Reparation Of A Broken Vessel

Posted on May 9, 2020

I reached for one of my favorite mugs this morning, not so much because Mother’s Day is approaching, but I love its bright colors. The enameled pink, gold, and yellow caught my eye the second I spotted it on a shelf at Marshall’s one day last year. Coffee mugs are my handbags, and this one emitted cheer. As I reached to claim it as mine, I suddenly froze. Emblazoned across its surface were the words “World’s Best Mom.” Not really appropriate, I thought, given that I’d never birthed a child. Then I noticed Bill standing in front if me, fresh from a victory lap around the men’s shirt department. He’d landed the ultimate prize: a Mark Graham shirt at 70% off, and saw I was seriously eying the mug.

“I really love the colors,” I said, holding it up to the light. “Do you think it’s weird that I buy this?

‘You’re a step-mom to Zach and a doggie-mom to Sophia, of course you should get it,” was his immediate response.

So it came home with us that day, and I use it regularly, often on gloomy, overcast days when I’m wanting a burst of color. And one morning as I sipped coffee, set it down, and admired it for the 127th time, it dawned on me that there’s another role I’ve played in this lifetime: that of mother to myself.

As the self-help pioneer Louise Hay pointed out in her 1984 book, “You Can Heal Your Life,” we’re all victims of victims of victims. In other words, even our parents, virtuous as they may be, can be inborn with flaws, and when any two people join forces to parent, they lock in place a unique template that combines cultural mores, personality quirks, societal values, inherited wounding, and character strengths. It’s a wildcard of a ride if there ever was one, and the results for offspring range from lingering unmet needs to deep emotional scars.

Suffice it to say, I left the nest with unmet needs aplenty. Just as I’m sure my parents did, and their parents, and on and on.

Learning how to nurture myself in order to fill in some of the missing pieces was an ongoing process. First on the agenda was feeling the feelings. The little girl who was routinely chastised for having feelings and being ‘too sensitive,’ was now free to cry, rage, whimper…whatever I needed to do. I journaled my feelings onto paper, punched them onto pillows, and when I felt strong enough, had honest talks (also known as confrontations) with others about my feelings. Also critical to the process: seeking support from like-minded people. No one does it alone, nor should you try. For many years, I nourished my needs and unburdened my hurting inner-self at 12-step meetings, therapy sessions, metaphysical workshops, and over countless cups of coffee with empathetic friends.

This wellspring of permission to nurture cemented a solid sense of self that shame, all those years ago, had once thwarted. And guess what? It was SO much more effective than dieting. It’s pretty fascinating to contemplate that only a single consonant separates the words ‘pounds’ and ‘wounds.’ It’s a reality I encourage my clients to focus on because that’s where the true and lasting healing lies.

But food, of course, cannot and should not be ignored. And for my path to wholeness, I had to start from ground zero since I never had a shot at a normal relationship with it. As a child of the 70’s, dieting was not only a pastime but a moral imperative. I couldn’t escape the mandate, even at summer camp, where I was sent to “the diet table,” a place for the chubby campers and counselors. Sullen outcasts, we sat eating vegetables and cottage cheese in a room segregated off the dining hall, and we always left each meal light on nourishment and pumped up with shame. Growing up, food was not a simple noun, but a vortex of swirling emotions that stirred both fascination and disgust within me. Food was judged, regulated, literally hidden and locked away, and largely forbidden. And I also needed it desperately to feel better.

This aggravated not only low self-esteem but my weight and I wrestled with both for decades. Until the day I decided a do-over was in order. In tandem with the inner work I was doing, I inverted the equation and transformed shame into joy, rebuke into permission, and eating in secret to eating openly and with abandon. Yup, I went overboard with quantity but I needed to. It was a necessary passage and part of me taking control and offering myself recompense for all the years the locusts of deprivation and recrimination devoured my shot at a stable existence.

To get more insights on this I refer you to my cookbook-memoir “Clean Comfort.” But with no calendar mandates for progress reports, unlimited patience, and a resolve to treat myself with the same kindness I treat a friend, the rift between food and me was healed, as was the relationship I had with my body, soul, and inner child who, at the core, didn’t really want all that revenge-eating, but instead only simple, unmitigated acceptance.

Food has a much different place in my life now. I seek pleasure from it for sure, but also nourishment. Like the hot cereal made from quinoa piled into the mug in this photo. There’s an interesting metaphor for sure with my love of hot cereal the way it mimics baby food in appearance and texture.

I find foods that are soft and creamy to be inherently comforting. And in the case of hot cereal, I make it nourishing as well as comforting. My taste buds no longer exclusively run the show. My body has an equal vote now and loves things like flax seeds, hemp hearts, and coconut oil. (See all kinds of hot cereal recipes on this site for more details).

