Someday I may even wear a belt

Too fat, too stupid. I pounded the messages into my head for more than half a century. I'd say my self-image stank and stunk! I've been working hard to rid my mind of these negative thoughts for well over five years, now. The hard, cleansing road began with some professional help, a depression diagnosis and then a prescription. The tremendous support I receive from my husband was/is vital to my new outlook. But the dang body image thing continues to plague me. When did I quit caring about how I look? Had to have been somewhere between my divorce at age 46 and the reality of dealing with this aging thing. During this 20 year span, I was working on getting my head together, but letting the exterior go to pot! I gained even more weight - ended up with type two diabetes.

My style (if I ever had one) was lost! I've never been much of a shopper, so I would usually stick to one store- it was Chicos, but their style changed along with mine. I found myself drawn to - Oh God, dare I say - Christopher Banks and the elastic bands and non-tailored shirts and tops. The bigger the better. That led to where I'd just go to my closet and pick anything to wear - anything. Black became my go-to "everything" color. No matching needed- just black! The StarTribune article got it right, my clothes were tooooooo big. What the writer didn't say, and wouldn't know, is those clothes hide my frustration and guilt over my inability to make exercise part of my regime and take better care of myself physically. You'd think being a type 2 diabetic would be enough of an incentive. About two weeks before seeing the StarTribune Facebook post seeking an older professional for a makeover, I realized I had to do something - but I needed a role model to help me define my style - a style that would reflect my new outlook on life and my desire to remain a vibrant member of the workforce. I searched the Internet and came up with Dame Judy Dench! I love her look, I love her attitude - and she is aging gracefully. And who wouldn't want to be James Bond's boss? I printed off her photo, and it hangs in a place where I can view it daily. So thank you, Carly Gatzlaff, for helping me find my own style - in my own closet- and the courage to wear color, boots, makeup and clothes that are a bit more form-fitting. My outside is on its way to reflecting my new improved outlook on myself and life in general. I am a work in progress- inside and out. Who knows, one day I may even wear a belt!

Stay away from the pit

It was the middle of April when Ed, my mom's husband, fell and was seriously injured ... enough to land him in the hospital and continued inpatient care. I should have started blogging then about my experiences with the medical system, insurance, and just plain growing old. But I didn't.
Now, however, we've turned a new corner. What I have to say is my own observation ... It seems that a crisis can magnify all that is good in a relationship or intensify all its flaws. Divorce at age 86? Can't believe I'm hearing the words come out of one of the partner's mouth.
I'm learning about my own fragile boundaries through this process - about my need to help beyond my emotional ability to do so. When I overstep the line, I see the pit of depression looming.
It's time to pull back. But can I do so?

Stuff REALLY on my mind

It's been a tough year ... bad knee leads to hospital stay. Stinkin' thinkin' leads to thinkin' it through - with some help.
Depression - it's hard to come out of the closet on that one. This is a literal statement for me, because when I'm in the darkest corners of my mind, that's where I go (or my other favorite spot is under the bed covers.)
Yes, I struggle with depression - THERE - I've said it. There is still so much discrimination against those with any form of mental illness. It is hard to admit the diagnosis because it conjurs up images of the poor souls in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. For me, I vividly recall the Fergus Falls Treatment Center, (I graduated from the town's high school, and the grounds were a great place to go "park.") But the building - well it was scarey! The thought that at one time in our history you could have been sent there for stinkin' thinkin' makes me cringe.
Times have changed ... in the partial program I attended, I met smart, creative and kind depressives like me. Thanks to good meds, good programs, and a lot of hard work on my part, I am managing my depression rather than it managing me.