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A Million Beautiful Pieces November 7, 2018

I Am Weighing In On The Weight Issue

It’s the most wonderful time of year. Or is it?

Are you dreading the holiday season? Seeing family or friends who you would rather not see? Having to attend or host dinner parties you would rather not be part off? Trying to accommodate your spouses’ family while your own family have their expectations of you?

Maybe you already know that financially this is going to be a tight Christmas, and you can’t say that out loud without feeling like Scrooge? Or maybe you have gained a few pounds this year and the thought of going home for Christmas when you know that aunty “I must comment on your weight” will be visiting; is petrifying you.

And that is where I will start off this series of blog posts as together we wind down this year. For today I want to share some thoughts and ideas about how to deal with unsolicited comments about physical appearance. Over the next few weeks we will get to the other stuff like depression, isolation, and how to look after yourself when your life doesn’t look like the Hallmark Christmas Movies.
But for now let’s just weigh this important issue.

Firstly, why oh why is this even a topic of conversation? I’ve never understood why I’ve had to hear comments like “Oh my word, you are so fat” or “That dress is lovely but sleeveless is not right for you. Your arms are too big.” Or the other way “My word, you’ve lost so much weight. Is everything okay?” Or “I was telling ______________ that you look so much better now that you lost weight. You were looking terrible last Christmas.”

I entered Mrs South Africa after loosing some weight but I was still not exactly a “small” lady.

Why would anyone ever begin a conversation like this? Or for that matter even bring this up in conversation. Its mind-boggling that these interactions are still part of our social contexts when we are living in an age when both men and women have emotional issues that stem from having a poor body image of themselves.

We are taught from a young age to make excuses for family and friends who taunt with their crude comments. We tell ourselves that it is only cultural or that is just the way they are. I will also include here that even negative comments about skin colour, choice of clothing or hair style, comments about how a persons’ body has changed due to pregnancy or after medical issues or actually anything to do with physical appearance of any sort; are simply not topics of conversation at any time of the year, let alone during the holiday season.

Of course genuine, positive comments like ”You look lovely” or “I’m so glad to see you and I love your dress” or simply “It’s so good to see you” are perfectly fine and it makes spending time with our family and friends so much sweeter. When comments are unflattering, one cannot imagine the unnecessary hurt that it causes.

I’ve been in this situation a few times, and one incident is still so clear in my mind. I was collecting Talisa from school when I noticed an old family friend. He was an older gentleman, who I hadn’t seen in years. I was entering the school gate with many other parents when I saw him and I greeted him. He boomed out, “Oh Desirae it’s you. Oh my word. I didn’t even recognize you. You’ve put on so much weight.”

I was stunned to say the least. I had no idea how to respond to this in front of the other parents and particularly as I was feeling really depressed during this time. Savannah was recovering from an operation to her back and there were complications that we were coming to terms with. We were living in an upstairs unit in a townhouse complex. Eli was just over a year old and could not walk up or down the flight of stairs by himself. Everyday sometimes three times a day, I was carrying both Savannah and Eli up and down those stairs.

Savannah and I dancing at her 21st birthday party.

In the afternoons if I had five minutes to myself, I would dish up a large bowl of vanilla ice cream, squeeze a mountain of maple syrup onto it; down it and then continue with taking care of my three children. Hands up mums and dads if you have scoffed an entire box of chocolates or polished a bag of chips while your children needed your care! You know well enough what those days are like.

That time in our lives was so emotionally confusing as we delighted in Eli’s milestone of walking and were equally shattered as we realised that Savannah was losing her fight to keep walking. So yes, I ate the ice-cream and the cake and anything else that offered any sort of comfort. It didn’t matter that everything tasted like ash to me anyway. It was just the way I was coping.

That old mans’ comment felt so cruel and so shocking to my very soul. I felt like a failure: unable to stop the regression that was claiming Savannah’s walking, and unable to keep my weight down. Those words just made me hate myself for not being able to be thin and for not being able to keep Savannah walking. I am generally a practical and logical person but this brief meeting shattered me. And it gives you an idea of how a seemingly innocent quip, can be havoc for another person.

How did I free myself from allowing these shallow comments to hold me hostage in my misery?

