Nothing Changes on New Year's Day

I cannot believe how quickly last year went.  I look at my Benji and realize how much he has grown, how his little face has matured, and I just wonder at the time flying by.

I started my blog four years ago, just before he was born, and while it's certainly not a complete record of the happenings in our family (uh, like Christmas!?), it's the closest thing I have.  It's also my {public} journal, so I do write a lot about myself.  It helps me communicate and clarify and congeal my thoughts.  There's a lot I want to say, and even if nobody reads it, at least it is there for me.  This is my blog; I don't really write for anybody else, though I do like to share pictures and events with my family and friends.  Maybe Benjamin will appreciate it one day.  Maybe not.  We shall see.

So last year's resolutions were a total failure.  Unlike my cute cousin Sharon, I have not kept track of percentages or anything of the like.  I can tell you that I did not accomplish anything on my list.  I did try, but I gave up on most of them partway through the year.  I understand the necessity of goal-setting and making your goals S.M.A.R.T. (Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic, and Timely).  But knowing myself, I can tell you right now that I'm not going to be able to do it that way.  I need to create baby-step goals: I am so busy trying to keep everything else afloat that I can't make a list and check things off as they are achieved.  That's discouraging to me, and I just give up, because I don't think I'm worth putting the time and effort into whatever goal I may be working on.

Honestly, that's how it has been with my weight.  I have always struggled with it, and I know what I need to do (there's no substitute for diet and exercise), but I have never felt that working on me is something worthwhile.  Why put so much work into something I don't love?  I am fiercely dedicated to the people and ideas and things I do love, but I don't love myself.  I never have.  In fact, I actively hate most of my body (the things I can control) most of the time.  I'm not writing this because I want your sympathy; I am writing to help you understand where I'm coming from, and how I got to where I am.

I know I am expressly disobeying a commandment of Jesus Christ, who said: "Thou shalt ^blove thy ^cneighbour as thyself" (Matthew 19:19).  I have always found it easier to love other people.  This part of myself I can trace back to a single point in time: it had been building up for a while, but when I heard this song, it crystallized for me.  It was at one of my first real concerts--I went to see Sarah McLachlan (by myself) at the E Center in November 1997.  I don't remember who her opening act was, but this gal sang a Jim Croce song entitled "Nobody Loves a Fat Girl."  The lyrics say, "Nobody loves a fat girl, But oh how a fat girl can love."  Those two lines have lived in my head ever since.  I have always tried to love and respect others, all the while knowing that no one would ever love me.  That's one reason why I got married so quickly (3 months from first date to wedding): I didn't think anybody else would ever want to marry me.

Yes, I see the fallacies in that thinking.  I know my family loves me, I know my Savior loves me, and I think my husband loves me (though I'm not sure my heart will ever really believe it).  I have friends who support me and who are happy to hear from me, but none of it's really real.  I can love, but I don't feel loved.  Maybe I did as a child, but as an adult I never have, and I never expect to.  That's just something I live with, and it's normal to me to be "dead inside."  I can, however, be happy spending time with the people I love.  One does not exclude the other, though I admit they do influence each other at times.

I probably shouldn't publish this, especially with my blog not being private anymore.  I should let it be a permanent draft, like some other intensely personal entries.  This started out as an entry about New Year's Resolutions, and it turned into a confessional.  Well, I guess I will, with a small hope that no one will read it, and those who do won't make a big deal about it.

As far as goals go, I am going to lose weight this year.  I never expect to be thin, and I'm sure I'll never be beautiful, but it is time to put some work into me.  I physically can't keep up with my boy, so that is my main goal: to become healthier for him.  He deserves a mother who can play with him, teach him by example and be good to him.  I will try to do that, at least.