Wednesday, August 12, 2009


How do we adopt to change, when life changes quicker then we are ready to change? How does one embrace letting go, and what does saying goodbye really mean.

This is big week for me, in terms of letting go, and learning how to use my pain for motivation rather then retreat.

One of my friends said to me this morning, how necessary the mourning process is. Whether it is loss of a relationship, a loved one, (or for my son, the loss of one lego piece that will totally impact his whole project.) Every loss is valid.

If we don’t take the time to cherish what we are letting go of, honor what we loved, and remember how it has helped us, we will not allow ourselves to truly be alive in the present. And the present is just that, a present.

Many people are asking me why this blog is called growing up with fat dad, when I have not even addressed weight and food yet (It will come)

I grew up with a dad who was fat. He was fat because he did not know how to nourish himself and because he did not know how to nourish himself, he surely could not nourish anyone else.

We never had food in my house, because my dad might eat it, so we lived on diet soda and frozen meals. I was always hungry. My dad was consumed with himself and his fluctuating weight. My mother was young and not a homebody or a nurturer. I was always hungry. Hungry for food, hungry for nice clean clothes, hungry for someone to notice when I ran away from home and hid in the closet for hours, just hungry… Hungry for someone to care for me because I was a child and I needed to be cared for. But On Friday nights I was never hungry.

On Friday nights my grandfather would pick me up for the weekend and when we would get to my grandparent’s home, there was always homemade vegetable soup, raisin challah bread, a warm bubble bath, and a fluffy clean hand washed beautiful lavender smelling nightgown. It was at my grandmother’s home, where I learned what true nourishment is. It is where my tears were dried.

The smells of fresh cooked food, kind loving words, a freshly drawn bath and a beautiful lavender smelling nightgown would battle any feelings of deprivation. My grandmother taught me how good it feels to be cared for, and how to feel compassion, for the ones who cant love us back.

As a mom I struggle with trying to physically provide my children with all the luxuries I would like to give them, and protect them from ever feeling pain, but at the end of the day, all I can do is let them know how much they are loved, dry their tears, and fill their plates with the best organic foods. As a mom I don’t ever want my children’s stomachs to grumble.

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