New Feed

I'm hoping that this will show up for those who are subscribed to my site. I've switched to self hosted and so my feed has changed. The new feed is http://kendrathroughthelookingglass.com/feed.

Welcome back to the crazy.

Hiccup

There might be a slight to severe hiccup over the next week here. I'm finally switching to self hosted!

I'll see you on the other side...

Changing Seasons

It's been kind of heavy around here lately, hasn't it?

Yeah, it's been a hard season and clouds have dominated the skyline but today things were looking a little more like this.

Why hello blue sky, I haven't seen you in a while. Let's spend a whole lot more time together.

It's lovely out and the cheer is irresistible. No, it isn't just that. Over the last week I've seemed to come back out of my fog again, even before the actual sun came out. I'm starting to feel authentically okay again. Not only that but I'm starting to feel happy again. The crazy of the new birth control is subsiding, the anxiety of life changes is fading, and the impact of what happened a month ago is starting to be more and more a distant memory.

You know what that means? I might actually be funny again! Oh yes, it is a distinct possibility.

Good morning star shine, the earth says hello? No, wait...

I realized that things really had taken a turn about a week ago when I was walking down the street and could not resist singing along to the music I was listening to. Sing I did. In public. In Downtown Seattle. On a street where no one else was walking at the moment... I'm not that shameless. Anymore.

Actually, one other thing happened. I got to ease my conscience.

Remember The Stoic (I named his that after that post)? I hurt him. Badly. Back when I was bounding and rebounding, trying desperately to get over that certain someone (who I was still calling The Visitor), I let him be my constant fall back guy. I never knew if he realized it or not but I was aware that he was much more serious about me than I was about him and my behavior was shameful.

I saw him this weekend. Looking him in the face was harder than I could have imagined it would be, but I did it. I looked him in the face and apologized. We talked about what happened a bit. Whether it was from cowardice or an instinct to not hurt him more I didn't clarify how I had viewed things but I let him talk about it and tell me what he saw.

It was painful to see that he still had feelings for me. I could see him trying to suppress his emotion when he found out that I was seeing my certain someone again. He had always been jealous that he hadn't gotten to be my first and resented the certain someone because of it.

By the time we parted ways, though, we left each other with a smile and a wave. Despite the fact that I know I never did right by him, I felt the weight of the guilt I'd been carrying lift. He's not mad at me anymore. I don't have to worry about running in to him. We're okay.

I think that deserves an official happy dance, right? Right!

Things are feeling a little brighter and, believe it or not, even my pale ass loves some time in the sun.

Bring it on summer! I've got SPF 110 on my side and I plan on frolicking.

Skanky Tuesday: Let Me Be A Woman, Part Deux

This is about to be the most intimately honest and vulnerable post I’ve ever written. If you prefer the dirty, snarky, bitchy Kendra please come back next week. I’ll finally be talking about my first waxing experience. In the meantime, if you need some Skanky Tuesday satisfaction, check out two of my favorite old posts; Spit or Swallow and Strength Training for a Happy Ending.


Last night I was up too late on Jezebel reading about sexual boundaries and things that surprised people to be turned on by. Really, does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. It made me stop and think about my own preferences. This isn’t going where you think it is. Reading the article and comments opened a can of worms of analysis in other areas of my life.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about control. Loss of control scares the hell out of me. As a child I felt like a little girl with no control over my circumstances. It was a really scary place to be and I never wanted to feel that way again. I’m convinced that most of the reason I gained weight in the first place was because I was trying to protect myself from ever being sexually abused again. Yet, it was a trade. I lost control of my health in an attempt to control what happened to me sexually.

Last night as I stood in front of my mirror, slipping on a headband because I was about to wash my face. I paused and looked at my many headbands. I stopped and suddenly wondered, “Am I still trying to be that little girl regaining control? Is that why I wear the cutesy things?”

As I thought through several different areas of my life, I realized that, yes, that’s probably exactly what’s going on. I also realized that there’s one area to which this doesn’t apply, one person in my life who has no idea how they’re helping me grow up.

That certain someone has seen the messy parts of my life. He’s seen me panic in a moment when I felt out of control. He’s seen me, months ago, completely out of control whispering sweet nothings in Indonesian to my carpet because I’d mixed the wrong drinks on an empty stomach. He’s seen me falling apart in tears through the hard times. He’s also held me in his arms while I fell asleep during those times.