*Do you know that you are a child of God and that it’s wrong to disrespect Gods creation?
First, I asked myself are these “weight commentators” that important ? Would they cope with a small percent of the challenges I have lived through? Even if they had their own challenges to survive, clearly if they are making hurtful comments, then their life challenges did not change them for the better. No. You can’t take anyone seriously when they have no depth of character. For myself when I meet people, I see more than a physical form. I see them as a child of God.

*Do you love yourself?
Then I asked myself what did I want? Really, did I want to be supermodel thin and have my body poked and peeled and worked at while Savannahs’ disability changed her body in a drastic painful way? No I didn’t want to look like a supermodel. I wanted to help Savannah to love herself even as her body started to work against her. For my own well-being and for my children, I learnt to love myself irrespective of what size dress I fit into.

*Do you know what a “good looking” body means for yourself?
I also asked myself to define what a good-looking body meant for me? My answer was that I wanted to wear clothing that flattered what I liked about my body without feeling ashamed. Fat arms and all. I also wanted to be able to run down the soccer field with Eli, wear high heels to impress Talisa and still lift Savannah when she needed it. I wanted to feel pretty good with myself whether I was a size fourteen or a size ten as long as I could do those things with my children. Now that would be a body to cherish.

This was the day Eli was selected to play football for the local district.

*Do you have a plan of how you will protect yourself from “weight commentators” this holiday season?
Lastly I asked myself how am I going to deal with shallow, misplaced comments about my physical appearance? The answer was I won’t. If a person is so base as to have the gall to say anything derogatory with the intent to cause shame, then they are not worth my time, my words, my respect or my love. It takes a mammoth task to encourage oneself when caring for a child with a disability. So I will not ever again allow anyone to set my soul off-balance into self-loathing. I do too much in a day to waste time picking myself up off the floor.

If you don’t have a plan to protect yourself, then grab a pen and page, and take some time to answer the *questions above and you will start working out your own plan on how to guard your personal space. That is what your body is. Your personal space. And no one may physically, verbally or emotionally violate your body. Got that?

Once you learn to respond to hurtful comments without feeling ashamed and angry, you will realise that your response will simply be a matter of stating facts. I taught my children how to do this after I worked out how to do it for myself. They know that if anyone dares to cross that line with them by making inappropriate comments about their physical appearance, then they have my permission to shut them down with statements like:
“Wow, that’s not nice to say.”
“You think like that? I’m glad you aren’t my mum or dad”.
“I like myself the way I am. If you don’t like me that’s your problem.”
“You be you and I’ll be me”, or Talisa’s own line said with a huge smile
“I’m fearfully and wonderfully made. I’m okay”.

Oh my friends, this Christmas the best gift you can give is to find your strength, keep your balance and maintain your peace.

Now, I’m off to indulge in a vegetarian hot dog on a buttered white roll with homemade potato chips and caramelised onions. And later while I watch today’s episode of Masterchef Australia, I will devour my Carb Clever Chocolate Bar.

Yum. Yum.

My Story October 20, 2018

It’s a Celebration: Talisa is Sixteen

Today Talisa turns sixteen years old. Where did the time go? As we reminisce over the last sixteen years, I’m thankful for so much. Mostly I am thankful for the special relationship that Michael shares with Talisa.

Few fathers understand how to be a dad to a daughter in the different phases of her life. Michael was raised in a very conservative family who believed that wearing dresses, amongst other patriarchal ideas, was how a women showed her dignity. The focus of what made a strong, courageous woman was placed on all the physical aspects of being a woman, and not on what counted….a woman’s heart, mind and soul.

Far from his conservative upbringing, Michael has raised his daughters with the freedom to express themselves and with the confidence in knowing that nothing they do will ever change his love and commitment to them. They are his greatest delight and his deepest heartache as he mourns silently all that Savannah will not experience in her life as a woman with a disability.

From the softness he shows his daughters in so many ways; to indulging their musical tastes; to patiently waiting outside change-rooms while they try on clothing or can’t decide what colour blusher to buy; to waiting while they take over the mirror in our bathroom; to accepting that he will buy hair bands and lip glosses far too often; to sitting up at night until Talisa completes her homework: Michaels’ heart has completely been flooded by being a father to his daughters.

