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Link to Other Blog Post

Hi! I just wanted to include a link to my latest piece on the Georgetown Patch. It has to be exclusive content or I'd post it here.
Posted by Sarah at 6:59 PM 1 comment: Labels: Health, Obesity


The Problem With Invincibility

"So, what doesn't kill me doesn't kill me..."  Diana in "Another Day," Next To Normal original Broadway soundtrack

"I created the sound of madness/wrote the book on pain/somehow I'm still here to explain/that the darkest hour never comes in the night..." Shinedown, "The Sound of Madness"

What the fuck was I thinking, attending my friends' sons' britot [ritual circumcisions] one month to the day after I was wheeled into an operating room and had the remains of my first, and only, pregnancy extracted from my body? I wasn't thinking. If anything, I was just feeling, and feeling good. Feeling, dare I say, invincible. I have been put through a crucible the past eight weeks. Losing my father tragically and surprisingly. The shock and indescribable excitement of learning I was expecting one week after we buried my father in the ground. My husband presenting with dramatic and scary medical symptoms with no obvious cause. Heartache caused by my father's handling of his estate, which by the way, I'm executing. Finding out at 9 weeks that the baby ceased to grow past week 6. Waiting around to miscarry. Not miscarrying. Listening to the obstetrician's gruesome description of a D&C, then being wheeled later that day into an operating room. The incredulity I felt when the administrator who checked me into the hospital asked me if I was ok, even though the reason for my admission was printed on the stack of forms in front of her. "I am anything but ok," I answered.

I never thought about how I'd react in the situation I found myself in this May. I wanted to curl into a ball. Instead, I've opted to pour every ounce of energy I have into healing myself physically, mentally, and spiritually, so God willing, one day I can try to be a mom again. For me, this means treating my physical therapy like my life depends on it, because it does. It means upping my meditation past my comfort zone. It means getting back into a yoga practice, and doing challenging cardio workouts to boost my mood and sate my anxiety. Most importantly, it means working through my physical pain through all of this.

Much to my surprise, the result of going through the crucible is that I feel friggin' amazing. It is exhilirating, in a way, to walk through the seventh layer of hell and come out the other side, burned but not broken. After avoiding most things pertaining to babies or small children for four weeks, I started testing myself. Can I look at a pregnant woman's belly and not feel a pit in my own? Check. Can I enjoy Shabbat dinner with my friends' darling toddler? Check. Can I hold an infant without my heart breaking? Check. All of this, to me, meant that of course I'd go to my dear friends' twins' britot. I was thrilled for them, and wanted to celebrate the miracle of their sons. I also wanted to catch up with dear old friends I don't get to see often enough. I'm sure somewhere in my intellect I thought, "This might be hard," but that was drowned out by feeling good. By feeling invincible. But, the problem with invincibility is that you're not invincible.

Everything started off just fine at the celebration. I have a rough time at these things anyway, because religious obligation aside, I'm not totally copacetic with circumcision, which is why I only attend the britot of close friends' children (usually a whole religious community is invited to these things). At no point did anything set me off or trigger me. A feeling of darkness just gradually crept in. I tried mindfulness to distract myself, to no avail. Almost instinctively, I sought out my husband, David, my comforter in chief. When he held me close to him, wiping tears from his own eyes, my walls came tumbling down. The atmosphere became oppressive; all I saw and heard were babies, and missing my own. After the ceremony, I knew I had to bolt. I gathered myself to wish the new parents a final "mazel tov," and planned to discretely make my exit. Then I knew, if I opened my mouth to say those words, a wail would escape me. I made the choice -- against all my schooling in Southern manners -- to leave without saying goodbye, and to not run cry on a friend's shoulder, which would've put the focus on me and not on the celebration and the celebrants. David held me while I sobbed in the stairwell, and then I made my way to the gym, sobbing all the while on the bus. I almost asked for a Xanax, but then remembered, "That doesn't help a broken heart."

I had a killer workout. I poured out all my grief, sorrow, and anger on that cardio machine, and I became one of those gym rats I admired but never come close to: someone who sweats through their clothes. I was soaking wet and heaving, but calmer. Somewhere, in that workout, I stopped chiding myself for being so foolish to try and go to that bris. I let admiration fill its place -- I tried to do something positive, with the best of intentions. Instead of viewing it as a moral failing that I couldn't stay the whole time, I just worked on accepting it as what was. I felt compassion for what I've been through instead of remorse for this perceived failing.

I've gained insight that your stuff will grab you when you least expect it, so you just run with it and make it work. Truly, the darkest hour never comes in the night.
Posted by Sarah at 6:25 PM 4 comments: 
Spa World

Groupon opened my eyes to whole new experience yesterday. My friend Rachel and I went to Spa World, a traditional Korean spa, in Centreville, VA. It is in a strip mall, but has more than 50,000 square feet of Korean Spa Pleasure. I thought I would enjoy it, but it surpassed my expectations.

