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Friday Friendship Tips: Be Yourself

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FFT3

 

About Friday Friendship Tips: Friendship is often overlooked in our society, dropped down the priority list below our partners, children, other family members, and even our career. We often underestimate the power of friendship as a source of encouragement, strength, and joy in our lives, yet we often feel its lack in our lives. I am frequently asked, “How can I find more friends? How can I make the friendships I do have more fulfilling?”  Through this series, I will be offering small meditations that I hope will help you turn your attention toward friendship and help you to prioritize it.

Boringly Obvious HAES Principles Terrify Us

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HAES: Health At Every Size logo

One of several theoretical orientations in which my counseling practice is rooted is that of Health At Every Size. The phrase was coined by Linda Bacon [correction: used by Linda Bacon, but not coined by her, as explained in her comment below] in her book Health At Every Size: The Surprising Truth About Your Weight. The phrase took off and is now used by many folks in a variety of helping professions, particularly health care workers, who have pledged their support for HAES as defined here:

Health at Every Size is based on the simple premise that the best way to improve health is to honor your body. It supports people in adopting health habits for the sake of health and well-being (rather than weight control). Health at Every Size encourages:

  • Accepting and respecting the natural diversity of body sizes and shapes.
  • Eating in a flexible manner that values pleasure and honors internal cues of hunger, satiety, and appetite.
  • Finding the joy in moving one’s body and becoming more physically vital.

From a purely logical standpoint, these principles are wholly uncontroversial.

And yet, somehow it still seems that controversy around these principles, and the theoretical orientation of HAES as a whole, abounds. Those of us who support HAES, and call into question theories, diet plans, studies, etc. that privilege body size/weight over health, offering instead these very reasonable and boringly obvious principles, are routinely responded to with an emotional strength—and sometimes viciousness—that we find surprising. But if we search deep down in ourselves, even some of us HAES supporters and practitioners sometimes have trouble really integrating the principles. We accept them logically, and yet it is hard to really feel like we believe them deep down.

I have given a lot of though to why this might be, and I believe it’s because HAES shines a light into the dark corners where we cling to power and control, and ultimately illuminates our unconscious terror of death.

Now I would bet that I might have just lost you. I would bet that while some of you reading this might agree that you are afraid of death, many of you would say that you do not worry about or fear death, or even really think about it. And I believe that’s true, albeit on a conscious level. But I am not talking about conscious thoughts or worries, I am talking about unconscious anxiety and terror.

One of the things that sets humans apart from other animals is that we have a deep capacity for self-awareness. Self-awareness—being aware of the existence of the self in space and time—brings with it an awareness that we will some day cease to be. That one day we will die. Therapists and philosophers might use the term “existential terror” to discuss the unconscious anxiety this provokes.

And I think this is why conversations about health and body size/weight are so emotionally charged for many of us. We are not conscious about our anxiety that ultimately we are not in control of these bodies in and through which we experience the world. We are not consciously aware of the existential terror that we feel about the prospect that our bodies will get old, broken, ill, and eventually, we will die.

This is all unconscious because facing the reality of the inevitability of illness and death is scary and painful. It is much easier to avoid, ignore, repress that awareness and the feelings that come with it. And one of the best ways to do that is to convince our conscious selves that we are in control. That if we eat the “right” foods, in the “right” amounts, and we move in the “right” ways for the “right” duration, that we will be able to control our bodies. We will be free of illness and injury. The rational part of us is convinced that by doing these “right” things we will die peacefully in our beds at a very old age while we still feel healthy and young. The irrational part somehow believes we won’t die at all if we can be good enough at controlling this body we inhabit.

The problem is that it’s all ultimately an illusion. Careful examination of the real data suggests that the correlation between body size/weight and health is tenuous (recent research covered here, Big Liberty has a great collection of resources here, and I am working on my own list of resources here). Consistently, we are faced with evidence that we cannot control the size of our bodies, as any studies that show weight loss do not include long-term follow up. Consistently, we are faced with the reality that people doing all the “right” things still get sick—they get diabetes, they get cancer, they get injured. And they die. We all die. I will die. You will die.

