There are many characteristics from my parents that did not make it to my DNA. My dad's ability with numbers is not something I inherited, for example. My mother's metabolism did not get written into my DNA. Both would have been lovely, but so it goes in the lottery of genetics.
Of course, I have taken after my parents in many other ways. Some were obvious from the start. My eyes were always the same color as my dad's and they even changed at the same time as his. Some characteristics, however, are only now beginning to make themselves known.
It turns out, I am my mother's daughter. I like the house clean, the place organized, and I am not ashamed of it. Growing up, it used to annoy me a tad that my mother was so interested in the place being spotless. I didn't see the merit in spending that much time on cleaning and organizing. What I didn't get at that point is that I lived in that cleanliness and organization, and it made my life better. I got home from school to a pristine place where I could relax and be happy instead of being disgusted by filth and uncomfortable.
Growing up, I thought everyone's place was as clean as ours. To be fair, having a maid is normal in Argentina, and my house, and those where my friends and family members lived, were always neat and picked up. It was only when my spheres of contact and influence widened that I realized how dirty and messy homes can be, and what a blessing it was to never have to endure that.
Nowadays, it strikes me as odd that cleanliness and organization often get mocked and pitted as signs of someone who is not fun, someone who is anal and hence unable to relax and enjoy life. Actually, it seems to me that people who live in a pig sty are the ones who cannot possibly be enjoying life that much. And I am not talking about hoarder level homes.
I have given in to my Martha-ness. Stewart, that is. When I walk into my home, and it is clean and organized, I am free to enjoy myself and feel good. If I walk into a home where things pile up, the work to get it even to a decent level of clean is a bear. Who wants that? A little bit of daily picking up keeps the place neat enough that it feels comfortable. Who wants to come home to a mess? Who wants to have to set out hours to clean up just to enjoy it for a day before it all goes to crap? Who wants to be unable to find things? Who wants to wade through piles of stuff to get to something? Not this girl. I want to be proud of my home. I want to look forward to coming back to it at the end of the day. I know people who can't have anyone over because the place is such a mess. I know people who spend as little time as possible at home because it is such a mess and not a place that brings them peace. My home is my sanctuary, my castle. That's a good madness to give in to.
Don't get me wrong: As I sit here, there are things on the table that shouldn't be. There are some dishes to move to the dishwasher, and the bed is not made. I am not inflexible or OCD. I can take some disarray, but I never want to be so comfortable with it that filth doesn't give me pause.
Natalia
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
Things That Make You Go Hmmmm
The significant other and I went to the movies last night. The university I attend has an independently-run theater that shows indie flicks, documentaries, and other gems that might not make it to corporate houses.
Yesterday, we saw The Snowtown Murders. This is a brutal film. Brutal. And I've seen plenty being a horror film junkie. It's not the worst I've seen, but I had to look away a few times, and it's not even horror, really.
In any case, I digress. The point is that despite all the scenes that would make one gasp or make sounds of disgust, not a sound was heard throughout the auditorium. Until, that is, there was one scene that clearly went too far, and I heard people's disgust manifest outwardly. What, pray tell, was in that scene? A naked overweight woman.
Apparently, in our society, we can stomach torture better than flab. We are simply horrified by a body that does not conform to the cultural expectations. Never mind that earlier in the film, there is also a shot of a naked overweight male. That, however, elicited nary a comment or sound.
The worst part is that it wasn't just young males who are programmed to believe that all women should look like ______ (insert nameless Sports Illustrated model here). It was older males and females. The latter is what worries me. Women whose bodies have been affected by childbearing, by years of dieting, by illness, or simply by gravity joined in on the displays of disgust.
This makes me sad. Is it silly that I expected more?
Love,
Natalia
Yesterday, we saw The Snowtown Murders. This is a brutal film. Brutal. And I've seen plenty being a horror film junkie. It's not the worst I've seen, but I had to look away a few times, and it's not even horror, really.
In any case, I digress. The point is that despite all the scenes that would make one gasp or make sounds of disgust, not a sound was heard throughout the auditorium. Until, that is, there was one scene that clearly went too far, and I heard people's disgust manifest outwardly. What, pray tell, was in that scene? A naked overweight woman.