So as I sit on my balcony, on one of the first warm and beautiful days of the year, I contemplate with gratitude my ability to be my own mother, even as I acknowledge the irony of spending my reproductive years recovering from an unhappy childhood. I also remember all the women in my life who imbued me with maternal kindness and gave me comfort and reassurance when I needed it. The rock in this photo came from a beach on Lake George where I spent childhood summers. The beach belonged to my Aunt Mary, who was a best friend, grandmother, aunt and occasional mother-figure who melted into empathy if I was sad. She’s been gone for 20 years now and I still thank God for her.

Sometimes, when holidays such as Mother’s Day and Father’s Day roll around, there are mixed and unresolved feelings bubbling beneath the surface. It’s OK. I repeat it’s OK to have mixed emotions. They were human and so are you. There’s no perfect script to follow. And whatever you do, please don’t use sappy TV commercials as a template.

Whatever Mother’s Day evokes for you, the good news is, we can reach inward to listen…with stillness, compassion, and profound love.

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Quinoa in Quarantine

Posted on April 22, 2020

God I love carbs! Yes, I just stated the obvious because…Who doesn’t? my love of starchy grains and root vegetables is the main reason I could never, back in my dieting days, do Keto or Atkins for more than a few weeks.

Not only do carbs bring me pleasure, but brown rice, oats, and potatoes also offer a cornucopia of nutrients and fiber, whether their incarnation on my table is creamy, fluffy, or crispy. That’s because they’re carbs of the complex variety, in a different league from white carbs like pasta and white rice.

Even so, complex carbs were something I regulated. It’s just the law of my middle-aged metabolism. They don’t process in my body the way broccoli does (if only).

But enter march 2020, the coronavirus makes its way around the entire circumference of the globe and we’re all told to stay home. Not such a horrible thing if you’re a homebody to begin with. But if you’re a mover and a doer and kind of attached to your job and its attendant income, this coupled with the mortal threat to one’s health can add up to a precarious and sticky situation where food, whiling away free time, and wellness are concerned.

That being said, let me make one thing crystal clear: this is NOT the time to rectify the stress-eating with a strict and horrendously cruel diet. That’s a set-up under normal circumstances. Under Corona circumstances, you’d simply be asking for a freefall into the abyss of dieters who have shamefully tumbled off the wagon.

Shame is the last thing we’re striving for here, and in a word, if you want to acknowledge any kind of goal or intention during these tumultuous times, may I suggest the concept of balance. It’s broad enough to be non-threatening and definite enough to give you something to shoot for.

I often like to think of balance in terms of things I would like not to do, as in: inhale a bag of fritos, or make donuts part of my repertoire, or order a pizza the size of a Monopoly board with a side of buttery garlic knots. It’s so much easier to clarify what I want when I’m clear on what I don’t want. Not that all of the above doesn’t have its gastronomic appeal, but I know, through much trial and error, that my body will not appreciate the ensuing after effects of poor digestion, bloating, and extreme thirst. So what’s a carb lover to do??

Enter quinoa. The undisputed champion of complex carbs. More expensive than rice or potatoes, it’s an ancient grain hailing from the Andes mountains and has significantly more vitamins, fiber, and protein than brown rice. Inspite of this impressive resume, I can feel your interest waning and I get it. I even ADMIT that quinoa on its own is a yawn. But it’s a little known fact that under the right alchemization, it can be YUMMY!

In my cookbooks and on my archives here, there are recipes for Chocolate Quinoa Cake, Quinoa Muffins, even quinoa pancakes. Recently, though, I was craving a savory treat. Something akin to polenta, but with a healthier bent.

As it usually does, quinoa pinch hit for the simple carb BEAUTIFULLY! For this particular batch, I made it thin because I wanted a base for Eggs Benedicts, but you can also spread the better into an 8×10 pan if you prefer chunky squares of polenta.  I often enhance the flavor of quinoa polenta with pecorino cheese, but fresh chopped rosemary is also wonderful.

Hope you give it a shot and enjoy the nutritious ride! Your body is already thanking you in advance!

Quinoa Polenta

About 6 servings

Ingredients:

3 cups cooked polenta

2 eggs

2 tablespoons light oil

½ cup grated pecorino cheese

1 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350

Place all ingredients in a food processor and blend until smooth. The batter should be very thick, but spreadable. Spray an 8×10 pan with cooking spray (or 9×13 if you want the polenta thin). Bake for 25 minutes and check to see if it’s firm in the middle. When firm, turn oven off and leave in a cooling oven for another 10 minutes to set. Serve warm.