Spa World can best be broken up into its wet (single-sex) and dry (co-ed) parts. The most important thing to know about the first part, the wet one, is that nudity is the word of the day. They don't actually just encourage nudity, they actively discourage covering up. It is outright prohibited in the bade pool, and if you had thoughts of hiding your butt in a towel, think again: they only have hand towels! The bade pool, which you can see a diagram of here), is a large jacuzzi tub with different types of sections and jets kept at a perfect 95 degrees. Sounds relaxing? Rachel and I spent an hour schmoozing in this tub along with about 20-30 other women at a time.

I was a little scared about the nudity: I have lost about 116 lbs, and I have lots of hanging skin, stretch marks, and cellulite. Furthermore, I am still about 15-20 lbs overweight. I decided to suck it up, and I'm glad I did. First of all, it was strangely freeing to hang around nude, and for the first time ever I saw what was appealing about nudist colonies. It was even more freeing to realize that a) people didn't seem to be checking other people out, but, when you looked, and don't tell me you wouldn't, b) all women but a few of the very young 20-somethings had wobbly, imperfect bodies. Even people who were at a healthy weight, and look like they've always been a healthy weight, had cellulite, stretched skin, etc. And nobody cares. I was totally impressed by the obese women confident enough to be there, and there were plenty, including one with a tattoo on her ass of Taz holding a whip that read, "Hurts so good." Not going there!

Surrounding the bade pools are smaller hot tubs of differing temperatures, and a cool tub, as well as a sauna and a steam room. There's also a marble slab you can lay on that purportedly had "infrared healing rays," but I laid there and didn't feel anything but cold. Off to the side are these sinks close to the floor with accompanying stools where Korean women washed their hair (or each others') and groomed themselves. There were also showers with no doors. There was a walled-off section of 10 tables with Korean women giving traditional exfoliations and massages. I didn't partake in that this time.

After spending about an hour and a half in the wet area, Rachel and I donned our prison uniforms to head out to the poultice rooms. These were hideous, shapeless, orange, cotton shorts and t-shirts that we had to don when we headed out to the co-ed dry area. There was a massive central room with tatami mats spread on the floor and piles of little plastic-covered pillows. There were loungers, sofas, free wi-fi, and a snack bar in that room. This is also where you can access the Korean restaurant. Apparently, many Koreans use Spa World as a community center, which is probably why there are year-long memberships. If you take a flight of stairs up, there is an arcade, a sleeping room, a salon, gift shop, and more massage rooms.

Off of this main room are six different poultice rooms, which are rooms made of different natural materials that allegedly have healing properties, like an amethyst room and a salt room. All have dry saunas and range from 114-148 degrees, and comfortably accommodate 8-12 adults. There's also a 65 degree ice room where you can cool off. All of the poultice rooms are very quiet, and there are men and women laying down or sitting in them. The most fun, to me, was the clay ball room, which is filled with thousands of clay balls the size of marbles. They felt marvelous to roll around in!

Two surprises lay in store for me in the dry area: first, although I personally don't believe that physical things like rocks or other natural elements have healing properties*, I felt strangely calmed in the amethyst room, on an energetic level. It didn't hurt that the room was gorgeous: the walls were a soothing nature-scene mosaic done in earth-tones, and the ceiling has brilliant amethyst and another red stone for you to gaze up at while the sweat stings your eyes. This room felt so calming to me that I went back to it. The other surprise was how relaxed and cleansed I felt after all this. I was a little tired, but mostly invigorated. My skin felt marvelous, and I could see how Scientologists put so much stock in a good shvitz.

At $35 a day sans Groupon, it's not cheap, but I will definitely go back to Spa World. I can see myself doing it once a season as a pick-me-up, cleansing thing.

*Please note that hope still springs eternal: In spite of my doubts, I deliberately tried a room that claims to up your sex drive, to no avail.
Posted by Sarah at 5:48 PM 6 comments: 
Stronger Now

This is the first time I've looked at my blog since May 5, the day my father died, and it's a little surreal. The last seven weeks of my life have in many ways have been the hardest -- and this is coming from someone disabled from Lyme Disease, who at her worst was unable to wash her own hair or write more than scrawling her name. In the last few weeks, I have been tested and pushed in all capacities, most of which I'm unwilling to write about at this point. It is fair to say that my problems started just as my father died, and got worse from there. My therapist, in a moment of candor, said, "The book of Job comes to mind," after I summarized the startling difficulties of the past few weeks.