Apparently, in our society, we can stomach torture better than flab. We are simply horrified by a body that does not conform to the cultural expectations. Never mind that earlier in the film, there is also a shot of a naked overweight male. That, however, elicited nary a comment or sound.
The worst part is that it wasn't just young males who are programmed to believe that all women should look like ______ (insert nameless Sports Illustrated model here). It was older males and females. The latter is what worries me. Women whose bodies have been affected by childbearing, by years of dieting, by illness, or simply by gravity joined in on the displays of disgust.
This makes me sad. Is it silly that I expected more?
Love,
Natalia
Monday, April 16, 2012
Different Shoes
No, this is not about funky Manolo Blahniks or Prada boots.
Do this little exercise with me. Think about your day. Think about everything you do, how busy you are, how your to-do list might just explode, or how it seems the items in it multiply overnight. Think about every little detail in your head, and the art and science of juggling it all.
Now imagine doing it through pain. Imagine adding to that list daily tasks that cannot be forgotten because they can mean your very real demise. Imagine having to remember taking pills, and remembering when you took the last one and whether you need a refill before you go away for the weekend. Imagine struggling to do some of the basic things you take for granted, and having to remember and make time for some sort of therapy. Or having to carve out more time to get ready because your body won't cooperate, and that the simple task of doing your hair might send you into a tailspin because you might have to wear that wig today because you don't want people looking and wondering. Imagine having to deal with the pressures of life, like a bad day at work, an argument with a loved one with the extra burden of personal suffering they might not even understand.
If you have to imagine that because you are healthy, then be thankful, cause that's something that anyone dealing with chronic illness doesn't need to imagine. That's their reality, and we should remember someone we meet today is fighting that physical, mental, and emotional battle.
Walk a mile in their shoes, at least mentally.
Love,
Natalia
Do this little exercise with me. Think about your day. Think about everything you do, how busy you are, how your to-do list might just explode, or how it seems the items in it multiply overnight. Think about every little detail in your head, and the art and science of juggling it all.
Now imagine doing it through pain. Imagine adding to that list daily tasks that cannot be forgotten because they can mean your very real demise. Imagine having to remember taking pills, and remembering when you took the last one and whether you need a refill before you go away for the weekend. Imagine struggling to do some of the basic things you take for granted, and having to remember and make time for some sort of therapy. Or having to carve out more time to get ready because your body won't cooperate, and that the simple task of doing your hair might send you into a tailspin because you might have to wear that wig today because you don't want people looking and wondering. Imagine having to deal with the pressures of life, like a bad day at work, an argument with a loved one with the extra burden of personal suffering they might not even understand.
If you have to imagine that because you are healthy, then be thankful, cause that's something that anyone dealing with chronic illness doesn't need to imagine. That's their reality, and we should remember someone we meet today is fighting that physical, mental, and emotional battle.
Walk a mile in their shoes, at least mentally.
Love,
Natalia
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Don't Worry, Baby!
While visiting my mother in Florida, my boyfriend and I had plenty of chances to get into deep philosophical argussions or discuments (discussion/arguments). That's the way my family has always rolled. We get deep into topics.
While in such a conversation, my mom kept referring to me as a warrior. I thought it was nice. I do fight the good fight for honesty, fairness, good education, etc. Or so I thought. My mother has done an excellent job adapting to being in the US. She now runs my late father's business, which is pretty amazing. Still, she has some issues with words. She doesn't say, "I need new sheets," because she is scared she'll be telling people she needs new poop. Similarly, she stays away from words like "can't" and "beach" for obvious reasons. However, when the alternate word cannot be taken as an insult, there is still some confusion.
While I thought, with a bit of pride, I must admit, that my mother was calling me a warrior, she was, in fact, calling me a worrier. Far less appealing, I know. I took some offense. I don't think of myself as a worrywart. In fact I wrote a post about just that not too long ago. However, when someone that close to you makes such an assertion, I guess it's time to consider where they are coming from.
