Let’s play a game.  I say, “East Oakland, California.”

You say, “____________.”

Before I moved here in 1989, I called the local police and checked in about the crime stats.  After all, I would most likely be raising a family at some point and wanted to hedge my bets proactively.  I was told that the neighborhood was,

“relatively safe with the occasional drive by.”

With that knowledge tucked under my belt, contracts were signed and I moved in.  Two weeks later, the Loma Prieta Earthquake hit and my tiny little one story house, nonplussed, re-emerged safe and sound. It was like the airplane scene from The World According to Garp…I have lived here ever since.

The crime in my neighborhood has had its ups and downs over the years with the increases in crime seemingly in sync with economic downturns and desperation.  I’ve been robbed once and on another occasion had a SWAT team (no, I’m not exaggerating or using poetic metaphor) in my back yard.  But I still “hella love” Oakland. 

One of the gems of this iconoclastic city by The Bay, and especially close to my heart, is Lake Merritt.  The Lake is a remarkable place of refuge in the midst of a city known for its turmoil.  It is a bird sanctuary, children’s playground, nature and science learning center and the walking, biking and running tracks for many an Oaklander.  I joined that “team” of Lake Walkers in 2002 after a serious back injury and have been walking the 3.4 mile circuit almost daily in order to stave off the immobilizing back spasms.

I always walk in the same direction which means that I have, over the years, met about a dozen or so people who are “walking The Lake” at the same time as I but in the opposite direction.  It’s amazing that hand waves and one to three word exchanges each day over the course of ten years weaves relationships with people whose names I don’t even know. But it does. When one of my regulars disappeared for a few months, my head was filled with questions about what happened to him…was he okay, had he moved, or merely changed directions?  When I saw him one morning back in his regular spot, I waved, “Are you okay? I was worried about you!” He smiled and we high fived each other. Over the course of the week, as we walked past each other, I learned of his close encounter with a stroke and gradual recovery.  Goosebumps ran up and down my spine as I realized that he and I are as much a part of the ecosystem there as the pelicans, cormorants and grebes who have their own special sections of The Lake and come and go with migration patterns as predictable as our daily walks.

But a few weeks ago, things changed.  I was the victim of a drive by shouting.  No, it wasn’t the first in my lifetime, but it was the first time at The Lake and it cut through me like a scalpel.  I was happily walking my route, savoring the sun and grateful for the crisp breeze against my face.  As a transplanted New Yawker, I still get a satisfied feeling each December when I can leave my house without a snow shovel and in a tee shirt.  I had just passed one of my favorite regulars, a young man in his late twenties perhaps, who sports a pony tail and a black suit.  It took about a year before I could elicit a brief two finger forehead salute from him and another year before the wave was accompanied by a smile.  Today he actually said, “Hi!” and I was filled with a sense of satisfied connection.  Suddenly a car, going in the opposite, direction sped by.

The driver aimed and fired,

“Walk it off Baby, Walk it off!”

And he was gone.

Gone before I could respond. Gone before I could recover. Gone Gone Gone.  I was left fuming, stewing, hurting. Now please trust me that I do NOT take violent crime lightly nor do I think that a drive by shooting and a drive by shouting are the same.   I know they are not.  But if you would indulge me and work with my metaphor, you’ll understand why this type of “assault” is such a big deal to me.  His words eclipsed any and all feelings of pleasure that I had been experiencing.  I began to spiral down into a very bad case of the “should haves.”  As I trudged along I went through a mental rolodex of:  I should have said this, I should have said that. If I had his license plate number I’d find him and tell him this, or that.  My imagination on fire, I was in Dr. Deah’s Hollywood.

“Hello officer, I’d like to report a drive by shouting.”

“You mean shooting?”

“Okay, yes…A drive by shooting off of a mouth.”

“Yes there were injuries.”

I even crossed into the territory of blaming the victim.

“Deah, why are you so sensitive? Why can’t you just let these things roll off your shoulders?  Why give him so much power?”

My Big Ole Booty

I also considered his point of view… perhaps he felt he was helping.  Maybe he imagined himself a male Jillian Michaels on wheels and was convinced he was shouting out supportive coach-like positive reinforcement because after all wouldn’t the ONLY reason that I’d be out there power walking around the lake be to walk off my big ol’ booty?