When a girl child is honoured and respected by her father; when she is made to feel capable, and still has a safe place with her dad to be vulnerable; she becomes the most remarkable gift he can ever give the world. A women who is whole.

Today as we celebrate Talisa’s sixteenth birthday, I am so emotional remembering the day she was born. I remember looking at her in my arms and telling Michael that he need only remember two things about raising a daughter:

The first is that you are guaranteed (for the most part) the first eighteen years with them until they become independent. That means only eighteen Christmas mornings when your children are all yours. To me if an average lifespan is seventy years then eighteen seemed like just a drop in our entire lives. So Michael and I agreed to do our best to make those eighteen years as amazing as possible.

Eighteen years where we will hold every moment with tenderness and gratitude before it slips away.

The second piece of revelation or advice if you will, that I gave Michael was don’t ever, ever let your daughters down. Never. Daughters will need their fathers because when you don’t have a dad, the world thinks nothing of breaking you. It knows you have nowhere to go.

Be the dad whose daughters don’t have to look for love in the wrong places or test life to figure out what Love feels like. A strong, capable women already knows what Love really is because she soars from the shoulders of the mighty man who raised her. And when she needs a soft place to land, it is usually right back in her daddy’s arms.

Today as Talisa turns sixteen she makes us so proud to be her parents. She is a remarkable sister, a genuine friend, a blessing to her grandparents, and in so many ways she is both mine and Michael’s ‘right hands’. She is my delight and her fathers greatest gift to the world.

Happy Sixteenth Birthday Talisa. You will always have my voice in your ear praying for you and my hand in yours whenever you need me. So too you will always have your dads’ arms to hold you and his shoulders to soar from. When the time comes for you to soar, don’t be afraid to fly high my darling. The view will be spectacular.

Never forget why we chose your name. May it be a reminder that God is always with you. We love you.

(The meaning of the name “Talisa” is: “Consecrated to God”.

Categories: Hindu Names, Indian Names, Sanskrit Names.

Used in: English speaking countries, Hindu speaking countries.

Gender: Girl Names.

Origins: African-American.– https://www.thenamemeaning.com/talisa/)

My Story March 30, 2018

An Easter I didn’t ever imagine

Today is Good Friday in South Africa. We have always loved celebrating this day. Amidst singing songs of worship all day (we love music), we have celebrated this day with a special meal of a roast leg of lamb for lunch and all the trimmings.

Actually, since Savannah was seven years old I taught her to participate in preparing the lamb. There were so many reasons why this was an impossible feat for her. She had physical and sensory challenges. She had some language processing difficulties and her ability to concentrate was almost non-existent.

However, we found clever ways to help her to engage in this special family time. As a young mother I hoped that when my children became adults and when we would be enjoying family celebrations with their respective families; that Savannah would participate in the celebrations by preparing a meal. I wanted her to feel how important her contribution to the family was.

It was humble beginnings of simply teaching her to pour the marinade over the leg of lamb to about ten years later when she was able to plan the entire meal. She would mix the marinade, prepare the leg of lamb and with some assistance from myself or my mum; she even served the meal. Savannah loved planning this meal. She felt so proud that she could serve her family and that we appreciated her efforts so much.

Being raised as an Indian woman, my family placed a high value on our ability as women to prepare meals. It is important to be the “hostess with the most-ess”. Literally. We value celebrations marked by the beautiful presentation of large meals. So, while I don’t live my life based on my culture; I did feel a sense of pride that my physically disabled daughter who is also autistic could prepare a special dish for a special family celebration.

This year though Savannah has not been bothered with planning the meal. She has not been interested in doing much. She is going through a difficult time for many reasons. It is not my place to share the details of that publicly.

What I can share is that as I watch her grapple with her reality, it is easy for me to feel angry and sad. We worked hard as a family to give Savannah a hopeful, bright future. We wanted her to always feel happy and joyful. We wanted her to know that she is big part of the world and that she has a reason to wake up everyday and live her best life.

As I ponder the complex threads of my emotions, I realise I am not sad or angry. I awakened to the understanding that the human experience isn’t about success and failures. It is a rather magnificent testimony of being a witness to each other’s lives. And when that “other” is your own child, then it is only you who can be brave enough and strong enough to witness everything that our children must endure.

