Love Yourself as Your Neighbor?

In my Bible class the other day, my friend Julia said something so profound based on our chevrutah study of Leviticus. She was talking about the line, "Love your neighbor as yourself" and mentioned that in order to love your neighbor, you must also love yourself.

The concept sounds simple, I know, but it really struck me and I've been thinking about it all week long.

How many of us love ourselves the way we love our neighbors? Maybe in Biblical times, it was easy to love yourself, as there were no shiny magazines, no billboards, no TV ads showing what the perfect person is supposed to look like. We, however, live in a society that lives and breathes appearances and, whether we like it or not, we constantly compare ourselves to the models on the pages and the seemingly perfect people who dwell among us.

For the first time in a long time, I stood naked in front of my full length mirror yesterday. I stared at my body for a long time, trying to find one thing from the neck down that I could be proud of. I started at my feet, my long, wide feet that make it impossible to find cute shoes. I worked my way up to my calves, my "Fishbein" calves that are muscular and strong, however unfeminine they may be. My thighs have always been a source of terror to me, as has my stomach and my "inner tube" the roll of fat above my stomach created from wearing too many pairs of jeans that I had to squeeze into for so many years. My breasts that are saggy and unsexy from gaining and losing so much weight over the years (they're the one thing I would have surgically redone had I the money, time, or guts...as opposed as I may be to plastic surgery, I'd be willing to bend for some new boobs...and I am 110% serious about that.) My hands, masculine and rough but strong and durable, and my pretty forearms connected to wobbly upper-arms that won't go away no matter how many push-ups I do. My shoulders, stretch marked and freckled from too much sun in Tel Aviv last year.

From the neck up, I'm kind of a babe.

But how can I look at the rest of my body and see only uglyness?
How can I expect someone else to love my body if I don't love the appearance of my own body? How can I look at someone else and see only beauty if I can't see only beauty in myself?
How can I expect a man to be attracted to me, with clothes or without clothes, if I'm not attracted to myself?

I know that on the inside, my body is a beautiful miracle of creation. I am lucky that all of my insides work exactly as they should to support me and sustain my journey. I am also lucky to realize the gifts my body provides for me everyday; the gift of singing, of walking and talking, breathing, digesting food, laughing, etc.

But will I ever be able to see my outsides as anything but mounds of wrinkled flesh and stretch marks?
Will I ever get to a point where I can look at my body on the outside and simply appreciate the scrapbook of memories those wrinkles and stretch marks provide?
And will someone else be able to see and appreciate my body's journey before I am able to?

Is dating pointless if I'm not able to love myself enough?
Is it possible to be able to love your neighbor as yourself if you look at yourself and aren't in love?

In this day in age, at least for some of us, is it maybe more correct for God to command us to 'Love Yourself As Your Neighbor'?

Ugh

I had a lovely, wonderful Shabbat in Brooklyn last night. Spent a great evening with fantastic people in a warm shul and fantastic Israeli restaurant.

And then I came home, to an empty apartment, and felt miserable.

Why do I get like this? I LOVE living alone. I LOVE that I made it to Brooklyn successfully for the first time. I LOVE that I spent Shabbat just as one is supposed to, with good friends, prayer, food and feeling. But I came home feeling so shitty.

And then I started thinking about Andrew and what might have been if he'd responded to me differently. And I started thinking about the reasons why he rejected me and why I wasn't good enough. And then I felt even worse, so I read some Naomi Levy and went to sleep.

I feel a little better today, as I have plenty of homework to keep my brain occupied and barely any food in the house to mindlessly snack on. I want to put my new suit on to remind myself of how far I've come and how much I've changed since the whole Andrew saga went down. I might even put on makeup and look pretty for myself, to convince myself of all he is missing because he's an idiot who couldn't then and won't ever see how awesome I am.

I think this is just one of those moments where a roommate, or a boyfriend, or even a mom or a friend would come in handy. Just so I don't have to be all alone in this empty apartment.

I wish I had a "person" here. It sometimes feels like all of the people already have their person, and I'm on the outside, desperately seeking and unable to connect with anyone.

Welcome to my "I'm feeling sorry for myself and need to write about it to get it out" post. Pathetic, I know.

Simchat Torah

Last night was the beginning of Simchat Torah, the Jewish holiday where we read the last bit of the Torah before rolling it back and reading from the beginning again. It's a holiday that celebrates the Torah, celebrates Judaism, celebrates new beginnings and Jewish life and the goodness of celebration. For someone like me, who appreciates both the chance to start over and the excitement of the book of Genesis (I know, cliche, but I can't help it--I love the stories!) it's a wonderful holiday.