In terms of rationality, HAES is the only logical way to approach our bodies. HAES says we make good choices insofar as our abilities, finances, time, etc. allow. It says we control what we can control, and we let go of what we can’t control. But the reason that HAES is so controversial is that its boringly obvious and unswervingly rational principles do not ultimately address our underlying terror about illness and death. We have to work through that before we can allow ourselves to let go of what we can’t control, which is that we will get sick and/or old, and we will die.

The cultural myth that we can control our bodies through “right” behaviors is so very powerful because deep down we are terrified that we have no control over our bodies at all, especially the fact that ultimately our bodies will fail us (i.e. die). HAES elicits defensiveness, fear, and anger precisely because it questions that powerful cultural myth. But we don’t have to remain stuck in the anger, fear, and defensiveness, because HAES provides a third way of relating to our bodies. HAES says that we can’t possibly have total control of our bodies, but it’s also not true that we have no control. HAES says there are some things we can control. There are some choices we can make. Choices that support our holistic wellness, including all facets of being human: physical, spiritual, emotional, intellectual, and social.

If your initial reaction to HAES is one of defensiveness, anger, or fear, take a moment to breathe. Take a moment to be present to your feelings. Acknowledge them. Honor them. Feel what it is to be fully human. And see if you can let HAES teach you how to hope. See if you can let it show you that you don’t have to beat your body into submission, or berate yourself for being imperfect. See if you can let it show you that your body is a precious gift that deserves to be treated well and allowed to simply be what it is.

Be Still?

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The following is the full text of the May edition of my monthly column, Tea & Empathy, in the Redmond UMC Newsletter. Click here to go to the RUMC website to download the newsletter.

Be still and know that I am God
– Psalm 46:10

This well-known scripture is frequently heard in our Christian communities. It’s often used as a reminder to us not to worry, to relax and trust in God. It may be used to remind us that “God is in charge” and allow us to let go in situations where we are trying to control something that really cannot be controlled. But what does this really mean, to “be still”? I am wondering how many of us are able to really and truly be still. To be quiet—silent even!—with ourselves.

Several years ago, while I was in seminary, I went on a three-night private retreat. I saw the value in being alone with my thoughts, and planned to spend a good portion of time there in silence and prayer. What I discovered, unfortunately, was that going from “60 to 0” was quite a shock to my system. I had been so accustomed to working hard, filling my time, running from one place to the next, that to truly stop and be quiet was overwhelming. All my demons, all my fears and anxieties and other painful emotions, suddenly became unavoidable. Unequipped to deal with such a shock to my system, I left the retreat early.

As I look back on this experience of my younger self, I realize that what I needed was not to go from “60 to 0” but instead to first try going from “60 to 55” and then work from there. When we come to understand that we need to spend more time being still, it’s important to realize that the process needn’t be an overwhelming shock to our system. It can be a slow and gentle process of learning to acknowledge those demons, to simply have (rather than trying to avoid) those painful emotions.

If you are feeling the need or the Spirit’s pull to “be still,” how about taking ten or fifteen minutes each day to turn off the TV, silence the phone, and take some time to simply breathe and pay attention to what’s going on in your body. In the stillness, just breathe in and out, and check in with your heart, mind, and body. Ask yourself what sensations you are experiencing, what feelings you are having. And when you feel a painful feeling—like anger, sadness, or fear—try to just experience it rather than avoid it or talk yourself out of it.

I believe some people can do this on their own, but most will need resources of support in this process. A book I strongly recommend to those feeling the pull to learn how to “be still” is Shadows of the Heart by the Whiteheads. Another resource that can be very useful is spiritual direction or counseling, especially if you begin to feel overwhelmed or stuck. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need some assistance in finding resources.

The concept of being still can be scary and overwhelming, but stillness is a precious gift that God has given us. Don’t miss out on it because the demons have gotten overwhelming. There is hope. We can all know what it means to “be still and know that I am God.”

