Expectations

I think I am finally ready to write again.

I understand that being a "people-pleaser" CAN be a really good thing.  As long as you are pleasing the right people for the right reasons.  I have spent most of my life trying to please people.  And it was all for good reasons.  Most of my life was targeted on pleasing my Dad.  I admire my Dad so much.  He is such an amazing man.  I could go on and on about all the reasons I admire him, but for the sake of my time let's just set it straight. I love my Dad, I always have.  But when does a person stop trying to please others?  When is enough enough?  And WHY did I spend so much time and energy trying to get him to say one phrase that may not really be that important?

Since I was little, I can remember trying to make my Dad "proud" of me...but also trying to stay true to myself and my interests.  I always wanted to be a cheerleader.  I loved dancing and I thought their skirts were so cute and, let's face it...they looked cuter on the sidelines than the basketball players did in their jerseys and sweaty faces and pony-tails.  But, our family had a rule.  It was a good rule.  We were to play all sports our Freshman year and then we could choose what we did our Sophmore year...and so on.  Why?  Well, if you play a sport all through Jr. High, like basketball for example, and then you choose not to play your Freshman year and decide you actually DO want to play your Sophmore year...you're really behind.  REALLY behind.  It's that simple.  My Dad just wanted to help us stay "ahead" as much as he could.  I mean, we're not big athletic people in the Teichert house.  We just aren't.  We weren't blessed with any kind of natural athleticism...everything we achieved athletically, we worked REALLY REALLY hard for.  So, I understood the "rule."  But that didn't mean I had to LIKE it, right?....  Like it or not, I did abide by it and I found that I LOVED sports and I played them all and I did it willingly.

So what's the hard part about this?  Well, I was also born (and raised) with a very competitive spirit.  If I was going to do something, I was going to give it everything I had. But I wanted to do WELL and I wanted my Dad to be proud of me.  And he was.  My Sophomore and Junior years were great! I loved practices (most of them) and I loved the familiar "No Doubt!" we cheered at EVERY huddle.  We "counted 'em" in the locker room after every win and I felt like I was part of something really amazing that I shared with my sister and Dad.  We had two amazing seasons where we only lost one game each and brought home a State Title both years. I played the 2-guard on the basketball team and I contributed a lot.  I was a defensive hound.  My sister Tami and I were nick-named "the piranhas" because of our defensive skills.  It was fun!  I thrived on making point-guards frustrated with me.  I craved the competition, but I craved my Dad's approval even more.  I worked my tail off on that court so that in the locker room he would tell me he was proud of me.  And he did.  It felt good.  I felt like all my hard work on (and off) the court was paying off.  But then Tami graduated and everything changed....

No summer basketball camp.  WHAT?!  Dad said it was because none of us asked for one.  I don't remember EVER having to ask for one. Not ever.  It was just something that was expected.  I guess I can see why that would be a little frustrating on my Dad's part, though.  I should have been more grateful, I guess.  I should have been more of a leader, I guess.  But, the hard thing is, I thought I WAS.  I was doing my shooting 5 days a week, sometimes six, and I was trying to get the other girls there, too.  Kandyce and I were at the weight room 3 days a week and I KNOW she was doing her shooting, too.  We were frustrated with there not being a camp.  But, in spite of all the time we spent "together", I was afraid to approach my Dad about why things were different.  I chalked it up to him being super busy and thought that it would all be ironed-out by the time the season started.

The first day of practice arrived.  We huddled as a team and had prayer and put our hands in for the first yell of the season.  Dad asked Kandyce what we were going to say.  With a puzzled look on her face she said, "No doubt."  Dad said, "No. Not this year. Pick something else."  Okay...?  I was so stunned.  What the?  We never said "No doubt" in a huddle again...ever.  Game two. First win of the season.  Not exactly what we were hoping for, but hey, a "W" is a "W".  We got in the locker room, Dad and Coach Nate talked and then...silence.  No "Count 'em!" ?  This was getting really awkward.  Especially since every one of my teammates was looking at me with the same confusion I was feeling inside.  I didn't get it.  Yet, I wasn't sure how to approach my Dad about this.  I suddenly felt like I wasn't good enough.  Not only had there been a completely different feeling between Dad and the team, but he had not yet told me he was proud of me.  I was sure he would hug me and utter that "craved" phrase ever so silently after our win!?  My mind was reeling with confusion and self-doubt.

I spent the rest of that season playing every game thinking, "Today is the day.  Today I'll be good enough to hear those words again."  Nope.  Not once.  Not the whole season.  And to top it all off, we didn't even make it State Tournament that year.  After back-to-back State Titles, we couldn't even pull off a regional spot to compete at State.  I had failed.  I had failed miserably.

