Truth Telling from the Garden

"Here she comes...she's really going to try this crazy shit!  This whole, planting in May...starting outside from seed...it's lunacy!" said my whiskey barrel by the gate.  "I hear she's only been gardening for a few years...she doesn't know what the hell she's doing" commented another old weathered barrel.  "Well, I heard she's going to use OLD seeds this year!" whispered the newest of the barrels.  "This is Texas, lady...these plants won't even make it through the scorching summer...let alone produce anything"sneered a crotchety old whiskey barrel.  

Well, UP YOURS, nay-sayers!  STICK IT!

There's a freeze coming so I had to (reluctantly) pull all of my peppers and tomatoes from the garden.  My heart overflowed with gratitude and pride as I saw how many were on there.  You see, there were those who thought I was nuts.  You don't start tomatoes and peppers in May.  Truth is, I totally know that but time just escaped me in late March/early April.  You certainly don't start them outside from seed...in May.  Well, I did, so there!  And...for crying out loud, you don't use OLD seeds and expect anything.  Hey, that's all I had on hand on the day that felt inspired to plant!  I poked the little seeds down into the soil and talked to them like the freak I am.  I told them it's ok if they didn't feel like coming up but I wanted to give them a chance.  I had more tomato seeds than space so I decided to just plant them all rather than save them...I mean, surely some wouldn't come up because that would be defy all odds!

But...those little buggers DID!  And, it quickly became apparent that I would need to transplant this mass of tomato plants to other barrels.  They came up but they may not survive this transplant since I felt like Baby Huey doing it.  I apologized to them and hoped they'd grow strong.  They DID.

Ok...now I have a handful of barrels stuffed with plants like the garden version of that hording show...there was no way I could keep all of these so a few of my friends came over and we started re-potting them to give away to others.  And, by "we", I don't necessarily mean that I did much because, wine ;)  Again, they may not survive the transport/transplant but they were free, organic plants, so what the hell!  Take them & love them people!  Free love!  Uh...I mean through plants.

Over the summer, my tomato plants would get some blooms but didn't produce.  I would walk around my barrels and inspect the plants, talk to God, and ask for support for my garden.  My poor pepper plants were nowhere to be seen.  I guess those seeds were just too old.  Since my tomato plants had blooms but I rarely saw bees, I began the bloom to bloom make-out ritual.  Don't judge me.  They needed "help" in that area and I was like their plant sex therapist so to speak.  Not to brag on my skills, but I guess I'm pretty good at that because I started to see some little tomatoes late in the summer!  Then several of the plants got very, very bushy (geez, the 70's called and it wants it's bush back!!) and couldn't be held up anymore...they fell down and some split. I just left them because... they were still blooming! Crazy!

Then came September.  I saw my pepper plants coming up!  IN SEPTEMBER.  By this time, I had no idea what the hell kind of peppers they were but I knew they were something!  HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS!  These seeds sat there...doing whatever the hell they were doing in that soil...for 4 stinking months!!  What they hell were they doing down there?  Waiting for mom's meatloaf?  Welcome to the party, pepper folks!  Let's do this thing!

Since then, my tomatoes and peppers have been surprising me daily.  Now, because there were not many bees around, I lost a lot of pepper blooms but when I went out to pull the tomatoes to prepare for the freeze tonight, I was in AWE of the bounty that was on those vines.  Pure joy, I tell you!  Here's a side note...most of the tomatoes in the picture came from 2-3 tomato plants.  I had about 6 more that were struggling to stay alive themselves...and hadn't produced anything.  About 3 weeks ago (yes, in NOVEMBER), one of the struggling plants had 2 tomatoes on the mostly brown, somewhat dry, vine.  It did it.  It squeaked out some produce.  I damn near cried for this plant and I'm not shitting you.

All joking aside, I am truly thankful.  I'm thankful for the produce, yes.  But, more importantly, I'm thankful for the lesson.  God, I hear you.  You speak to me in some very interesting ways.

If you recall, 2015 was basically a disaster for my family and I realized that I had not participated in the things that brought me joy...like my garden.  So, the only thing left in the garden was the raggedy rosemary...then the flowers, being inspired by the rosemary, came back.  It was symbolic.  It renewed my outlook.