Precious Dust

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The following is the full text of the April edition of my monthly column, Tea & Empathy, in the Redmond UMC Newsletter. Click here to go to the RUMC website to download the newsletter.

This year on Ash Wednesday we were blessed to worship with our District Superintendent, Rev. Pat Simpson, who shared a sermon with us. In her sermon she confessed her “love/hate” relationship with Ash Wednesday services, and specifically with the phrasing “remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return” when the mark of ashes is placed on the foreheads of each person. I, too, have struggled with this phrasing and reflected on it after hearing her thoughtful insights about the matter. I mean, it’s really pretty morbid. And aren’t we more than just dust?

Of course it is true that one day we will die and our physical bodies will eventually decompose (or be cremated) and return to the earth. But just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s not a depressing and morbid thought. In a society in which we psychologically beat ourselves up for being imperfect, not to mention often experiencing tremendous fear and anxiety about our eventual death, what psychological or spiritual value is there in remembering that “we are dust, and to dust we shall return”?

In asking this question, I couldn’t help thinking of something I heard in a seminary class on Spirituality, and that is that all of us are made of stardust. I know that sounds far-fetched at first, but the truth is that all the atoms, molecules, and minerals in our bodies came at some point from the explosion of a star. In fact, all of the matter in the universe is made from the same material. The matter in your body is literally stardust. From stardust your body came, and to stardust your body will return.

So the “dust” of our bodies is less like the particles floating in the air that exacerbate allergies and create a hassle to clean up, and more like all of the vibrant, beautiful, and precious creation in the whole universe. The dust of our bodies is the same “dust” that makes up the flowers in the fields, the rocky peaks of the mountains, and even the stars of galaxies our scientists have not yet discovered. To say that our bodies are made of dust is to affirm that they are made of the same stuff that makes up all of God’s sacred creation.

Each one of our bodies is completely unique, beloved, and precious. Our bodies will die, yes. And the water and compounds and minerals that make them up will return to the cycle of life. But there will never be another body—another embodied person—just like you. So during this Lenten season, as we are mindful of our mortality and our imperfections, let us not be misled into thinking that acknowledging that “we are dust” denigrates us.

Because we may be dust, but we are precious dust.

What we can learn from being sick

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The following is the full text of the February edition of my monthly column, Tea & Empathy, in the Redmond UMC Newsletter. Click here to go to the RUMC website to download the newsletter.

I am recovering from the worst cold I’ve had in years. I’m one of those people, who, when I’m taking good care of myself, almost never gets sick. I thank my dad for those genes! But my immune system just wasn’t up to the challenge of whatever bug my husband brought home a few weeks ago.

Being sick can teach us some important lessons. In a society in which we often walk around sort of “hovering above” ourselves, sickness really brings us into our body in a new way. It’s an opportunity to pay deeper attention to our sensations and feelings, to get more in touch with our needs and be gentler with ourselves about meeting them (for example, an afternoon nap that we would chastise ourselves for normally may be a welcome friend when we’re sick).

It’s also an opportunity to allow ourselves to be cared for. Perhaps a friend runs an errand for us or picks something up for us at the drug store. Perhaps we make a visit to a doctor to make sure that clinical intervention isn’t needed. We may have to ask colleagues to take projects over at work, or family members to help us take care of children or chores. Sickness can force us to do something that most of us find very difficult: let others help us.

Sickness also reminds us of our ultimate frailty. Being human means having limitations, not being able to do everything, and certainly not always being able to do things perfectly. Sometimes when we’re well we can forget that, and we push ourselves to achieve beyond what is reasonable to expect of ourselves; sickness has a humbling quality that reminds us that ultimately, we do have limitations.

These are some beautiful gifts that sickness brings to us, whether it’s a temporary cold or a chronic illness. There is freedom in acknowledging that we can’t “do it all.” When we learn to set aside our pride to ask for help, when we learn to set reasonable goals for ourselves, when we learn to deeply listen to our bodies about what we need, there is freedom to simply be ourselves. And that is a beautiful thing, since we may not be superwomen or supermen, each one of us is a precious creation, fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139)!