I reminisce today of all the Easters before when Savannah’s excitement filled the household as she prepared the Good Friday Leg of Lamb lunch; and I am thankful.

I am thankful for the many Easter celebrations that was everything I wanted it to be. I am reminded of how strong we all are and how much we have lived through. I am grateful that Savannah too knows her own strength and power. I am hopeful that she will find her way again because of that. I am humbled as I surrender to the understanding that life is full of surprises. Some good and some bad. My courage is renewed as I remember the grace that has been given to us which has brought us this far.

Today as we celebrate Good Friday, my hope is in the story of the crucifixion of Christ. It was not an end, but a beginning of a new life. It is my thread of hope that one day Savannah will know what it feels like to be Peaceful and Joyful without needing to prove anything to anyone. She will never have to suffer the weight of living in a world that sets itself against her. And I will never have to feel helpless and frustrated at my own limitations as a parent.

That is the why in spite of everything, I am celebrating the gift that Good Friday gives to me. Faith, Hope and Love.

My Story July 24, 2017

You cannot be depressed-Then there was me

I did not realise that so soon after starting the blog, I would feel compelled to share a deeply personal struggle that has taken most of my adult life to overcome.

The apparent suicide of Charles Bennington came up in my Facebook feed a few times over the last days. I have not listened to his music so I can’t say that I reacted as his fans have reacted. However, the fact that he may have committed suicide was what caught my attention.

Ever since I was thirteen years old a line began to circulate in my head “anything to stop the pain”. I grew up in a home of controversies and contradictions. The details of that part of my story is irrelevant now but it was impactful enough at the time to cause me to overdose by the age of seventeen years old.

The overwhelming idea that life was not worth living had taken root and while having Savannah strengthened me to fight for her life; it was a long road before I believed whole heartedly that life was worth living. In fact, long after I was married to Michael and already a mother of three, I battled with the idea that I was loved, I was wanted and I was purposed by God.

I remember one night lying in a heap in Michael’s arms saying that I had this picture in my head that there was a bridge between happiness and I; and that I would get him and the children over it but I was not worthy of crossing. Having lived with sadness for a long time, I know that an instant spiritual cure is not always true for many people. The issue was never with God anyway. It was with people.

There were many people who were quick to judge my “choices” and who blatantly championed themselves about how they were better off than I was. I always thought it odd at how people engage in acts of kindness and generosity to the poor and the needy, yet often have no time or compassion for those who sit beside them who are so sad that they don’t see value in life.

Somehow, we have trained ourselves to think that the people with whom we fellowship alongside in our places of faith, our places of work and social circles are all nicely put together like we are and if they aren’t then it is not our problem. We offer quick, passionate words of advice based on aiming to fix their problem so that we don’t have to bear the guilt trip and pain of listening to it again and again, or we simply distance ourselves from them.

My husband used to say that if you have the joy of the Lord you cannot be depressed. For those people like him who have been raised in hope and love, they cannot always grasp the enormity of hopelessness.

And there was me: Michael’s most humbling lesson and likely his most passionate prayer. All the words in the world could not destroy the darkness that rooted itself deep in my soul convincing me all the time that the world would be better without me.

Only love and compassion restored me.

Michael’s patience, hand holding, trust and treating me better than I believed I deserved, slowly helped me to see that I was worth God’s love. If this man who sacrificed so much for me could love me, then surely God who I could not see must love me too.

Between Michael’s dedication and a friend’s compassion; slowly the darkness began to subside. Even though I still think life is too hard; I now know I am enough to handle it, and that it is okay to not be everything for everyone. I learnt to love me too.

For those who don’t have friends and family whom they feel they can turn too, it is such a tragedy. When standards and expectations of those around them are too high and they know that they cannot remove the masks they wear; then suicide seems like the only reasonable option.

And what a shame that is. Not their shame but ours. It is a stain on humanity when we react with detachment and judgment when someone commits suicide. We should bow our heads in shame that we failed a fellow human being. And the only redemption for us is to turn our attention to their families and be dedicated in helping them to find value in life again. Just be kind and patient with people.

If you are battling depression or suicide, please speak to someone today. Your life is worth it. You have purpose. You are LOVED.