Time passed.  I continued to fight for those words, "I'm proud of you, Vi."  I even went out for track that year.  I was a Senior. I didn't need to be there, except I had one more season.  One more opportunity to hear him tell me that I had done well.  I had worked hard.  And he was "proud of me".  I tried to be a leader.  I tried to be positive and uplifting to all of my under-classmen and teammates.  I think Kandyce was looking for the same thing, too.  She and I were the only Seniors out for track that year.  It never happened. We took second as a team.  And still, it never happened.

Unfortunately, I couldn't let it go.  I hung on.  As tight as I could.  I lived my life to hear it again.  Every time I had a choice to make, the first thing that would come to mind was "what would my Dad think? Would I make him proud?"  I served a mission.  I made that choice because the Lord needed me to.  He knew I needed to go.  I had a lot of lessons to learn about my Father-In-Heaven's love.  And maybe my Dad would be "proud."

Long story long, but cut slightly shorter....I never felt like I measured up.  I got married (one reason the Lord needed me to go on a mission) and I started a new phase of my life.  A year into my marriage, I found myself so angry with my Dad and the way some things were being "handled" at home with my little brother and how my other brother was being treated because of his choice of hair style...  I also found myself frustrated with my husband for NOT being just like my Dad!  How does this make ANY sense?  I was sad, anxious, and angry.  My husband, in all his love and wisdom, suggested I go to the counseling center to work through some of the things that had me so upside-down.

Counseling saved me.  It saved my marriage.  It saved my relationship with my Dad, and I don't think he even knows it.

Having said that, I worked really hard with my counselor to see my dad through different eyes.  I feel closer to him now than I ever have before because I stopped putting MY feelings first.  And I came to terms with the fact that it's okay for me to FEEL a certain way but I can choose how I react to those feelings.  I choose to love my Dad, regardless of weather or not he tells me he is proud of me.  I focus now on my relationship with my husband and I don't need him, or WANT him, to be just like my Dad.  Both are amazing men. They are vastly different.  But that is what makes them so wonderful.

My Dad is not a "mean" man.  He never raised his voice in our home.  He has always told me he loves me.  He works hard every day to provide for the needs of his wife and children, always putting himself last.  His Dad passed away when I was on my mission.  My Dad was around 50-51 years old and had NEVER even heard his Dad say "I love you" let alone say "I am proud of you, Son."  My Dad tried to give me more than he ever had and he succeeded.  ,In retrospect, I can see that we were both "fighting" for each-other's approval.  Living up to each other's expectations was a hard job and I never ONCE considered that he was just as tired as I was of trying to meet others' expectations and, perhaps, never feeling like he measured-up.  Dad, I am sorry.  I love you. I am proud of you.  Thank you for giving me the very best.

Austin, I love you with all my heart.  Thank you for not being angry with me when I was comparing you to my Dad.  I love you so much for trying to understand me and for loving me enough to help me help myself.  I love how you are not afraid to approach subjects that were so "weird" to approach while I was growing up. I love that you are everything I wanted, needed, and yet nothing I was ever "looking for."  You are my world.

I feel the need to mention one other man who has helped me through my "journey."  My amazing Father-In-Law.  He encourages me every day.  He inspires me to always be true to myself.  He has always greeted me with hugs and the words, "I love you. I am so proud of you."  Without even knowing about my struggle with those words.  He accepts my hard work for what it is and asks for nothing more. Thank you, Joe.  I love you.

I am not "better." I still find myself wondering what my Dad would say.  But, I don't think that that is a bad thing.  It has never steered me wrong before.  I just always consider Austin and OUR family FIRST.  It's a long road.  It's bumpy, and I'm sure there are some other pot-holes waiting for me.  But I have the tools.  I have the support system.  I am ready.

Hard

This is hard.  I really need this outlet.  Being able to write things down like this is helpful.  However, the last thing I want to do is write something and have it be taken the wrong way.  Especially by my family.  That is why I have not posted more recently and why I am hesitant to post again.  I have never been more scared about doing anything (except maybe leaving on my mission) as I have been about starting this "project".

I need to set it straight, I guess.  I don't want to offend anyone.  Yet, at the same time, I don't want to feel like I can't express my feelings about things/feelings that are part of my past that still shape my future. Does that make sense?  I mean, I am entitled to FEEL a certain way.  Am I not?  It is how I react to those feelings that defines me, right?  I am trying to be mature about this.  This is NOT my "passive-aggressive" way of communicating. This is my way of helping myself get PAST a few things that seem to be holding me back.  That's all it is.  It is not my way of calling anyone out, it is not intended to be a negative regurgitation of all my woes, it is simply putting my feelings on "paper".