2016 has been a lovely, bi-polar bitch.  It's had some wonderful things, of course, but it's also had some mighty big challenges for my family again.  Yet, here I am...learning my lessons through produce.

God wants me to keep my hope and wonder.  To not give up on myself even if the odds are stacked against me.  To celebrate my victories even if they're small and late in the game.  To say: "What the hell!  Why not?!" more often.  Yes, I do think God wants me to say that...because he knows I just can't say heck.  Or "What the toast!"...is that a thing?  Maybe it should be.  Use it in a sentence today.  
God wants these things for you too.  Be the tomato...just keep blooming knowing you will produce.  Be the pepper...patiently waiting, knowing your moment is coming.  Be the rosemary or the spring flower...pushing through the harshness of life because you will be renewed again.  Be all of those things...because you can and you are so very worth every effort!

This is my harvest this morning.  I have NEVER, EVER had a tomato harvest so plentiful!  Plus, I grow heirlooms so it's even more challenging to keep them alive.  My heart is grateful.  Now I wait for tomatoes to ripen.  I will be using the bell peppers for chili this week and the jalepenos for my favorite night...veggie nacho night!

We can do this, people!!!
    

Don't forget to use worm castings for all of your plants! Good stuff!

Oh, the demons we feed

I am NOT a perfect eater...I DON'T have a beach body...nor do I have a 21 year old's vibrance. I have been where many of you are now...hating your body...feeling unworthy of this or that because of your size...having abused yourself over and over again with chronic dieting, punishing exercise and harsh self judgment. I certainly still have struggles...but now I have the education to tag along with my passion to treat myself better as a soul on planet Earth. I have a little story to share with you about the demons we fight...and what happens when you stop the fighting...and start the dance.      

So, I've just made a pretty bad ass career change: I've earned my certification as an Eating Psychology Coach. Over the eight months I spent studying for my certification, I didn't give much thought to the day that I would meet many of my classmates at the alumni conference in Colorado. I like to call it my "graduation" because it was there that I actually received my certificate that names me as a Certified Eating Psychology Coach. When I look at that beautiful document, I cannot believe it has MY name on it...AND it's officially signed. This is really big for me because the only educational venture that I truly completed other than high school (and underage drinking in college) was a travel school in Florida. What the hell?  Exactly. It was a fun experience. Moving on.

When my training was complete, my husband and I embarked on the long drive from Dallas, TX to Boulder, CO, to meet classmates that I had only blindly "met" via Facebook and conference call. I comically began to visualize walking into a conference room full of small seats and tiny women in yoga pants. {insert record scratch here} WAIT. WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? Am I going to be the token fat girl who studied eating psychology in a class full of yoga instructors? I did a pretty good job of hiding my growing panic. We arrived at the hotel and I could see a mob of my peers socializing near the lounge. I was in full NSA-drone-stealth-mode (because that's how I roll when I'm being a chicken shit pansy) so I quickly checked in and made my way up to my room to avoid an awkward "fat girl in the health/wellness industry" moment. Mission accomplished.

The next morning we went down to the hotel's gorgeous restaurant for breakfast prior to the start of the conference and the choice was menu ordering or buffet. Although I started to order off the menu, the server informed me that it's cheaper to do the buffet because my choices were already included in that price. I seriously still hesitated...because of the size of my body and the stigma that's attached to buffets...what would people say when they saw me go up there? "Oh, see...yeah, that's why she's a chunk...she chose the buffet...let's see how much she eats". Um...yeah...see, no one actually said that...it was all that voice in my head so I shivved that bitch and saved a couple bucks. The food was amazing...and I showed the people around me...who were not at all interested in what or how much I was eating ...that I can eat at a buffet without having to wear sweat pants. What a relief! 

Anyway. My husband wanted to leave to go skiing and it became apparent to him that I was lingering and avoiding...slowly sipping my coffee. He asked what was going on with me. I looked out the window at those gorgeous Rocky Mountains in the distance (it's symbolic!). "I'm scared to go..." I said as my freshly mascara'd eyes filled with tears. My newfound fear of being rejected based on my size was welling up inside of me and I was sure I was walking right into the mouth of some terrifying monster down the hall. My husband leaned in close to me at the table and said..."Honey...God brought you here for a reason....now go in there and FACE YOUR SHIT!".