This year was slightly different for me. It was my first Simchat Torah in New York, and really, my first celebration outside of Temple Israel in St Louis. We celebrated at B'nai Jeshrun, a conservative (traditional? reconstructionist?) synagogue in Manhattan. They had the traditional 7 hakafot (Torah processionals) which each lasted about 45 minutes and were full of dancing and singing and so much joy with the several Torah scrolls passed around from person to person. There were people of all ages celebrating, smiling and laughing and loving the Torah.

Normally on Simchat Torah, I stand in the pews, watching the people around me dance and have fun. I've never felt comfortable dancing in public where others can see me. But this year, I danced. No concern for what others were thinking, no worries about the sweat dripping off of me, no care for how I might have looked. I stopped thinking and started dancing, and had one of the most amazing experiences of my Jewish life. I realized that simply attending Simchat Torah services wasn't justly fulfilling the commandment of observing the holiday; the point is to dance and sing and carry the Torah with your only concern being the celebration itself.

So I danced. And sang. AND--carried the Torah for awhile :) Surrounded by friends and Jewish brothers and sisters, not caring about how my body looked, concentrating only on joy and new beginnings and the gift of Torah. THIS is what my body was made to do, and for the first time I was able to let loose, let God enter my soul AND my body, let my most beautiful self shine through.

Such a refreshing wake-up call and a beautiful start to my year of Torah. I didn't stay for the actual reading (we left in the middle of the 4th hakafa--too many people!) but it still amazes me the lessons God and the Torah can teach without reading a single word.

I know the revelation of Torah is celebrated on the Jewish holiday of Shavuout in the spring; but I don't think God would mind me saying that I had my own Torah revelation last night. From this point forward, the Torah will mean so much more than it ever did before.

Thanks, Dude, for the gift of Torah.

Questions

Recently, around the time when I was really excited over my date with Brian, when I was really worried about how I wasn't all that attracted to him, a good friend told me that "girls like us are never going to find attractive men. They don't want us. Just deal with it and keep seeing him."

Now, this friend is not fat. Never has been, never will be. She also isn't a pretty girl, more because of her own laziness and choosing than her natural physical appearance. She has everything she needs to be labeled as "attractive" except for the effort and attitude.

But, according to this friend, because I am fat, I am automatically put into the "unattractive" category when it comes to men. Without actually saying it, she decided that the cluster of men I have to choose from is different from that of the average woman BECAUSE OF MY WEIGHT.

But what if, despite the numbers on the scale and the tags on my clothes, I think I am pretty?
What if I do believe that I have the right to choose who I want to date, the kinds of men I am interested in?
What if I think it's okay to be selective, to not want to date a guy because I'm not attracted to him?
What if I keep the faith that someday a wonderful, handsome man is going to find me and fall madly in love with me, like Link and Tracy in Hairspray?

Am I crazy for keeping these hopes with me? Is it true that the man of my dreams will never look my way because of my weight?

I so badly want to poll the men in my life and ask them what they think about this. I don't necessarily think I have the best men to ask; the only ones I trust are either gay or too sweet to tell me the truth. I just want to know what the average man would think about the following questions, provided he was single and looking:

A woman in your life comes up to you and confesses her undying love and devotion to you. She's perfect: an intelligent, sweet, funny, successful, driven, family-oriented, religious (or not, depending on your religious inclinations), beautiful girl. EXCEPT--she weighs 250lbs. Would you give her a chance, knowing she'd love you and would naturally be everything you're looking for? Or would you cast her aside, reasoning that someone better would come along?

I guess no one is perfect. It just amazes me the number of guys who'd rather date a lunatic than a girl who's working to take off too many extra pounds.

Opinions, Please!!

First of all, I'm a little ashamed to be posting this...feels narcissistic or something. Sorry about that.

For awhile now I've been wanting to buy a new suit. I've been on the lookout, tried on a bunch of options, and haven't found anything that fits particularly well or is all that flattering.

That said, I found something this morning that I might be into. BUT--since I'm never 100% sure about these things, and those of you who read this seem to have great senses of fashion, I want your opinion. I need my stylists!! Before I show you, I should tell you a few things about it.

1. I LOVE the jacket and the look as a whole. I don't think it makes me look boxy or masculine, which I normally think when I'm in a suit.
   
2. The jacket=size 20. The pants=size 18. I took pictures of the tags for evidence, just in case I am making this all up in my head. Size 18 pants? NEVER happened before, ever.
   
3. The whole suit cost me $48, tax and all. Brilliant.
4. The pants are the one thing I can't quite decide on. I'm not really a wide-leg girl, and since I have no butt, I don't know if I can really pull them off. The size 20's were too big in the leg, even though I really have to squeeze into the 18's (but they fit!) Maybe a tailor can work some magic on them?