Do I worry? Well, yes. Show me someone who does not worry at all, and I'll show you someone on high doses of medication. Worrying at least a bit is part of the human condition nowadays. Now more than ever, we live in a world where there are no guarantees. A long time ago, going to college guaranteed you a job. Having a job guaranteed you fair pay and stability. And on and on. Today, the economy is crap, the market is crap, people are stressed about making ends meet, about their job stability, and about the end of the world, not in terms of the Mayans (no disrespect), but in terms of pollution, climate change, nuclear wars, superbugs and disease, etc. In order to live on a daily basis, we put all of these concerns away, trust that no one will press the button that will send a bomb our way, trust that we'll still have ozone, and believe that we'll have a job by the end of the day. If we didn't do this, we'd be unable to live.
Like most people, I don't dwell on the things I can't control on most occasions. However, I do believe I am hypersensitive to responsibility, duty, and what needs to be done. This results in me being more hyper-vigilant about certain areas of life, and that might come across as me worrying. I am just conscientious, responsible, and thoughtful. Those are not things of which I should be ashamed.
In fact, people who don't concern themselves enough about certain things are the ones who worry me. I have known people with kids, on welfare, about to be evicted, and they are calmly explaining that things will work out. Well, here's the thing: I am not judging your life. I have not been through what you have been through. However, maybe, just maybe, the fact that you have such a laissez faire attitude is the main reason why the world seems to be crumbling around you. I still give you credit that your lack of concern may yield you a healthier heart and peaceful mind, but my sense of doing what is right might somehow supersede my sense of self-preservation. Not sure how that works.
So perhaps the fact that I am a worrier really means that I am a warrior, that I fight for what I believe is right, even if it causes me distress. Again, I'll wear that badge proudly. Or get some Xanax. (Joke!)
Love,
Natalia
While in such a conversation, my mom kept referring to me as a warrior. I thought it was nice. I do fight the good fight for honesty, fairness, good education, etc. Or so I thought. My mother has done an excellent job adapting to being in the US. She now runs my late father's business, which is pretty amazing. Still, she has some issues with words. She doesn't say, "I need new sheets," because she is scared she'll be telling people she needs new poop. Similarly, she stays away from words like "can't" and "beach" for obvious reasons. However, when the alternate word cannot be taken as an insult, there is still some confusion.
While I thought, with a bit of pride, I must admit, that my mother was calling me a warrior, she was, in fact, calling me a worrier. Far less appealing, I know. I took some offense. I don't think of myself as a worrywart. In fact I wrote a post about just that not too long ago. However, when someone that close to you makes such an assertion, I guess it's time to consider where they are coming from.
Do I worry? Well, yes. Show me someone who does not worry at all, and I'll show you someone on high doses of medication. Worrying at least a bit is part of the human condition nowadays. Now more than ever, we live in a world where there are no guarantees. A long time ago, going to college guaranteed you a job. Having a job guaranteed you fair pay and stability. And on and on. Today, the economy is crap, the market is crap, people are stressed about making ends meet, about their job stability, and about the end of the world, not in terms of the Mayans (no disrespect), but in terms of pollution, climate change, nuclear wars, superbugs and disease, etc. In order to live on a daily basis, we put all of these concerns away, trust that no one will press the button that will send a bomb our way, trust that we'll still have ozone, and believe that we'll have a job by the end of the day. If we didn't do this, we'd be unable to live.
Like most people, I don't dwell on the things I can't control on most occasions. However, I do believe I am hypersensitive to responsibility, duty, and what needs to be done. This results in me being more hyper-vigilant about certain areas of life, and that might come across as me worrying. I am just conscientious, responsible, and thoughtful. Those are not things of which I should be ashamed.
In fact, people who don't concern themselves enough about certain things are the ones who worry me. I have known people with kids, on welfare, about to be evicted, and they are calmly explaining that things will work out. Well, here's the thing: I am not judging your life. I have not been through what you have been through. However, maybe, just maybe, the fact that you have such a laissez faire attitude is the main reason why the world seems to be crumbling around you. I still give you credit that your lack of concern may yield you a healthier heart and peaceful mind, but my sense of doing what is right might somehow supersede my sense of self-preservation. Not sure how that works.