My hope for myself, and for you, is that we can remember the lessons that sickness teaches us, and live by them daily, even if/when we get well.

Kindness towards our bodies in the new year

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The following is the full text of the January edition of my monthly column, Tea & Empathy, in the Redmond UMC Newsletter.  Click here to go to the RUMC website to download the newsletter.

Did you make new years resolutions this year?  I made two.  One was to be more intentional about journaling.  The other, much more difficult and important, is that I have resolved to be kind to myself, and the most difficult aspect of that, for me and for many of us, is to be kind to my body.  After all, this is a time when we are bombarded with advertisements for diet plans and gyms, we are reminded of our “overindulgences” of holiday food and drink, and we are told that there is something inherently flawed or deficient about our bodies that needs changing.  It’s a powerful cultural message, and I believe each and every one of us, to one degree or another, has internalized it.

So I’m here to propose a different way, a better way, a freer way.  How about, instead of holding our bodies up to an external standard, we learn to trust and listen to our bodies?  It is in this way that we can truly be kind to our bodies and our selves.  Instead of trying to fit the size and shape of our bodies into a culturally defined (and thus external) norm, what if we accept the size and shape of our body, as it is now… no ifs, ands, or buts?  What if, instead of adhering to rigid (again, external) diet plans, we learn to trust our body’s hunger cues to tell us what and when we need to eat?  What if we found ways to play and dance and enjoy the way our bodies can move and work, instead of forcing ourselves into external expectations about going to the gym X times per week, or spending X hours a day “exercising”?

What I’m proposing is a radical idea: to make peace with our bodies.  Peace, after all, is a radical proposition in any form.  At Christmas we talked about Jesus being the Prince of Peace.  Often, that word “peace” gets watered down to mean something closer to “niceness,” an artificial politeness rather than the kind of radical trust and vulnerability that is required for true peace between peoples.  If we all took the charge for peace seriously, we would have to face the reality that peace is political.  It means no more war.  It means no more oppression.  It means no more divide between rich and poor.  This is the fundamental message of the Christ, who showed us how to live in peace with one another.  It is a charge that we Christians today are not living up to very well.

But even if we wanted to live up to this charge of peace better, how could we ever get there if we’re not even at peace with our own bodies?  If our mind and our body are not integrated, not working in tandem, without kindness and trust, there is no peace within us.  And if there is no peace within us, then how can we be at peace with others?  How can we seek peace in the world?  So yes, what I am calling us to is radical.  I’m calling us to radical kindness, trust, acceptance, and love of our own bodies, for that first step is the only way that we can ever begin to find that same radical kindness, trust, acceptance, and love of our neighbors next door and all over the globe.

The Moral of Our Story

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The following is the full text of the November edition of my monthly column, Tea & Empathy, in the Redmond UMC Newsletter.  Click here to go to the RUMC website to download the newsletter.

I was recently asked to guest preach at Rainier Beach UMC, and the topic the pastor had chosen for the morning was “the importance of story.”  I was delighted to be given the opportunity to reflect on the importance of story in my own life, the lives of others, and of our communities.

This gave me a chance to reflect on my own story.  My story is full of joy as well as heartache, privileges as well as trials.  My story shapes who I am and who I will become.  But I’m not just a passive vessel in that process; I also have the opportunity to shape the story itself.  I have the opportunity to find out what the “moral of my story” is.

My undergraduate education was in Elementary Ed/General Science.  I wanted to be a junior high science teacher.  But after several years of subbing—and several unsuccessful interviews—I chose to return to school rather than focus my energies on getting a teaching job.  It is up to me to define the moral of this story.  I could interpret it as a failure or a lack of initiative.  But instead I choose to interpret it as part of my growing up process; part of the discernment that all young adults go through as they figure out “what they want to be.”  The gifts I gathered in my undergrad education and my days as a substitute teacher stay with me, helping me to be a better counselor, preacher, and teacher today.  The moral of my story is one of success, not failure, because that is what I have decided it will be.