But in the end I kept coming back to the anger.  If I saw him again I’d be prepared. I’d head him off at the stop sign. I’d lean in toward the car.  I would aim and fire,

“Did I ask for your help??? What you said didn’t help. I don’t want your help! Your help is based on assumptions and a one sided point of view.  How dare you intrude into my world only to wound me with your misguided bullets of support. The only thing I had to walk off, Babeee, was the anger, hurt, and humiliation you left in your so called helpful wake.”

Sigh.  As if…

As a person who has devoted decades to repairing wounds inflicted by other’s good intentions, it is startling to find that I am still vulnerable when I am the target of an emotional drive by.  But I am human and hence, an on-going work in progress.  For a few days after the incident I noticed that I was more hyper-vigilant. There was less of a jaunt in my step, and I felt vulnerable.  I wondered if everyone assumed that my walking regimen was motivated by my need to fit in to what society expects a woman’s body to look like?

I thought of T-shirts I could wear.

Don’t Help!

OR

Walking 4 my Health NOT 2 B a Size 4

OR

Who Asked U?

OR

Occupy my Big Fat…

Well, you get the idea…

The good news is that my recovery time is quicker than it used to be and I no longer punish myself for not being perfect in the eyes of others.  The inner “should have” voices are quiet again and the P.T.S.D. (Post Traumatic Shouting Disorder) symptoms have faded. I’m back at The Lake walking and reveling in all she has to offer.   Yet as I write this I find myself back in Dr. Deah’s Hollywood where this post goes viral and finds its way not just to my fellow “victims” but to the perpetrators.  In a cinematic montage we see the people who believe they are doing a good deed, through their unsolicited coaching and commenting, having an epiphany.   In a classic light bulbs flashing scene we witness AHA moments, one after one.

• “I get it…she isn’t a project that needs fixing.”
• “Eureka!  She has her own valid definition of beauty!”
• “What is that you say? A health focused approach to living life and NOT a weight focused approach?”

We see them in their cars steering clear of The Lake, or if they do drive by, they smile a knowing smile, keep their comments to themselves and do not disrupt The Lake’s placid ecosystem.  Change is in the air and all body self-consciousness has evaporated; cormorants fly by and we fade to black.

But until then, here in Dr. Deah’s Oakland, when I walk, I wear my ASDAH T-shirt  and if anyone asks me how I feel about walking around Lake Merritt, my answer will be:

“It’s a great neighborhood, relatively safe, with the occasional drive by.”

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AND HEY…MAKE THIS POST GO VIRAL!!!!  CHANGE STARTS HERE!

I am thrilled to share this wonderful review written by Kim Brittingham, the author of Read My Hips.  Kim who has extensive knowledge in the area of body image issues reviewed the Leftovers To Go Workbook/DVD set and here is the link.  Please feel free to share the link with your community of therapists, educators and group facilitators working in the field of Body Dissatisfaction, Body Image, and Eating Disorders.

Warmly,

Dr. Deah

I am a self-proclaimed Astrological Agnostic.  I am not certain if that is a bona fide category in the DSMM (Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Metaphysics) or if I just made up the term.  Either way there is something elegant about the fact that the word agnostic is tidily tucked away inside the word diagnostic.  That is just cool.

So how do I define an Astrological Agnostic?

• Someone who is skeptical about Astrologers’ claims that Astrology is an efficacious system of categorizing personalities and predicting possible events in the future.
• Someone who needs statistical proof to eradicate their skepticism about these claims.
•  Someone who wouldn’t be particularly surprised to find that the claims were legitimate.
• Someone who doesn’t judge others who do believe the claims are legitimate.

My cousin, Ralfee Finn writes a very well known astrology column called the Aquarium Age.  (No that is not a typo, it really is Aquarium not Aquarius) and is sought after far and wide for charts and readings.  I find her columns filled with words of wisdom and enjoy reading them although being the A.A. that I am, I tend to ignore the astrological references.  I suppose there is a possibility that if Ralfee looked at my chart she would find that the configuration of my planets at the time of my birth is classic for someone who is an Astrological Agnostic.

We could set up a study and interview all of the people who have their suns in Sagittarius with Capricorn Rising and Moons in Aries, etc. and ask them to describe their opinion of the validity of astrological claims.  We could then aggregate and analyze the data, accounting for intervening variables and making sure we have a good control group.  Then we may find that there is a statistically significant outcome of Astrological Agnostic responses e.g.  “Well, if someone provided me with proof….etc.” associated with those birth charts.  Those may be data worth noting.