So perhaps the fact that I am a worrier really means that I am a warrior, that I fight for what I believe is right, even if it causes me distress. Again, I'll wear that badge proudly. Or get some Xanax. (Joke!)
Love,
Natalia
Friday, March 23, 2012
Of Time and Men
As someone who pays attention to linguistics, and who teaches language, I am often surprised at how little people seem to think about words given how much they use them to modify the truth.
One of the sentences that can make my skin crawl is, "I didn't have time to (fill in the blank: do my taxes, call the realtor, take a look at that thing you wanted me to read, etc.)." Now, please don't get me wrong, as someone who is genuinely busy (teaching five classes, taking a class, tutoring, writing, blogging, conferencing, etc.), I can appreciate that there are times when something was genuinely on my list, and I just could not get to it.
For most people, however, this is a handy, albeit untruthful phrase. I remember quite well the first time I had this revelation. A long time ago, almost in another life, I was working at an insurance company, and I asked my boss for a letter for something school-related. I asked her with sufficient time, and I reminded her gently of the deadline a few days before. Still, on the day she was supposed to hand it to me, instead, she handed me a smile and the phrase, "I'm sorry. I just didn't have time to write it."
I remember that she didn't look particularly sorry, but what I also noticed was that she was sporting a new nail color, the third one that week. I also heard her tell someone later that day how she had spent the weekend reading and playing with the dogs.
I was quite upset. I hate lies. It's a thing with me. Still, I guess I could see how playing with the dogs, reading, and changing her nail polish would indeed, if one is being technical, take up all her time. So why do I call this a lie? Because it's a half truth. For her, as for most people, "I didn't have time," really means, "I chose to prioritize something else over what you asked me to do."
It's simple. There is a finite amount of time in the day, and by the time we become adults, we have a pretty good idea of what we can fit in. What you choose to do with your time simply reflects your priorities, given the supposition of free time and lack of emergencies. Remember the phrase, "If you have time to lean, you have time to clean"? Exactly.
So, am I saying that she should not prioritize reading or playing with the dogs...or even nail polish? No. I am not claiming to be the arbiter of what should be a priority. All I am saying is that if you promised me a letter, and you knowingly spent all your free time doing anything but that, then what you should tell me is, "Sorry I did not write your letter. I chose to prioritize relaxing this weekend." Now THAT is the honest truth.
I have seen this happen so many times that I have lost count. One of the worst offenders was this guy I dated a long time ago (again, like in another century), who had a thing for miniature replicas of cars. I don't think I ever counted them, but they had taken over his mother's place, where he was staying because he claimed he needed to save up to move. I didn't get his obsession with these cars. In fact, I kinda loathed it. They just sat there, doing nothing, many of them packed up inside cabinets or in boxes under beds because there was no room for them. It became clear quite quickly that as much as he claimed this was a hobby, it was an unhealthy fetish of some sort. In any case, whenever he had to do something for his mom or for me, we would both get the same: "Crap. I didn't have time to... I have been so busy." Still, every week, there would be another package with a car. And you must understand these were custom, which meant that my then beau had to spend time on the phone or on email or on instant messenger (I said it was a while ago) making sure the details were all to his desires. At least I knew what had kept him so busy, not that he'd admit that. He'd let the "I've been busy" mean something vague, like "I have been super productive doing something else." Not that we ever saw signs of productivity unless it was about the cars.
One day, when he did not look at set of brochures for a vacation (that I had to research because, you guessed it, he had not had the time), and he gave me his trusty phrase, I broke up with him, explaining that I didn't resent the cars, but that he clearly prioritized the cars over everything else. Not only would he be unable to ever move at that pace, but he had to realize it was like an illness. He hoarded those things and was unable to stop, even going to the lengths of having the cars shipped to his job, so his mother wouldn't see the boxes, and then sneaking the cars in. If that doesn't spell addictive behavior, I don't know what does. All I would have wanted from him was a, "Sorry, I prioritized the cars again over our trip together." I still would have broken up with him, but I would have appreciated the honesty.