What is the moral of your story?  How will you interpret the story of your past, and the story that is unfolding now?  It is my hope that you will see the ways you have been strong, the ways you have succeeded, and be gentle with the ways you have failed.  It is my hope that the moral of your story will include love, joy, and gratitude.

What is the moral of our story?  Our story as a faith community, a manifestation of the Body of Christ?  How will we interpret the story of our past, and the story that is unfolding now?  It is my hope that, as with our personal stories, our shared story will include joy and gratitude.  It is my hope that our story will include radical hospitality and welcome to our neighbors.  It is my hope that our story will include justice for the oppressed, liberation for the shackled.  It is my hope that the moral of our story will be centered in and encompassed by love.

Tea & Empathy August 2010 – Authenticity

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I am writing this from Spokane, WA, where I am attending Jubilate, a yearly music and arts in worship festival.  The keynote speaker, Presbyterian pastor Ron Davids, is working with us on the concept of worship that transforms… or to put it another way, transforming worship so that it can become transformational.  On the first day, he hammered home the point of authenticity being absolutely crucial to passionate, thriving, transformational worship.

Authenticity.  Not always an easy goal, in any area of life.  Authenticity requires us to be radically honest about who we are.  It requires us to take risks to speak what is true for us even when it is hard.  It requires us to be vulnerable and candid about our rough edges, the areas where we are hurting or in need of maturation.  Being authentic is challenging.  It can be difficult and sometimes even painful, but the rewards are great.

For too long, American culture—that culture in which our church is undoubtedly saturated—has thrived on folks not being authentic with one another.  “How are you doing?”  we ask, and if the answer is anything but “I’m doing well, thanks!  You?” we become nervous.  We avert our eyes when we pass someone who has a disability or looks visibly poor or homeless.  When confronted with someone in deep emotional pain, our first instinct is often to run.

We don’t seem to know how to be authentic, and we really don’t know how to handle it when other people are authentic with us, showing us their pain and struggle.  We have not been given social instruction in how to be present with someone in pain; actually this is probably the reason I have a job.  If we could be truly honest and authentic with ourselves, the need for counseling would drop dramatically.

But hiding behind fake niceties, hiding our rough edges, pretending that all is well when it is not do not lead to communities that thrive.  Our denomination is facing the reality that right now we are at a crossroads, and we must “change or die.”  This change doesn’t have to have anything to do with whether our music comes from the Hymnal or from the projection screen.  It doesn’t have to have anything to do with whether we have communion weekly or monthly.  The change is that we must learn to be authentic with one another.

This is what young people—the Facebook generation, sharing our lives online with friends, family, and acquaintances—crave.  We want authenticity; real community.  We don’t want to show up on Sunday morning and hear a nice message that makes us feel good but doesn’t challenge us, shake a few hands and eat a few cookies and then go on our way.  We, the young and the old, the cradle Methodists and those new to the faith, all of us, need a community that is saturated in trust, compassion, safety, respect, and authenticity.

This is only the beginning of what needs to be an ongoing conversation, but we can start with today.  What are you going to do today to live your life more authentically?  What small change will you make the next time you are at church, whether Sunday morning worship, committee meeting, or music practice, to be more authentic with your church family?

Pride: it’s about love

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This year I attended my first Pride parade, and it inspired in me some reflections about Pride festivities in general.  Allow me to share these reflections with you, along with pictures taken at Seattle’s Pride parade.

Pride festivities are usually pretty well-known for the more outrageous, outlandish, and sometimes shocking displays.  Naked (with full body paint) bicyclists join men in leather fetish gear and 8-inch platform heels.  Women and men alike don feathers, sparkles, and wear very little else.  Here are a few examples:

Of course, many others join in the Pride festivities who don’t make quite the same impression. Take, for example, the Seattle Librarians, doing a choreographed dance with book carts:

There are also sports groups, political figures, and military representatives:

Most people know there are the religious nay-sayers who stand on the sidelines and make their disapproval known.  This man held up a sign near us; his sandwich board read, “Fear God”:

another woman across the way was holding a sign pointed at the parade marchers that said something like, “God loves you and hates your sin.”  Seems like it just wouldn’t be pride without the naysayers.