So, to any of my dear family and friends who may read this.  I love you.  I love you as big as the world.  Please, love me enough to try to understand what this is doing for me.  Love me enough to call me and talk to me about something you may disagree with, rather than be angry with me about it.  Love me enough to support me.  Thanks.

All my LOVE
Vi

Food....it's a love-hate relationship

The "blog" (the one about real beauty) I mentioned in my first post, isn't actually a blog. It's a real website. It is www.beautyredefined.net      I have been racking my brain about where to start.  I have been thinking about it all morning.  It's kind of annoying, actually.  I guess I could start with WHY that website, or rather a particular article on that website, hit so hard.  This is where the back-tracking begins....

High school.  Who doesn't love high school? Okay, lots of people say they would never go back and do high school again.  That they are "so glad they are out of that 'phase'".  I, on the other hand, loved high school...for the most part.  I enjoyed being involved in everything my small school had to offer.  Well, almost everything.  I didn't join Spanish Club until my senior year and I was never on the yearbook staff.  But, I was involved in volleyball, basketball, track, jazz band, concert band, choir, show choir, drama, National Honor Society, and I was always in a class presidency.  I never ran for Student Body Officer, of any kind, though.  On top of being involved in everything high school, I was also very involved in my church.  I loved our youth group! I was also one of the Ward Organists my junior and senior years as well as in the Mia-Maid/Laurel Presidencies.  As you can see, I was a very busy girl.  It makes my head spin just thinking about it all.  But it was good.  So good.  

On the outside, I "had it all."  At least, that's what a lot of the girls younger than me told me.  Since graduating, I have had a lot of people that were younger than me tell me how much they looked up to me.  I had no idea.  I hope they saw all the good things I was trying to do.  I'm guessing they did, otherwise, why would they have looked up to me?  Anyway.....I was SO involved that, by default, I had a lot of friends.  I wasn't the only one this involved, though.  (for any readers who know nothing about me, I grew up in a VERY small town.  500 people.  19 kids in my graduating class.  That kind of small...)  Almost every teammate I had was just as involved as I was.  They had just as much on their "plate" as I did.  I wasn't alone, that's for sure.  But being so involved also brought a lot of pressures with it.  Some of the pressure was just from being part of any particular program and wanting to be successful.  Other pressures were "self-inflicted", but at the time, none of them seemed self-made.  But, however you look at them, the pressures were real.  They were to me, anyway.  And the more I talk to my peers about their experiences, the more I realize how real they were for them too.

Okay, so to make a long story short, I seemed to have it all put together on the outside.  I excelled in everything I did.  I worked REALLY really hard to be successful in EVERYTHING I was doing.  I was up at 5:30am and finally crawling into bed by 11:00pm Mon-Friday and some Saturdays I didn't wake up until 7.  I had great friends and an amazing, supportive, family.  I really did live a charmed life.  I was blessed with many talents and many avenues to help me use those talents.

But every Mirror Has 2 Faces....

Inside, I was starving.  Literally.  I was so hungry.  But that's how I liked it.  WHAT?! Yep, I got satisfaction out of hearing my tummy grumble and feeling light-headed as I stood up.  It meant I was doing "good."  I was "in control."  While I had so many positive things in my life, I felt like I controlled NONE of them.  I really did feel that way.  My coaches, no matter how hard I worked, controlled whether or not I played.  My "success" in music and drama was measured by the approval I got from my music/drama teachers and the few people whose approval I was "starving" for (which is an entirely different post.) There was ONE thing I had complete and total control of, and that was what went into my body.  In retrospect, I see that these things are skewed and that in reality, it was all my choice.  But at the time, it didn't feel like that.

This went on from the time I was a Freshman until about November of my Senior year.  No one would have ever known.  On the outside I appeared healthy and strong.  I didn't not have the body of someone who "picked" at her dinner plate and lived on an apple (or a few saltines, but never both) a day, just to get through practice at the end of the day.  That was also part of the struggle.  I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw.  Hate is a strong word.  But one summer day, I looked in the mirror long enough that I seriously wanted to put and "F" on my hand to remind myself not to eat whatever it was that I wanted so badly.  I did not love myself, and for that matter, I certainly didn't respect my body either.  I let too many things from the "outside" world tell me what my worth was.

You ask, "How was high school so good for you when you sound so miserable?"  My activities were a decoy of sorts.  A camouflage.  A safety net.  I was so busy that I didn't have time to eat, but really, I was happy when I was distracted by all of my activities.  It was when I was alone, or everything around me was quiet and I could slip into my own thoughts, that I was miserable.