The pics were tough to take, and I didn't realize how dirty my mirror was until after I'd taken the pictures, so my apologies if the suit itself is hard to see. I'm wearing my 2-inch heel boots in the pics, so I need to find some cute heels to go with it. Yay for new shoes!

The sizes. Yep, they're real. I still can't believe it myself. I also love the teeny-tiny polka dots.

The jacket

The pants--see the bulk in the hip and thigh area? Can a tailor fix that?

Front view

Side view

So what do we think? I won't be offended by opinions since I struggle with knowing what works and what doesn't. Thanks in advance for your help!

Strange

I keep thinking about what I wrote in my last post, about how I see something completely different when I look at myself than how others see me. Life keeps throwing all these signs at me, like the saleslady this morning who said, "oh, there's no way you could be a size 22--no way!" or the pair of size 18 pants I bought. I just can't wrap my head around the fact that my body is shrinking to sizes I never thought I'd fit into, to numbers I never knew I could reach.

Why is it so hard for me to believe what is happening? I know I'm following the rules (at least I am now that the holidays are over and I'm back in NYC.)
Why is it so hard for me to see myself as skinnier now, even though the numbers prove it time and time again?
Why did I believe it so easily last year? What was so different that made everything so much clearer?

Body dysmorphia is a strange thing.

On an entirely different note, the guy I broke up with last week just sent me an e-card saying he'd like to talk to me. Why he didn't just call me, I don't know. I'm not going to get back to him; I have no desire to see him anymore, and though I know I'm irresistible (:-p), I really have no desire to make him think we have a chance when we don't.

2 new guys are on the schedule for this week. This dating thing is fun!

More on the JDate thing later, especially on the creepiness of online dating and the guys who are desperate to date a woman like me. It's kind of gross, actually (I talked to a guy last night who told me that "the big girls spread easy"--needless to say, I wanted to VOMIT and blocked him immediately.)

Strange.

Closer and Closer

To someone trying to lose weight, there is no better feeling than putting on that size you never thought you could wear and having it fit PERFECTLY.

That happened not once, but twice today.

First, while roaming the Mizzou bookstore today with Leah, I came across an adorable pink hoodie, on clearance, in a size XL. I haven't worn a sweatshirt without 2 or more X's in...well, ever. And it fit. Beautifully.

I had absolutely no intentions of walking out of the bookstore with the pink hoodie. I don't need it. I can't afford it. So did I buy it? Absa-freakin'-lutely. Love it, both for what it is and what it means to me.

Then, after Leah left Como (after the most perfect afternoon I could ask for) I went to Lane Bryant to see what was on sale. To my surprise, every single top in my normal size 22/24 was too big. The next size down, 18/20, fit just right. Total surprise to me, but totally wonderful. For shits and giggles, I decided to try on the next size down of the jeans I would normally buy. Again, they fit BEAUTIFULLY. If I hadn't just bought and altered 3 new pair a few months ago, I would have bought all the pairs the store had in my size. I'm proud of myself for holding back.

Leah mentioned today that I am far skinnier than I think I am. I've always heard that when losing weight, especially as much weight as I have to lose, it sometimes takes awhile for your brain to catch up with your body in terms of how you see yourself. Her comment got me thinking: Will I ever be able to look at myself in the mirror and see a thin person? I'm not thin, yet, but if and when I get there, will I still see the Tracy I was a year ago? Will it be impossible for me to acknowledge myself as "thin" when I've always known myself as "fat"? Just an interesting question to ponder in the midst of this incredible transformation.

In my last post I wrote about needing some inspiration to get back on the ball with my healthy lifestyle. I'm thinking that today's clothing extravaganza might have been the wake-up call I needed. I can't let myself go back to where I was; I'm having too much fun with my smaller clothes and ability to move and get around easily. I don't know if today came because God knew I needed it, or if a couple of other people "up there" were chiming in, but whoever is responsible I am eternally grateful. It's funny how life tosses these moments at you just as you need them.

These moments allow me to turn down that second piece of challah, to not feel ashamed to ask for what I need, to get my butt back to the gym on a regular basis, to keep measuring and weighing my portions. I need to hold onto these moments and never, ever let them go, at least not until I reach my goal.

Will you remind me of them whenever I forget?

Whitney, we're looking in the 18/20's now ;)

Inspiration Needed

I went to Dave and Gal's websites this morning to watch some videos of Tikva from when she was doing well. I guess I needed to be reminded of my inspiration, of the person who helped me to push myself this summer to stay with my good, healthy routine. The routine that I'm not keeping up with now, for a lot of different reasons that now feel like mere excuses.

I remember seeing Tikva's face before she was born. I remember her coaxing me through the water when I was swimming after camp everyday. I remember the commitment I made to her and to myself the day she died, promising both of us I wouldn't give up on this.