That said, I'm actually doing ok, much to my surprise. I have my ups and downs. A week ago I thought I was in a deep depression, but it was just a couple of crummy days, and they passed. Many people have reassured me that after the hell I've been through, some dark days are justified. Today is Father's Day; I thought I'd be a basket case, and I'm sad, but not a basket case. Losing my father has sucked, and it felt worse than I thought it would. For the first few days after he died, I felt like I had been turned inside out. The worst part was waking up, in a good mood, thinking, "That must have just been a terrible dream," and then remembering that, no, my dad was dead. For a few days, I woke up to this startling realization each day and promptly burst into tears. Now the grief comes in waves, like when I think, "Oh, I haven't talked to Dad in a long time," and then remember, "And you never will." Over the past few weeks, I've wanted to share with my dad the trials David and I have endured, desperate for his assurance that everything would be ok. I always felt like he had my back. It's cold comfort that I could imagine exactly what he would have said if I was able to converse with him about what is going on.

I don't mean to sound all grim. First of all, I am extremely grateful for the blessings in my life which I celebrate daily -- the first of which is always David, followed closely by abstinence (sobriety) from compulsive overeating. Secondly, I am finding out I have vast reserves of strength that I didn't know I had. It's actually kind of astounding. I don't mean this to sound arrogant; on the contrary, until recently, I think I (wrongly) viewed myself as fragile. But nothing in my demeanor the last seven weeks even hints at fragility.

Strangely, I want to end this post with a homage to Jani Lane, the singer/songwriter of '80s hair metal band, Warrant. I saw a TV clip of Lane where he said he literally would have blown his "[f-ing] brains out" if he had known how writing "Cherry Pie" would've ruined his credibility in the music business. I think of that sad TV clip when I hear Warrant's ballad "Stronger Now," which I find myself humming often nowadays:

"I held you for a moment in my hands
The moment with you slipped away like sand
Through my fingers now
In front of me a choice I have to make
To carry on or simply fade away
I lose you either way
I'd like to say that it was easy, it was hard
To say goodbye, I thought that I would die

Letting go of you, was so hard to do
And I thought that it would kill me but I made
It through somehow, and I'm so much stronger now..."

So, Jani, if you're reading this, I think you are a good singer/songwriter, which is why I identify with your music and lyrics a decade after you wrote them. And I still think you kick ass, which is why I can't bring myself to throw away the framed, autographed napkin you signed for me.
Posted by Sarah at 7:21 PM 6 comments: Labels: Grief



I am in Phoenix helping my father die, and move on to the next leg of his journey. It's 1:30 a.m. I'm physically, emotionally, & spiritually exhausted, but sleep is elusive. I just listened to Sia's song "Breathe Me"; it captures my feelings pretty well at this moment. I'm writing, with sore arms, on my iPhone, so more later. Please pray for my Dad to have a peaceful death, and for my family. Blessings, Sarah
Posted by Sarah at 4:29 AM 1 comment: Labels: Death, Family


Clutterama Follow-up

Now that I've quit vomiting for a few minutes (I seem to be the lucky recipient of the stomach virus going around the metro area), I wanted to write about my previously aforementioned session with Scott Roewer of Solutions By Scott. I feel awful, so my writing is clunky. Sorry. My appointment with Scott was four intense hours, and at the end of it, I wanted to collapse and felt pretty overwhelmed with all the information I took in. What's great, though, is that I am thrilled I had this appointment and definitely felt like I got my money's worth. Many things came out of the appointment, including:

1. Specific suggestions for better organizing our home and life as we live it, including a simple "active projects" organizing system for me to handle all the incoming stuff that I can't handle right away.

2. Ideas for specific rooms of the house, such as putting a 3-hole punch in my husband's man cave (aka the "music room") so he can put the pages of his song lyrics in a notebook instead of them fanning out on the floor. Scott also suggested many more hooks for cables hung out of the walking space in that room, which there isn't much of. He also suggested saving the guitar stands, which take up room on the floor, for gigs, and instead, hanging guitars on the wall.

Scott also made a good suggestion for covering the drafty vent that comes into our living room in the winter; our current solution is a towel, which, frankly, just looks really ghetto. We don't like it, but didn't have another idea in mind until now.

3. Very detailed suggestions for turning our file cabinet from the abyss that it is to a manageable system containing only information we really need to save -- which, it turns out, is actually shockingly little. Furthermore, we're ditching our desk, which takes up a lot of room to just hold stationary and clutter. Scott pointed out we can keep all of our office supplies on one small shelf.

3. Great suggestions for Web sites/applications that I've never heard of that can be integral to managing my clutter and organization problems. I plan to write a separate blog post on these once I get more adept at using them.