My senior year, a good friend (I still don't REALLY know who) saw me almost pass-out during warm-ups of a home basketball game against Farson-Eden.  Warm-ups.  I was a starter.  I rarely came out of the game.  If I didn't even have the energy to get through warm-ups, how was I going to get through a game?  This friend was concerned and talked to the counselor at my high school.  Not only was he the high school counselor, he happened to be a good family friend....and my Bishop.  He called me into his office to discuss my college and scholarship applications.  When we were done discussing those things, he said, "I didn't really call you in here to talk about college."  He pulled out a small stack of papers and set them in front of me.  It was about eating disorders.  And so it began....

I started to "get better."  I WANTED to get better.  I wanted to love myself.  I wanted to like what I saw in the mirror.  I wanted to eat.  I wanted to stop having to work so hard to gain others' approval and just be happy, TRULY happy, with who I was.  Oh, how I wanted those things.  But how?  There was only one way.  The Atonement.  That is the only way I could do this.  And so, I spent some time talking to a person that I professed to know was there, but I guess all along, I wasn't sure He really was.  I got on my knees, and for the first time in years, I prayed with "all the energy of heart" I could muster.  It was a prayer for myself.  It felt good. It gave me courage.

I started to do better.  I added a few foods to my diet and it scared me to death.  I was SCARED of the food.  But, I was more scared of telling my parents what I was going through.  I know, it sounds silly.  But that is part of that "whole other post" I spoke of previously.  With Mr Counselor's help each week, sometimes twice a week, I started to see some progress.  Then I went into the doctor to have a skin issue looked at.  I stepped on the scale....I freaked out.  123 pounds.  Back to square one.  Would this ever end?

Rediculous.  I know.  But again, it was so real.  It was so scary.  It was so sad.  As time went on, I slowly started to "get better."  Along with that came weight gain.  But I was prepared for that.  I had taken this up with the Lord.  I had to have faith that He would help me get through this.  I needed to feel His love, and the only way for me to do that, was to put it to the test.  Such a long road.  A road that I am now, 10 years later, finally starting to see the end of.  Physically.  Mentally and emotionally, it's a daily struggle.  But not to the point where I obsess over it, really.

This last year, I reached my goal weight of the last 10 years.  125.  I even hit 123 on January 13th.  I was elated, to say the least.  Recently, I have gained a few pounds back.  It scares me.  That fear is what tells me that my mind and emotions aren't in line with the real reasons I should be exercising and eating right.  It's supposed to be about my health, not my appearance.  That is why that website and article hit home so hard this morning.  I need to get back to that place.  I need to get back to feeling my Savior's love and exercising and eating right for the RIGHT reasons.  It is so hard.  My anorexia will always be a part of my life because it has helped shape me into who I am today.  But it will only be a part of my DAILY struggles IF I LET IT.  It's my choice.  I own it.

Here Goes Nothing

I have had a lot of  "impressions" recently.  I don't know that I would call them spiritual impressions, but more just thoughts.  Thoughts I would like to place on paper somewhere.  A blog is basically free paper and it doesn't take up any space. I don't have to pack it around with me on all our moves.  I don't have to wonder "now, where did I put that thing?" and I can type much faster than I can write.  So, here goes....

I ran into a blog the other day that featured a Mom being very honest about Motherhood.  While she was overall very positive, she kinda "called-out" all those moms who put on a good face because it's what's expected. Or rather, it's what they think is expected of them.  I was overjoyed to discover that I am not the only mother who finds motherhood very frustrating, and at times, very very lonely and daunting.  I was also totally un-impressed by her choice of words and "language" which is why I am not posting a link to the blog.  In short, I loved her honesty.

While perusing my FB this morning (5-16-2012), I found another link to a blog that was promoting "real" beauty.  I loved it. It was exactly what I needed to hear this morning.  It's what I've been needing to hear for several weeks now.  Actually, deep inside, I've KNOWN what this blog was talking about is true for a long time now.  It just hit home this  morning. Hard.

So, I decided to make a second blog. A mostly picture-free blog.  A blog where I can be honest.  A place that will kind of serve as a journal and a life-sketch of sorts.  I plan on back-tracking, talking about things that occurred in my past and have helped shape who I am today, and things that are happening in my here and now.  My life.  My reality. ....and it "Has 2 Faces."

Warning:  there will be things that come up that some of my readers may not agree with or even appreciate. But guess what?! It's MY blog.  I can post whatever I want.  For the "other face" of my life, check out my other blog at www.violetteichert.blogspot.com