It’s in those times that he’s earned my trust enough that I can give up control with him. It’s in the rest of the times that he learns that I’m not a total nutcase and I have many redeeming qualities, but that’s not my point today.

He’s inadvertently taught me that by easing my grip and letting go, I decrease my anxiety significantly and the struggle for control simply becomes freedom. Sempre libera, right?

He’s only part of the picture, though, for how I’ve been learning to hold less tightly and desperately to control. My own achievements in life and weight loss have also played a major part. Taking ownership of the fact that I’ve lost almost 70lbs is huge. It didn’t just happen to me, I did it. Living alone in downtown Seattle is also a big part of it. It was a risk I didn’t think I could take.

But, precisely a month ago I lost control again. I started grasping again. I struggled to grab back control from where it had been taken from me but I was failing. What happened played directly back into my issues of being that little girl trying to regain control. It’s taken me until the last few days to see some of the same patterns from December and January. Although it was much less extreme this time, it was the same struggle.

I saw the same desperate search for validation, the same over analysis of every event and conversation, the same use of drinking to avoid feeling, the same avoidance of responsibility, and the same refusal to stop moving long enough to feel or process anything. It was much more subtle than last time and much less harmful but the same patterns were present.

It made me pause and think a lot about my struggles, behavior, and habits. It made me wonder how much of my life is just a power struggle. It made me so grateful to have a least one person with whom it’s not even an issue. Finally, it made me realize that I’m a grown up. No matter how I feel, I am in control of my life. I don’t have to grasp for it, fight for it, or cling to it. It’s intrinsically mine. I’m not bound in the same way as the little girl I once was. I’ve worked hard to make peace with all that happened and give forgiveness, now I should get to live in the freedom of that.

Let the little girl go and let me be a woman.

Good Morning

Oy veh. It's one of those mornings.

Yesterday I trekked all over Seattle, came home exhausted and fell into bed.

Ever have one of those morning when you get up, look in the mirror, realize that you forgot to remove your mascara, and realize that you are the embodyment of Night of the Living Dead?

Let's just keep expectations low for today, shall we?

Happy Friday.

Tears in the Dressing Room

Want to guess what left me crying in the dressing room of Old Navy yesterday?

After victoriously taking on the license issue, I decided that I wanted to go size things at the store. I had just fit into my sister’s old size 18s, even if it was not yet appropriate for me to actually wear them because of the far too impressive camel toe I was sporting. Feeling overly victorious, though, I wanted to go try on new 18s and see how they fit. After all, those old pants had been through the washer at least a hundred times and who knew if they were still true to size.

18 Short, to be precise, was what I was after. With my oh so very short legs I can’t even dream of wearing regular length pants. It’s laughable. Really, a 27.5 inch inseam would be the properly fitting size but I go with the shortest available.

Putting on my headphones as I walked into Old Navy, I went straight for the jeans. Much to my dismay, there were no 18 short sizes available. I almost swore. Seeing my frustration, a significantly less annoying than usual floor person let me know that the style I was looking at was the only one without short sizes. Looking at the next style over, I saw a few of my size and grabbed them in a couple different styles to compare… that is, of course, if they would even make it over my ample ass.

On my way to the dressing room I just happened to grab a pair of regular inseam khakis and about six dresses. You know, just for good measure.

In the dressing room I suddenly got that nauseous “this was a bad idea,” kind of feeling. Was I just setting myself up for disappointment? I mean, I didn’t really expect them to fit but I wanted to see how close I was.

Deciding not to delay the inevitable, I chose to try on the pants first. Remembering that short sizes are always a little smaller in the waist than regular sizes I decided to try the khakis first. Unfolding them, I looked at the size of the waist and thought, “There’s no way that this is going to happen. They won’t fit.” But, I am not a quitter, so I hopped in them, pulled them up, adjusted them around the booty, and nearly closed my eyes while trying to button them. They fit. Granted, they were several inches too long, but if they had been the right length I would have bought them on the spot.

One happy dance later, I stripped off that pair and went for the short jeans. This was the true test. These jeans had no spandex in them, no stretch, no give; no mercy. I haven’t had a pair of jeans that weren’t stretch jeans since middle school.

As I pulled them up I could feel that they were a bit tighter than the khakis but they seemed to still be moving upward. Doing the shimmy-dance-get-these-things-over-my-lumps, I acquainted the jeans with the shape of my ass and got them all the way up.