Is that even legal? Did he really just use God and the word "shit" together to make a point to me? You're damn right he did. You know why? Because God knows exactly how to get through to me. I laughed through my tears and kissed my husband goodbye...then made the slow and sobering walk towards those double doors at the end of the hall.  

I signed in and guess what? It didn't say "Token Fat Girl" next to my name. Whew! That was a close one. I looked around and didn't notice any one looking strangely at me or snickering with their buddies. I found a seat and anxiously waited to meet my mentor, Marc David. When Marc arrived, he received a standing ovation. Not surprising since he is probably one of the most remarkably wise men I've ever met. He asked for someone to share how the program changed their life. Crickets...no sounds...no volunteers...then...MY damn hand shot up! What? Who the hell is doing that shit????!!!   Way to just push me out into the deep end, God! I wondered if I could just share my little story from my seat. Nope. Called up on the stage.

I was shaking and my eyes immediately filled with tears as I looked around the room at everyone who I was certain was silently judging me. Marc grabbed my hand and started swinging it like we were two little girls on the playground. He looked right into my soul as he said, with the most comforting smile..."It's ok...just take your time". Through my tears and trembling voice, I managed to start with something like "I was afraid to come in here today...I didn't know if I would be accepted because of my size. I wondered if I was walking into a room full of yoga instructors". Then, because I cannot let an awkward moment go without a little humor, I told the group that I hoped I didn't look like Tammy Faye Bakker. A few people caught what I said and laughed and saying it helped me to relax slightly. I proceeded to share with them little snippets from my life: I have struggled with my weight for most of my adult life and I've never understood why I gained so much since I had been a vegetarian for nearly 20 years. Over those years, I had gained/lost/gained probably 150 lbs or more. I've lived with "ghosts" of the beautiful figure and confidence of my youth. I have defended why I don't consider bariatric surgery as an option for treating my weight issue, while feeling alienated by some very important people in my life who believe my problem is hand to mouth, plain and simple. This dysfunctional ride just made things worse.

I shared with them that I KNEW I could heal this...I KNEW it was not food at the root of my weight issue...and I NEEDED the support of those who loved me! So how did it change my life? My training forced me to look deep within myself and shine the light in painful places that wanted to remain hidden. It put ME in front of a mirror...first to explore who I really am and then how I can begin to love myself again. I had to learn to LISTEN to what my body was trying to tell me...and part of that was facing the sobering fact that I needed to add high quality, clean meat back into my diet. That was an immense challenge for me on the emotional level and was not taken lightly. I explained that the culmination of my training was this: I am not broken and I don't need to be fixed...I am worthy of love from others and, more importantly, myself...my body is a wise protector and it has served me well...but now it's time to heal those areas that it's protecting.  

During this entire time, Marc was holding my hand tightly and then he asked me to look around at my peers, many of whom had been moved to tears. He asked me if I felt accepted and loved...and I did beyond words. He kept me up on the stage for a few more minutes while he talked about the challenge of our work as counselors, all the while still holding my hand. When it was time, he turned and hugged me tightly, thanked me for sharing so honestly with the group and kissed me on the cheek. I felt like a rock star that entire weekend and left with an awesome perspective on my mission because so many people approached me to say that my story was inspiring, heartfelt and real. They connected with what I was brave enough to say in front of everyone and it helped others gain the confidence to share their stories as well. You see...everything that happened on that stage didn't just happen to me, it happened to my demon too...that ugly voice inside of me who utters abusive, hateful things about myself. Always tearing down instead of building up. During that beautiful weekend in Colorado, I showed my demon some love for the first time. It was seen. It was acknowledged. And it was softened. It will always be part of me...and sometimes gets it's panties in a wad. That's perfectly ok. I don't fight it anymore. I breathe, I love it up, I dance with it...and I accept it as proof that life is not perfect. It's absolutely uncertain, but I'm still blessed to live it.    

I am exactly where I am supposed to be in my life-and no matter what my weight is at any given time, God has blessed me with the desire to walk hand in hand with others who need the encouragement to dance with their demons. We are born to love and be loved...and we are worthy of that at any size.