So, why don't people say what they really mean? Well, that would take getting real about how badly they prioritize. It would require them to take responsibility and face the fact that if they have not accomplished goals, it may be the economy, it may be bad luck, or it may just be that they prioritize anything but the things that would help them move forth. It would take realizing how they waste time away and then wonder why they have not evolved.
Yes, words make a whole lot of difference. In fact, here's the kicker: a girlfriend of mine ran into my ex years after I stopped dating him and reported that he told her he had dumped me (nice try) because I could not support his interests (read: hoarding-like car fetish that he could not even afford). She also reported that he is still living at his mother's. Guess he just didn't have the time to grow up.
Sometimes, when my students tell me they didn't have time, after making sure that there wasn't a death or illness in the family, but rather some lack of prioritizing, I remind them that we all have the same amount of hours in the day. In fact, we have the same amount of hours Einstein and Mother Theresa had. It's all in how we choose to spend our time.
*sigh*
One of the sentences that can make my skin crawl is, "I didn't have time to (fill in the blank: do my taxes, call the realtor, take a look at that thing you wanted me to read, etc.)." Now, please don't get me wrong, as someone who is genuinely busy (teaching five classes, taking a class, tutoring, writing, blogging, conferencing, etc.), I can appreciate that there are times when something was genuinely on my list, and I just could not get to it.
For most people, however, this is a handy, albeit untruthful phrase. I remember quite well the first time I had this revelation. A long time ago, almost in another life, I was working at an insurance company, and I asked my boss for a letter for something school-related. I asked her with sufficient time, and I reminded her gently of the deadline a few days before. Still, on the day she was supposed to hand it to me, instead, she handed me a smile and the phrase, "I'm sorry. I just didn't have time to write it."
I remember that she didn't look particularly sorry, but what I also noticed was that she was sporting a new nail color, the third one that week. I also heard her tell someone later that day how she had spent the weekend reading and playing with the dogs.
I was quite upset. I hate lies. It's a thing with me. Still, I guess I could see how playing with the dogs, reading, and changing her nail polish would indeed, if one is being technical, take up all her time. So why do I call this a lie? Because it's a half truth. For her, as for most people, "I didn't have time," really means, "I chose to prioritize something else over what you asked me to do."
It's simple. There is a finite amount of time in the day, and by the time we become adults, we have a pretty good idea of what we can fit in. What you choose to do with your time simply reflects your priorities, given the supposition of free time and lack of emergencies. Remember the phrase, "If you have time to lean, you have time to clean"? Exactly.
So, am I saying that she should not prioritize reading or playing with the dogs...or even nail polish? No. I am not claiming to be the arbiter of what should be a priority. All I am saying is that if you promised me a letter, and you knowingly spent all your free time doing anything but that, then what you should tell me is, "Sorry I did not write your letter. I chose to prioritize relaxing this weekend." Now THAT is the honest truth.
I have seen this happen so many times that I have lost count. One of the worst offenders was this guy I dated a long time ago (again, like in another century), who had a thing for miniature replicas of cars. I don't think I ever counted them, but they had taken over his mother's place, where he was staying because he claimed he needed to save up to move. I didn't get his obsession with these cars. In fact, I kinda loathed it. They just sat there, doing nothing, many of them packed up inside cabinets or in boxes under beds because there was no room for them. It became clear quite quickly that as much as he claimed this was a hobby, it was an unhealthy fetish of some sort. In any case, whenever he had to do something for his mom or for me, we would both get the same: "Crap. I didn't have time to... I have been so busy." Still, every week, there would be another package with a car. And you must understand these were custom, which meant that my then beau had to spend time on the phone or on email or on instant messenger (I said it was a while ago) making sure the details were all to his desires. At least I knew what had kept him so busy, not that he'd admit that. He'd let the "I've been busy" mean something vague, like "I have been super productive doing something else." Not that we ever saw signs of productivity unless it was about the cars.