And now, to some extent, I feel like a failure. I've broken my committment to her, and also to myself.

I'm not a failure, in the slightest, but if the last couple weeks have shown me anything, it's that I need to try a lot harder. Stress does not mean it's okay to eat everything in sight. Anxiety does not give me permission to give up everything I've worked so hard for. It's okay to tell the people in South Bend what I've done and what I continue to do so I can eat appropriately. And I will, slowly, when the time is right, tell certain people there what I've done, with the hope that they will alert others. News travels fast in a little Jewish community like that.

All my life I've had a fear of disappointment. I don't want to let anyone down by gaining back any of the weight I've lost this year. I don't want to disappoint people who are expecting me to lose more when just the opposite happens. I don't want to disappoint myself, my best self, the Tracy that I was this summer when I was eating really well and exercising every day.

I really, really want to go to Cincy next year and see everyone, including Dave and Gal, and blow their minds with how well I've done. I want to hug them and burst into happy tears because they were all such a part of my dream come true.

I just need to get that motivation back. That motivation that was so strong all of last year, all of last summer.

One of the downsides to being a Jewish leader is that you sometimes feel like you have to worry about the logistical aspects of the service and don't have much of a chance to pray for yourself. I kind of feel like Rosh Hashana came and went without any chance for personal reflection, and I fear Yom Kippur, with it's 5 services, will be the same way. I'm trying SO HARD to reflect and repent and connect with God this week, between the holy days, so I can find God in my own way while still doing my job. I trust it will get easier in time, when it isn't my very first ever HHD's as cantor. I guess we'll see. But I know I need God right now--it's to the point where the job feels entirely too big to handle on my own, even with the people I have who are busily cheering me on. I need some sort of divine intervention, and there's no better time to ask for it than right now.

Hashiveini Adonai Elecha--let me return to You, God. Let me live up to b'tzelem Elohim, the finest image of You I can be.

Life is going to change after HHD's. It has to. I deserve the best health I can have for myself, and that certainly won't be found with what I am doing now.

I still have Hope.

Always will.

Catching Up

I'm sorry I haven't posted on here in forever. It's been a completely crazy week, and so many things are going on in the world and in my head that it almost seems like too much to write down.

It's the second day of Rosh Hashana, and I am home in St Louis after spending the weekend in South Bend at my student pulpit. It was a wonderful Shabbat and Rosh Hashana, and despite the many, many mistakes that were made, everyone was happy with the services we led.

The week preceeding my visit was insane, as I had a ton of music to learn and 11 verses of Torah to chant last Thursday at HUC t'fillah. All good things, but stressful and exhausting. I realized more than ever last week how I deal with anxiety by eating, as I pretty much ate anything that came within 100 feet of me. A week of bagels, take-out, chocolate, coffee, etc. All of my healthy eating rules and habits flew out the window. I just couldn't think about it in the midst of HHD prep and the stresses of school. I'm kind of ashamed of myself, actually, though I'm trying to be gentle about it and remember that everyone has weeks like this, and that everyone makes mistakes.

It's also really hard to follow a diet when people host you for meals; sweet and wonderful Jewish mama's who take the time to bake homemade challah (who can resist that?) and prepare food straight from their hearts and souls. I did the best I could, but it's virtually impossible for me to say no to one of my sweet congregants who've been cooking especially for me. Saying no is also one of my biggest personal issues; at some point, I will have to learn how.

There's also been the whole boy issue this week. We went out again last Tuesday night, and while he was very sweet, I just didn't feel the same connection to him that I did on our first date. He was dressed like my Uncle Larry, and while my uncle is a sweet man, it's hard to kiss a guy who reminds me so much of him. He also wanted to make out in front of this group of old men on my doorstep, which freaked me out. PDA is not something I'm comfy with, nor is getting too physical too quickly. I also get the impression that he's really desperate to get into a stable relationship, and while I say that I want it, I kind of feel like I want to play the field a bit before I commit to anything. It's amazing how quickly the mind can change.

And now I need to figure out a way to tell him I don't want to see him anymore without saying, "Shana tova! BTW, I don't really want to date you..." He hasn't really done anything wrong, I'm just not feeling him the way I want to be. And I don't think I can, now that I'll always associate him with Uncle Larry.

I feel horrible about being superficial, but I'm allowed to have some say so in the matter, right? I'm allowed to not be attracted to someone, right? It doesn't make me a horrible person, right?

How do you tell someone you don't really want to see them again? I've never been in the position of the "dumper", and I want to do it in a way that honors his dignity and treats him respectfully. He deserves both of those things.

Anyways, happy and healthy new year to all of you out there. May 5769 bring you all the best and so much love, health, and happiness.