and my stance is becoming wider and stronger. So progress is being made, but it doesn't look like I expected it would look by now.

But there is no room for my insecurity on the track. There is no room for my insecurity at the gym. There is no room for my insecurity in my relationships. And it is for this reason that these three things are totally intertwined, so I guess I'll roll on.

On worth, identity, and where I've been

I am hesitant to write this post, but it needs to be written.

I have been described as both introspective and extroverted, which is quite the volatile concoction. I dream new dreams before completing old ones, and I share my excitement about them openly, even when everyone around me knows I will never complete them before a new one hangs its curtains in my heart. In times of uncertainty, I fall into a sort of puddle form at the feet of anyone I perceive to own a mop. In moments of sorrow, I find arms that will wrap around me, even when I know I should not allow arms that snuggle up to another woman at night to hold me together by day.

It goes without saying that the last few years have been trying. My identity has waxed and waned like the phases of the moon-- bright and bold, barely there, totally absent. I have seen ultimate highs and solemn lows. I went through a stage where I could not be hugged without bursting into tears. This was followed by the stage where the lack of human touch in any form made me feel worthless and unloved.

My roller derby team took me under their wing at a time when I felt broken and proved to me that I was not fragile at all. I quickly became part of this new family, laughing louder than I ever have before and really meaning it. Since the fall things have taken a sharp turn south. My laughter is louder than my sobs, sure, but my sobs surely are still there. The bandage couldn't hold back the flood waters forever. I've stopped going to practice, to parties, to away bouts. I've tucked myself so deeply back in my shell where I can't hear anything, not even the ocean.

Last night I was driving home from Savannah, singing at the top of my lungs to keep my head from spinning. It hit my like a ton of bricks:

My worth is not found in his hands on my hips, my cheek, my thighs. It's not measured by how well I skate or how cute my butt looks in a pair of booty shorts. It's not equivalent to the amount of calories I eat in one day or how much sweat pours out of me at the gym. It's not a number on a scale. It's not the number of people I've loved. It's not the husband who abused me. It's not the divorce that has defined me or the babies I couldn't carry. It's not the photos in my Instagram feed. It's not the art I make. It's not the length of my hair or the job that I do or the place that I live. It's not my volunteer work. My worth is packaged in my ability to experience all of these things and love myself because of my story and not in spite of it.

I'll admit, I'm still working on that while the world spins madly on.

But sometimes derby is awesome!

And sometimes your derby hero comes to your team's practice! 

And sometimes your trainer strategically lets her work with you for two hours straight. And sometimes she teaches you something that you weren't quite getting before, and magically your crossovers look more fluid and powerful and less wobbly and unstable.

And sometimes she times you during an endurance drill and even though you feel like you are going to COLLAPSE AND DIE right there on the track, you don't BECAUSE SHE'S SKATING RIGHT BEHIND YOU AND SHE'S WATCHING and you just can't do that.

And sometimes you just have to take your thoughts away from your upcoming divorce date and your growling stomach and your achy feet and just listen to the music that's playing and sing as many of the words as possible and get your ass around that track as fast as you can.

Then you survive the drill, and your faith in derby-- and in yourself-- is restored. And that rough practice you had the other night is just a distant memory that only made you a better skater in the end.

I mean, let's be honest:  Most of us joined a roller derby team during some kind of difficult transition just to prove that we can do hard things and live to tell about it.

I certainly did.

Sometimes Derby Sucks

Sometimes I leave practice having mastered some new skill and I feel this primal roar of victory welling up inside me for the next few days. Sometimes I get to skate with my derby hero for a few hours at open session and she graciously takes the time to work with me on some small skill that I've been too scared to practice on my own.

I go home, I shower because I smell like feet and dingy gum-smeared carpet and sweat, I tweet about how great derby was that night (!!) and then I go to sleep with this cheesy grin on my face, and all is right with the world, because roller derby is awesome. It is.

But...

Sometimes derby sucks.

Sometimes I lace up my skates with good intentions of working on this footwork drill or that endurance drill, and my trainer has other goals for the night. We end up working on things that make me cringe, things that scare me, or things that I flat out don't understand. I stand there, wobbly and confused, in the middle of the track. Then we do three drills in a row at which I do not succeed, and I leave the track frustrated.

Last week after an exceptionally disappointing practice in the parking lot, I was talking to a teammate who could sense my frustration and spent the better part of ten minutes trying to remind me that when I started skating five months ago, I couldn't even stand on wheels....

"Hey Goldie," she yelled from across the parking lot as she was getting in her car. "Don't cry on the way home, okay?"

And I didn't. This time.
(It may or may not have happened before.)

Roller derby is hard work, and it takes guts to keep going back for more. It's tricky not to compare yourself to other skaters on the track. It can get frustrating to watch another skater master a skill that you've been working on for weeks. I have no pearls of wisdom to impart really, but I just thought I'd let you know that it's not just striped knee socks and derby names. It's hard work, sheer athleticism, strategy and glam all rolled into one.

Derby and trust

I was exhausted. We were in the middle of an endurance relay. It was my third roller derby practice and my legs felt like noodles. I had my hands up on my helmet, opening my lungs as much as possible in hopes of catching my breath. 

"You're doing great," a teammate said as she high-fived me. Our wrist guards smacked together like firecrackers.

I didn't feel like I was doing great. I felt a strange mix of misery and pride. I was pushing through, but it didn't feel natural at all. 

"I'm trying really hard," I said between breaths as I bent over and put my hands on my knees.

"Yeah, but I still see that doubt in your eyes." So much for the tough facade I was trying to fake. I wobbled on my skates and cussed under my breath. Perfect timing, I thought. 

"I feel like I'm doing something for me, but it doesn't feel natural. I don't trust my body." And there it was. The truth came spilling from my lips.

I don't trust my body.

Those five words triggered so many emotions in me that I would have burst into tears if I had the energy at the time. 

I thought about it all night long. The same body that housed and then failed my babies also mastered plow pose in yoga last week.

Derby is stretching me in ways I didn't expect. I'm losing inhibitions and ridiculous amounts of pride (I have an ice pack sitting up against my bruised tailbone as I type.) I'm learning that mistakes aren't always negative and I'm learning that I'm stronger and more durable than I thought I was that day when I declared there would be no more war within my walls. I'm talking to myself differently, praising myself for even the tiniest bits of progress instead of constantly criticizing my shortcomings. I'm challenging myself to learn from my teammates instead of comparing myself to them.

It's a flat-track uphill climb for damn sure.

Noteworthy

Oh, just a few things from across the Interwebs.

This is my new favorite vocabulary word.

This article on The Rise of Roller Derby: No Longer WWE on Wheels - For all you people who think I'm crazy for doing derby.

This version of Taylor Swift's song "Trouble" by Walk Off The Earth. Soooooo much better. Sorry, Taylor.


News about Kim Jong Un's exgirlfriend being executed by firing squad for simply existing. Oh North Korea, I just don't understand you.

A Friday Funny

Happy Labor Day weekend, y'all! Stay safe and don't do anything I wouldn't do.