One day, when he did not look at set of brochures for a vacation (that I had to research because, you guessed it, he had not had the time), and he gave me his trusty phrase, I broke up with him, explaining that I didn't resent the cars, but that he clearly prioritized the cars over everything else. Not only would he be unable to ever move at that pace, but he had to realize it was like an illness. He hoarded those things and was unable to stop, even going to the lengths of having the cars shipped to his job, so his mother wouldn't see the boxes, and then sneaking the cars in. If that doesn't spell addictive behavior, I don't know what does. All I would have wanted from him was a, "Sorry, I prioritized the cars again over our trip together." I still would have broken up with him, but I would have appreciated the honesty.
So, why don't people say what they really mean? Well, that would take getting real about how badly they prioritize. It would require them to take responsibility and face the fact that if they have not accomplished goals, it may be the economy, it may be bad luck, or it may just be that they prioritize anything but the things that would help them move forth. It would take realizing how they waste time away and then wonder why they have not evolved.
Yes, words make a whole lot of difference. In fact, here's the kicker: a girlfriend of mine ran into my ex years after I stopped dating him and reported that he told her he had dumped me (nice try) because I could not support his interests (read: hoarding-like car fetish that he could not even afford). She also reported that he is still living at his mother's. Guess he just didn't have the time to grow up.
Sometimes, when my students tell me they didn't have time, after making sure that there wasn't a death or illness in the family, but rather some lack of prioritizing, I remind them that we all have the same amount of hours in the day. In fact, we have the same amount of hours Einstein and Mother Theresa had. It's all in how we choose to spend our time.
*sigh*
Monday, March 5, 2012
Once Again: Shameless Self-Promotion
My short story, Severed, has been published by The Aberrant Parade Literary Review.
If you are so inclined, and have the time, I'd love it if you would read it and give me some feedback.
Here's the link: http://theaberrantparade.wordpress.com/2012/03/04/severed-by-natalia-cherjovsky/
Love,
Natalia
If you are so inclined, and have the time, I'd love it if you would read it and give me some feedback.
Here's the link: http://theaberrantparade.wordpress.com/2012/03/04/severed-by-natalia-cherjovsky/
Love,
Natalia
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Food Is A Minefiled
It used to be that I didn't fear food. While growing up in Argentina, food was something that was part of the day, and I didn't think much about how what was on my plate would affect my body. To begin with, my parents did a great job of cooking healthful, balanced meals. Also, they were not big on buying junk food, although we had some of that over weekends of trips. The thing is, however, that what was crappy food and real food was fairly easy to decipher. What was nutritious and what was noxious was an easy decision.
Fast-forward to me living in the USA at 34, and I am puzzled by food choices on a daily basis, to the point that it can be paralyzing. And crippling.
To start, even if you are a healthy person with no weight problems or allergies, the truth is that you may be ill-advised to trust anything that is on your plate. With the advent of industrial farming and food processing, we have ended up with concerns about crop manipulation, a multitude of toxic pesticides, unhealthful dyes and additives, hormones, etc. The more food is processed, the least nutritious it becomes, and the more chance it has to become bad for you in some basic way. Very few products are fully unprocessed, and we can't even trust the FDA to help keep us safe by mandating better standards or even helping us with proper labels. Case in point: if you buy cage-free chicken, you should know that the standard for allowing a cage-free label is something ridiculous, like allowing the chickens to roam freely for 10 minutes a day. Linguistic confusion, much? So, even if we try to be careful about buying "organic" stuff, we are likely not getting as good a deal as we believe we are. Not to mention that we are forced to pay a premium for the pleasure of that label.
Add to all of this confusion, that many of us suffer from ailments or have allergies that can set of autoimmune responses. It has been said almost ad nausem that this country is suffering from an unparalleled level of disease. Many of those illnesses are now being linked, more and more, to the idea of inflammation, a body's defensive response to an attack. This is, in turn, being connected to the food that we consume. Not just the issue of hormones in dairy products and meat, or the pesticides in veggies, but just the new understanding that certain foods can, in and of themselves, be toxic to people. Recently, many people have started to pay attention to gluten and dairy intolerance, for example. A new area of concern (at least new to me) has been the consumption of nightshades: potatoes, tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers. These are also linked to inflammation and people who have stopped consuming them, have been able to get off medication they thought they would have to take forever. And how about soy? Once believed to be an amazing, low-fat source of protein, soy is now being named as a food that is linked to certain cancers, etc. because it is linked to high levels of some hormones.