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Confinement: A Few House Rules

Posted on April 5, 2020

Take a breath, slowly. Then another. Stay in the moment. And don’t try to change too much too soon. This is the advice I give readers and clients. It’s sound wisdom anytime, and during this time of heightened uncertainty and strangeness, it is CRUCIAL.

Spending more time at home without the comforting rhythms of usual routines, minus the personal contact we now realize is crucial to wellbeing, and with the repetition of news loops running on the TV, computer, or just in our own minds can mean increased frequency of stress-eating and perhaps nutritionally poor food choices. I think most of us have been heeding the comfort-call of simple carbs this past month. These choices will inevitably be followed by panic, remorse, and the use various strategies to throw the engine in reverse.

In modern times, the most oft-sought strategy has been the diet. No secret that I gave it up years ago, but its evergreen allure still looms large in our collective psyche. Even though it’s now-common knowledge they not only don’t work, but dig us further in the trap…they still beckon us to give it another shot, like Lucy holding the football for an eternally naïve Charlie Brown.

The clever diet industry, however, has adapted to consumer cynicism, concealing the useless strategy of going on a diet under the guise of sensible trends or ‘Hear-Ye, Hear-Ye’ health mandates. I won’t name any names because you may be taking refuge in some of them, or are perhaps, even found them to be helpful. I only wish to remind you that the conventional wisdom of the diet industry, best-selling authors, talk show hosts, etc. should NEVER usurp your own wisdom. Who knows your body better than you? No one! Ditto for the mind and heart.

Springtime is the perfect time to shed our skins, outdated habits, ways of thinking, and belief systems that no longer serve us. Not that we can’t learn from one another; of course we can. Just don’t flip your own innate ability to discern what feels good to you to the off switch. Take new information in if you’d like…and see if it’s a fit. What better time to try on a new way of being?

What’s something you are ready to shed?

I’ll go first: worrying about the future and obsessing on carb intake…

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Brown Rice To The Rescue

Posted on March 30, 2020

During this unprecedented time of global lockdown, depending on whether you’re an introvert or extrovert, you’re either aglow with contentment or climbing the walls. Even a life-long bookworm like me is having challenging moments. While I’m content to curl up with a memoir or writing project, there’s no denying that the why of our lockdown is disturbing to the core.

I’ve limited my news-watching, but also refuse to lift off into la-la land. What I see on TV and on the internet often freezes me in my tracks with dread. I take the necessary steps to protect myself. I check on loved ones and urge them to do the same. I say prayers for the afflicted and medical and military personnel on the frontlines doing the brave work of heroes.

Sometimes I find tears welling up out of nowhere. Or sudden irritability gushes forth like Old Faithful and I’m silently criticizing everything from politicians and celebrities to the ads on TV (which have swiftly switched gears to capitalize on the nation’s collective anxiousness).

And as a longtime emotional eater, I observe myself. For me, this is a sort of emotional temperature-taking throughout the day, done without criticism or scorn. I simply notice what I’m feeling and when helplessness or frustration may (as they sometimes do) propel me to seek comfort in food. There’s no doubt our present-day situation is napalm for the emotional eater. Lots of time on one’s hands coupled with stress and uncertainty can spell a beeline for the comfort food.

Bill and I have noticed on our most recent grocery shopping expeditions that the cookie and candy aisles are decimated while the produce section is chock-a-block with fruits and vegetables. Interesting. And not surprising. Salads were never my go-to comfort food, and they probably never will be. That’s why, when it comes to fine-tuning comfort-food tastes towards whole foods instead of processed junk food (and that takes good old-fashioned time) it’s best to cater (no pun intended) to your personal preferences. I’ve largely accepted that I don’t like raw vegetables. I’ll eat salads to be virtuous, but they’re something I’d rather do without. Instead, I alchemize the world of vegetables into soups and stews, and there are lots of delicious recipes in my archives here.

Today’s missive is about touting one of my new favorite clean comfort foods: Hot cereal. Don’t laugh! Think about it. Hot cereal is an unsung (and often improperly rendered) hero that, when made the right way and with the right accompaniments, can nourish and satisfy…WITHOUT skyrocketing your blood sugar or decimating your liver. With the majority of my adult life spent as a hardcore binge-eater, I’m amazed I never needed a transplant. So now, I spend my days eating foods that nourish me thoroughly which I also happen to enjoy. Take it from an experience yo-yo dieter, nutrition is just a hologram if you don’t enjoy what you’re eating.

Creamy, dreamy, and constructive…

There are actually several versions in my archives, but my new favorite is rice-based. Brown rice, that is. Quite simply, it’s one of nature’s most perfect foods. And don’t get hung up on the fact it’s a carb. It’s a complex carb (not a white one) and that means it comes with fiber, nutrients, and even a little protein. And according to my wonderful nutritionist, Nancy Guberti, it’s also anti-inflammatory. Now, it is a carb, which doesn’t mean license to go nuts, but when I want something warm, creamy, and comforting, this fits the bill.