In the midst of all of this, I personally believe that the true crux of the matter is this:

Pride is about love.

It is about loving shamelessly, loving without regret, loving unconditionally.  It is about loving ourselves the way we are and loving one another in the midst of our differences.

It’s about encouraging and celebrating romantic and familial love in all its glorious incarnations:

It’s about God’s love for ALL of us, exactly the way we are:

Simply put, it’s about love.

So to all the outrageous, outlandishly-dressed Pride partiers, I say, more power to you!  And to the churches and political figures and librarians and everyone else who came to show their support, you are so very appreciated.  And especially, thank you to those who point out the heart of what Pride is really all about: love.

Meeting us where we are

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There is a very thought-provoking article up on Slate right now called The Vancouver Experiment.  It details a drop-in center in Vancouver, BC where addicts can come to get their fix.  Yes, you read that right.  Of course, the center doesn’t provide drugs; the folks have to bring their own drugs, and they have to inject themselves.  There are booths which provide a safe place for users to use.  According to the article:

For many of the users, the injection room is a first point of contact with the health care system. Users get medical treatment from the nurses, who clean and bandage abscesses and give referrals for further care. The addicts are a deeply traumatized population, many with mental illness and histories of abuse and so require an extraordinary amount of patience. An oft-repeated dictum for the staff at Insite is to “meet people where they are.” It is a constant effort to be nonjudgmental about the choices addicts make.

This is a place where folks who struggle with debilitating addictions can be “met where they are,” without judgment or moralization.  They come to this place, get high in a safe environment, and have access to some basic health care and other help.  When they are ready, they can enter a two-week detox program located upstairs in the same building, and graduates of that detox program can take advantage of temporary housing on the third level until they are able to secure more stable housing.

This is a truly revolutionary approach to health care.  So often, we expect people to reach a certain level of health or wherewithal before we are even willing to help them.  Many health care providers require folks to be “clean” or “sober” before giving treatment, others may expect other behaviors or attitudes before willing to provide help.  Here at this place, the health care and social workers are meeting the folks exactly where they are, so that when they are willing to enter a process of healing, they will have trusted individuals to whom they can turn for help.

I did a 20-month internship with Craig Rennebohm of the Mental Health Chaplaincy during my masters program.  While I spent most of my time there placed at the Recovery Café, a drop-in day center for folks recovering from addictions and homelessness, I was incredibly blessed to have Craig as my supervisor because he taught me so much about meeting people where they are.  Craig is a true example of this, as he literally goes to where the people are–on the streets of Seattle.  He goes to them and respectfully, compassionately, and patiently reaches out a hand in friendship.  By meeting people exactly where they are, Craig has opened doors to healing and new connection for many folks.

Another example of meeting people where they are can be found in the life of Jesus.  As he traveled and ministered, he ate with “sinners” and “saints” alike, communing with tax collectors and prostitutes and lepers–those most cast aside by society.  While he challenged and encouraged them to grow, he always started by meeting them exactly where they were, reaching out in peace and love.

I wonder what the world would look like if more of us lived like Jesus, like this Vancouver clinic, or like Craig.  It would certainly be a place of much deeper compassion in general, but I also wonder if it would be a place where folks found that healing and recovery would come easier in the midst of a community that truly supports rather than judging and moralizing about one another’s behavior.

Fat Talk Free Week

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This week is Fat Talk Free Week, sponsored by Tri Delta.

This is a week for all of us to take stock of how we talk about our bodies. Are we using negative language or positive language to talk about our bodies? Does the language we use reflect our thankfulness for being alive, for having the wonderful gift that is our body, which allows us to move through the world and do things that we love and that make the world a better place?

Let’s take this week to try a new way of being; a new way of speaking and thinking. Let’s try not to disparage our bodies with “fat talk” such as “I’m so fat!” or “look at my rolls!” or “I really need to lose weight.” Let’s try this, and see how it might make life more vibrant, more life-giving, and allow us to be more grateful for the one wonderful body we’ve been given!