If you listen to the people in the know, doctors, nutritionists, etc., you'll be lost. Some people advocate Atkins, which tells you to eat almost nothing but fats and proteins. After all, they say, carbs are the enemy, and fat without carbs will not stick. South Beach practitioners are on that side as well, but don't forbid carbs as much. However, if you ask vegans, this is all wrong. It is the consumption of animal fat that leads to poor health. A diet of grains, fruits, and veggies is where it's at. The raw movement only recommends food that is not cooked as heating food changes the way it interacts with our body and removes all nutrients. The cavemen people look at it differently, advocating you eat the way cave people did because it was the modern processing of foods that made us all sick...and I could go on, but I will spare you the idea of eating nothing but foods of a certain color, drinking all your food, etc.
So, here I am, with a desire to lose weight, eat healthfully within a normal budget, deal with my PCOS and diabetes, and with a hectic schedule. Surely, I am not THAT kind of doctor, but even someone with a PhD has a hard time figuring out the food landscape today. I am told that to be healthy, I need protein, some carbs, and some fats. I should eat a variety of things, in small amounts, etc. So if I reach for a steak, I am concerned about the fat that might lead to a heart attack, so I leave that in favor of chicken, but I am then reminded that chickens spend their lives unable to move, and are pumped full of hormones so that they grow faster. I am also reminded chicken is often reconstituted from various parts, so I leave the chicken behind, and I opt for some tofu, but I then fear that my hormones will be affected by this as well, and I am all but inviting cancer into my life. Then I reach for some apples, but they don't quite taste like apples, and they have been doused with pesticides that I can't quite wash off at the sink at work. Unless I want to break the bank, I have to buy some processed food. Fresh food has to be purchased more often and cooked more often. Who has time for that? If I buy all organic stuff, I'll be spending so much on food that it's almost obscene. It's sad that I can eat a burger at Mickey D's for all of a dollar, the same a pomegranate might cost me.
My insurance, despite my conditions, won't pay for a nutritionist, not that, as we've see above, would help since different people have different ideas of what works. They will send me to a gastroenterologist. Don't get me started with the state of medicine in this country. I'll probably end up seeing a nurse or a physician's assistant and maybe get to see the doctor for a few minutes. He or she will look at the symptoms and tell me to get on antacids for life or find another way to charge me more money and make me a patient for life. Why fix me when he or she will earn more money simply managing my symptoms? When money is the bottom line, we all lose.
So here I am....again. I am spending more time thinking about my food choices than anyone ever should, frustrated about not having the right answers or proof of what works. In the meantime, I might be making myself sicker on a daily basis, and there is hardly anything I can do.
Helplessness doesn't suit me. So I have decided I will keep a food journal and note my body's reaction to different combinations. Maybe if I do that, I'll be able to figure out what works for me. I am still going to be spending enormous amounts of time and money on this, but as I have heard people say, if I don't make time and spend money on eating well, I am going to have to make the time and spend the money on being sick.
I welcome any thoughts, and I will keep you posted.
Love,
Natalia
Fast-forward to me living in the USA at 34, and I am puzzled by food choices on a daily basis, to the point that it can be paralyzing. And crippling.
To start, even if you are a healthy person with no weight problems or allergies, the truth is that you may be ill-advised to trust anything that is on your plate. With the advent of industrial farming and food processing, we have ended up with concerns about crop manipulation, a multitude of toxic pesticides, unhealthful dyes and additives, hormones, etc. The more food is processed, the least nutritious it becomes, and the more chance it has to become bad for you in some basic way. Very few products are fully unprocessed, and we can't even trust the FDA to help keep us safe by mandating better standards or even helping us with proper labels. Case in point: if you buy cage-free chicken, you should know that the standard for allowing a cage-free label is something ridiculous, like allowing the chickens to roam freely for 10 minutes a day. Linguistic confusion, much? So, even if we try to be careful about buying "organic" stuff, we are likely not getting as good a deal as we believe we are. Not to mention that we are forced to pay a premium for the pleasure of that label.