It may seem like a lot of work to mill it from scratch but you’ve got nothing but time right now, so what better opportunity to see if hot cereal might be your new go-to. And as far as time investment into food-prep goes, the way I look at it is: when I’m the one doing the processing in my kitchen, it means I’ve eliminated processing that would otherwise take place at a factory, so who’s the winner?

There really aren’t a lot of rules for hot cereal, other than, make the base non-dairy if you can. Flavoring is up to you. Today, I used a blend of cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg. Turmeric is wonderful as well. I take my hot cereal unsweetened, but if you want, add some maple syrup, honey, or Stevia. Oh, and you can even up the nutrition with chia seeds, ground flax seeds, or hemp heart seeds. Trust me, your body will love all this and ask you why you didn’t do this sooner. And…this freezes beautifully, giving you yet another option for healthy fast food.

Brown Rice Cereal:

2 cups cooked brown rice

about a cup of warm unsweetened almond milk

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon cardamom

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

1 teaspoon vanilla

Instructions:

Blend all ingredients in a Vitamix or blender until smooth. Depending on how thick you like your cereal, adjust the milk – I like it on the thinner side. Bake in a covered crock until warm and bubbly or heat over medium-low heat on the stove, stirring occasionally.

Love, love, LOVE my Vitamix!

I prefer baking it, but that’s just me…

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The Art of Being Vulnerable

Posted on January 26, 2020

We all have it. A soundtrack from our childhood. At no time was that soundtrack more embedded into my longterm memory than during my 7-week sojourn at summer camp, a yearly adventure which took place from 1971-1978.

The counselors all had transistor radios in their quarters – rabbit-eared lifelines to the outside world as well as the cherished Top 40 loop. Listening to pop songs both quelled and aggravated homesickness, but overall, I was grateful for the music. Especially the really good stuff.

And like all great music, it stands the test of time irrefutably. I could pick at least a dozen songs I loved from back in the day, but Melissa Manchester’s 1975 ode to vulnerability remains a song that both dazzles me and puts a lump in my throat. Melancholy and hopeful at the same time, the lyrics, though probably intended as a romantic overture, seamlessly apply to any intimate relationship run aground where the heart is invested. Never heard of it? That’s OK kids. Take a listen and hang on to your hats – and maybe a tissue. “Midnight Blue” is from the era when it mattered not what a singer looked like or how risqué her burlesque act was. The currency of the day during the ’70s was channeling the essence of your soul into the microphone.

As I listened to “Midnight Blue” again recently, letting the chords bring me back to a place that no longer exists, I realized something: everything I need to know about vulnerability, I’ve learned from the songwriting team of Melissa Manchester and Carole Bayer Sager. Throughout the song, Manchester remains boldly honest as she explains, unapologetically, that she wants continuity in a relationship. She values the other enough to, well, admit it out loud.

I’ve spent the better part of my adulthood recovering from my childhood. What that’s meant for my relationships is a lot of ups and downs. Many moons ago, I possessed a simmering mistrust of people that bordered on hatred, and it had been earned. There weren’t many people in my corner during my formative years. As an unconscious means of self-preservation, I tried to quit humans, many a time. Dogs were better…OK, they still are. But as innocent and unconditionally loving as canines may be, they’re still not my species.

Grudgingly, I had to admit that maybe it’d be in my best interest to make peace with people. That maybe I even n-n-n-need them. Yes, Virginia, I do need connection with other humans. As fraught with risk as it is, it’s crucial to emotional wellbeing – like it or not. It was a learning process to accept we’re all imperfect. Forget Hollywood and the corny scripts of perfectly curated dialog and sunny scenarios abounding. This is real life and as such, human intimacy means both inhaling the fragrance of a rose and getting punctured by its thorns.

Troubled waters, tensions, and disagreements aren’t relegated only to romantic liaisons. There are so many variables when two humans decide to join forces: DNA patterns, personality types, and family history to name a few. Whether it’s in friendship, blood-relations, romance, or in business, relationships can get messy. There’s no varietal of relationship conflict this song can’t be applied to:

* Mother-daughter tensions – check

* Sibling rivalry – check

* Friendship worn down by lack of proper maintenance – check

* Rift with a co-worker because of a conniving boss who loves being subversive – check

When the boat gets rocked, the answer isn’t to throw a relationship away or passive-aggressively neglect until it dies a natural death. Nope, if it’s an alliance worth saving, I’m now brave enough to say so.

#Wellness #SacredSunday

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