Realizing that a pair of red underwear with frills that added to the mass of my midsection might have been the wrong choice for this adventure (but the right choice for having to fight for my license, I needed the badass ridiculousness), I cringed slightly. Oh well.

Yet, when it came time to button and zip the things, they were a perfect fit. I mean, I had a little bit of muffin top but with my shape muffin top is inevitable. Right now I’m wearing the jeans I owned at 296lbs. They’re literally falling off my ass but it still looks like I have muffin top. It’s my shape.

I just stood there and stared.

Clearly this pair had to be a fluke. It tried on the next pair. It fit. So, I tried on the next. It fit too. I stared at myself in the mirror realizing that this was the first time in my life I’ve ever been able to walk into a store, grab the size that fits me, try the things on, and have them just plain fit.

In a flurry of emotion, I started crying.

I mean, I didn’t really like these jeans, but they fit. But that was the point, I don’t like them and I don’t have to buy them because I have options. It’s no longer a matter of “Do they fit? Fine, I’ll get them.” Instead, it’s a matter of “Do they fit? Do I like them? Do they look good? Cool. I’ll buy them.”

Taking off the last pair of jeans while trying to wipe my nose and fix my mascara, I wondered if anyone had heard me crying and if they would think it was because something didn’t fit. I didn’t really care, though. With a big cheesy smile I hopelessly tried to suppress, I gave the clothing back to the fitting room attendant and walked out.

Knowing that they will fit, I can take my time and find a pair that I really love. I’ve never had that option before and I’ll never lose it again, so help me God.

I Can't Sleep...

It seems to be happening again. That cycle where I wake up and can’t go to back to sleep; it’s anxiety. It sucks.


The last time this happened it lasted for a month. Yes, precisely a month. Thinking back now, it started the night after my first date with The Boy and ended the night I met that certain someone. We accidentally-on-purpose fell asleep together at my mom’s apartment because his family was visiting.

I’ve slept soundly since.

Oh, but then there was that fun little circumstance of my contract expiring at work with no new contract to take it’s place because of this AWESOME economy. It wasn’t that bad because the same company was going to need me again in July so I was biding my time. No, wait, never mind, due to recent events that have nothing to do with me they can’t take me back. Add to that a mix up about tickets that now has me fighting to not have my license suspended on May 20 (I might need a lawyer…).

Also, let’s throw in the fact that because I work as a contractor for various companies it took me a month to get all the information I needed to file for unemployment (EXACT dates? Really? I hate you.) so my savings is down to a minimum. Just for good measure, while we’re at it, let’s add some crazy to the whole shebang as I adjust to the hormones in my new birth control pill.

Wait, no, let’s not stop there, let’s also add the spoiled white girl problem of having lost enough weight lately that my clothing is getting too big again just as I absolutely cannot afford to go shopping.

And how about another thing in the mix that really deserves 100% of the attention but in my crazy mind can only be afforded a small space right now; the sudden death of a friend of the family.

Lastly, let’s just fixate on every detail of the still unsure relationship with that certain someone. Yeah, still not actually official. It’s complicated. I’m complicated. He’s complicated. It’s also completely wonderful. That’s about all I can say there.

As this stew spins round and round in my head I just can’t sleep. The less sleep I get, the crazier I get.

Some of these things I can take direct action on, others are out of my control and I have to simply stay the course. I’ve never really been in this kind of position before and it’s daunting. So much of my life right now is new territory but for the most part it’s been exciting. It wasn’t until very recently that it went from exciting to I want to curl up in a little ball, rock back and forth, and suck on a vodka lollipop because I’m not mature enough to handle life.

Actually, I’ve been avoiding drinking for the most part while I’m dealing with the anxiety. No one needs a drunk and anxious Kendra melting into a puddle of her own emotional goo.

This is what’s been going on internally, but alas, I do have a poker face. Unless you know me really well and/or live in casa de crowded (my mom’s apartment), you wouldn’t have any idea that all of this is going on. Generally I know how to keep my shit together.

Perhaps confession will be cathartic, though, so I present it to you here.

I’m stressed like the Aye Aye.



Yes, that is one ugly animal.

At least I’m better looking.

For the moment, I’ll take the steps I know always help. I’ll stop eating bread and sugar. I mean, I don’t usually eat bread in the first place but when a certain someone is making you breakfast you don’t ask for customization.

I’ll also go running. I know, I said that I’m not a runner but I still like running and it always helps.

Lastly, as silly as it might sound, I’ll make a to-do list. The organization and structure always makes me feel so much better.