Add to all of this confusion, that many of us suffer from ailments or have allergies that can set of autoimmune responses. It has been said almost ad nausem that this country is suffering from an unparalleled level of disease. Many of those illnesses are now being linked, more and more, to the idea of inflammation, a body's defensive response to an attack. This is, in turn, being connected to the food that we consume. Not just the issue of hormones in dairy products and meat, or the pesticides in veggies, but just the new understanding that certain foods can, in and of themselves, be toxic to people. Recently, many people have started to pay attention to gluten and dairy intolerance, for example. A new area of concern (at least new to me) has been the consumption of nightshades: potatoes, tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers. These are also linked to inflammation and people who have stopped consuming them, have been able to get off medication they thought they would have to take forever. And how about soy? Once believed to be an amazing, low-fat source of protein, soy is now being named as a food that is linked to certain cancers, etc. because it is linked to high levels of some hormones.
If you listen to the people in the know, doctors, nutritionists, etc., you'll be lost. Some people advocate Atkins, which tells you to eat almost nothing but fats and proteins. After all, they say, carbs are the enemy, and fat without carbs will not stick. South Beach practitioners are on that side as well, but don't forbid carbs as much. However, if you ask vegans, this is all wrong. It is the consumption of animal fat that leads to poor health. A diet of grains, fruits, and veggies is where it's at. The raw movement only recommends food that is not cooked as heating food changes the way it interacts with our body and removes all nutrients. The cavemen people look at it differently, advocating you eat the way cave people did because it was the modern processing of foods that made us all sick...and I could go on, but I will spare you the idea of eating nothing but foods of a certain color, drinking all your food, etc.
So, here I am, with a desire to lose weight, eat healthfully within a normal budget, deal with my PCOS and diabetes, and with a hectic schedule. Surely, I am not THAT kind of doctor, but even someone with a PhD has a hard time figuring out the food landscape today. I am told that to be healthy, I need protein, some carbs, and some fats. I should eat a variety of things, in small amounts, etc. So if I reach for a steak, I am concerned about the fat that might lead to a heart attack, so I leave that in favor of chicken, but I am then reminded that chickens spend their lives unable to move, and are pumped full of hormones so that they grow faster. I am also reminded chicken is often reconstituted from various parts, so I leave the chicken behind, and I opt for some tofu, but I then fear that my hormones will be affected by this as well, and I am all but inviting cancer into my life. Then I reach for some apples, but they don't quite taste like apples, and they have been doused with pesticides that I can't quite wash off at the sink at work. Unless I want to break the bank, I have to buy some processed food. Fresh food has to be purchased more often and cooked more often. Who has time for that? If I buy all organic stuff, I'll be spending so much on food that it's almost obscene. It's sad that I can eat a burger at Mickey D's for all of a dollar, the same a pomegranate might cost me.
My insurance, despite my conditions, won't pay for a nutritionist, not that, as we've see above, would help since different people have different ideas of what works. They will send me to a gastroenterologist. Don't get me started with the state of medicine in this country. I'll probably end up seeing a nurse or a physician's assistant and maybe get to see the doctor for a few minutes. He or she will look at the symptoms and tell me to get on antacids for life or find another way to charge me more money and make me a patient for life. Why fix me when he or she will earn more money simply managing my symptoms? When money is the bottom line, we all lose.
So here I am....again. I am spending more time thinking about my food choices than anyone ever should, frustrated about not having the right answers or proof of what works. In the meantime, I might be making myself sicker on a daily basis, and there is hardly anything I can do.
Helplessness doesn't suit me. So I have decided I will keep a food journal and note my body's reaction to different combinations. Maybe if I do that, I'll be able to figure out what works for me. I am still going to be spending enormous amounts of time and money on this, but as I have heard people say, if I don't make time and spend money on eating well, I am going to have to make the time and spend the money on being sick.
I welcome any thoughts, and I will keep you posted.
Love,
Natalia
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