But I also occasionally wonder about the month of December.

In a previous blog, It’s A Gift, I wrote about the month of December as a challenging month for people who tend to suffer from the Holiday Blues.  What I didn’t mention was December is also the month filled with the birthdays of most of my friends.  With over a dozen births to celebrate, could there be any astrological meaning to this? I am not talking about my family’s birthdays. I am talking about close friends I have chosen all of whom have birthdays in the same month. Is there a reason why I am drawn to people who are considered Sagittarians?

I have no idea.  I wasn’t planning on talking about astrology at all, so let’s put the zodiac aside, and talk about birthday wishes.

Having just celebrated hug-fuls of birthdays with my December friends, I found myself noticing the moment of wishful blowing. Men and women alike seem to take this traditional candle blowing-wish making moment very seriously.  I honestly cannot think of a single person who had a nonchalant or laissez faire candle blowing approach.  Each person paused, closed their eyes, and solemnly reopened them, inhaled and then exhaled with the intensity of a dragon.  I don’t know if making a birthday wish before blowing out the candles is an international cultural tradition and I’d be curious to hear from my readers who were not born in America about that.

But here are some observations.

Even the most germ-phobic people do not seem to care about the germs and spittle that are being spread over the cake in the process.

The people waiting for the cake to be served, without any authority figure telling them to be quiet, take on a supportive silent stance in the wish-making pre-candle blowing moment. 

The only exception to this is if someone is documenting this momentous moment with a photo and asks the birthday boy/girl to wait a moment so they can prepare the shot.

And of course the ultimate rule,

IF YOU SAY YOUR WISH OUT LOUD, THE WISH WON’T COME TRUE!

This rule is so ingrained in all of us that no one even asks you what you wished for.  Well I am here to tell the world (okay, that’s a bit grandiose) I am here to tell my wonderful readers that not saying your wish out loud has NOTHING to do with a wish coming true.  If that were the case I would not have wished the same wish year after year after year.  It would have come true and then I would have had the chance to create a new wish each subsequent year.  But somehow during the 364 days that elapse between opportunities to manifest anything my birthday heart desired, I would forget that it hadn’t worked the year before.

Each year I would remind myself not to waste the wish, not to blow it on something superficial and unimportant. After all it would be another year before I had this much power in my corner.  And yet in the final moment…the game-making play…the moment of truth…the birthday genie beckoning, without exception, I would wish…

to be thin.

Exhale.  Done. No take-backs.

Wishing to be thin trumped:

• World Peace
•  Unlimited wealth
• Happy healthy life
• Happy healthy kid
• Successful career
• Cure for AIDS
• A new car

My inner critic berated me not only for selecting a wish that was primarily about my appearance, but for being totally inconsistent.  After all isn’t it the ultimate Agnostic Hypocrisy?  How could I fervently continue to believe in the magic of birthday wishes despite the preponderance of proof that they did not come true and still be an Astrological Agnostic?

This pattern continued for decades, until two years ago.  First of all, I gave myself permission to be inconsistent after all isn’t that what being open minded is sometimes about?  I gave myself permission to love my body as it is and stopped wishing it would be what it wasn’t.  Instead, I wished that my son would get into the college of his choice.  He did.  Last year I wished that a close friend of mine would make it through her 5^th year being cancer free.  She did!

This is a good trend; and no, I don’t really believe my wish had anything to do with the outcomes of the two examples I just gave you.  After all correlation is NOT causation.  But for some inexplicable reason I feel a twinge of sadness when I think back on all of my birthday wishes wasted.  For what? To be thinner waisted?  What a waste.

As I am writing this, It has been 360 days since my last birthday and when I go to blow out the candles on my cake with my loved ones around me I will have another chance to tap into the magic of the birthday wish.  And while I can’t tell you what I will wish for, I bet all of you know what I will NOT wish for!

What’s your sign? 

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Here is the link to a blog post on the website Fierce Freethinking Fatties. I write for them once a month and it is a pleasure to be a part of a website that promotes size and self acceptance.  The post I wrote this month can be found at: http://fiercefatties.com/2011/12/06/its-a-gift/

It is about navigating through the upcoming Holiday Season, which for some folks can be challenging.  Here are some thoughts and clinical considerations for battling the blues.

Warmly,

Dr. Deah