4. Very detailed discussions about some home projects we need to undertake to facilitate organization in our house. For example, Scott recommended installing Elfa shelving in our cellar -- our only real storage space -- to turn it into really usable, organized space instead of the disorganized clutter room that it is. I agree this is ground zero for us, and as Scott and I toured the rest of our home, I could see how so many organizational solutions came back to the cellar. Ditto with our bedroom closets, which are the achilles heels of the house. Our 100 year-old home does not have a linen closet, which we could integrate into a closet redesign. This is something we scoped out as part of our major home renovation, but we scrapped it due to budgeting. What Scott recommended was significantly cheaper and less extensive, with more focus on maximizing utility than what the general contractors suggested.

Perhaps one of the most important things I got from my session was a sense of confidence. As you can read in my last blog post about this, I was very down on myself, feeling like my organizational issues were a character defect. While I can't say that I'm not lazy, I can say that until my session with Scott, I didn't really know how to be organized. No one really taught me the advanced organizational skills  you need to successfully run a multi-person house. This alone made it worth the fee.

I have been in the middle of a severe pain flare, so use of my arms is very limited (I wrote most of this 4 weeks ago), so it sucks to not be able to implement Scott's ideas as rapidly as I was hoping for. Oh well. All in good time!
Posted by Sarah at 6:05 PM No comments: Labels: clutter



I'm in an acute pain flare after a severe vomiting spell due to a stomach virus. My arms are in extreme pain, so minimal typing for me. Will be back to blogging as soon as it's safe to. Thanks!
Posted by Sarah at 10:52 PM 4 comments: 


I am completely powerless over clutter. We have clutter of all types in our home, but I am especially completely powerless over paper: so much of it comes into our home, it overwhelms me. I'm fine with immediately shredding or recycling the junk. What confounds me are the things to keep, or to come back to later, like appeals for charity or bills to be paid. Basically, I've never been great at organization; it's just something I never learned how to do.

This clutter causes me no end of grief. It makes it hard to clean when I have to declutter first. It makes it hard to find something, and yes, some bills don't emerge from their hibernation before I get a "friendly reminder" from accounts receivable. I get nervous if someone stops by unexpectedly, because I typically tidy up for guests before they come. Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, it keeps our home from being the restful place of respite that I want it to be. The world is tough, and I want my home to be a place of comfort, shelter, and restoration. Clutter kills that mood fast.

I have tried different methods of dealing with clutter including many self-help books and organizational Web sites. None of them made a lasting difference. I even hired a self-proclaimed "organizer," who ended up being completely unprofessional and unhelpful. She was an entrepreneur, and organizing was just her latest venture, and after three hours I felt like her therapist.

A friend suggested that I work with another professional organizer named Scott who won the local organizer-of-the-year award, and seems very competent and accomplished. Most importantly, he provided a valuable service to my friend that she believes is worth the money. I struggled with whether to hire him for two reasons: one, he is expensive. Two -- and this is the major reason -- I realize that there something going on that no one can fix for me. I analogize this to my struggle with food addiction. I saw all kinds of diet doctors and nutritionists, followed dozens of diets, had therapy (including with eating disorder specialists), and read all the self-help books on the market, but none of these resources on their own were enough to help me conquer my food addiction. I had spiritual and emotional problems galore that were at the root of my eating, and only serious spiritual and emotional work on my part could clear the passage for me to heal from my food addiction.

So, part of the reason I hesitated to hire Scott is that I realize there is a piece of my clutter problem that only I can fix. There is some reason I hold on to it and perpetuate the behavior, or I wouldn't continue to do it. People only hold on to dysfunctional ways of being if there is some payoff (caveat here: some people want to change their dysfunctional patterns but don't know how). I've spent the last few weeks thinking about what might be behind some of my clutter. One ugly answer is plain old laziness; I'd rather do other things than organize. Another is that it might strangely give me some kind of comfort, like a kid making a fort with stuff around the house. Perhaps it perpetuates an old tape I play in my head that I am "overwhelmed." This is one I can confront directly: that feeling of being overwhelmed was a vestige of my food addiction, when I spent all of my energy procuring, eating, and hiding the evidence that I binged. Thank God, in recovery through the 12 steps, I have shed that addiction and with it, the feeling of constantly being overwhelmed. My life is significantly more manageable than it used to be, so I can let that old label go. Most of the time, I am not overwhelmed anymore, with the weeks before Passover a notable exception!

Those are the things that Scott can't fix for me: I have to get to the bottom of this coping mechanism and constantly remind myself that I deserve the kind of home that I want, and that David and I are worth putting the effort in to get that home. Scott can't do that work for me, but he can give me insights, and I've talked with his assistant about the concerns that I'm expressing here about the limitations of his services. I had to send back a pre-appointment questionnaire with answers to questions about what I hoped to get out of Scott's services and for insights into what I think my problem is and why I'm motivated to change.

I have a relative who was very condescending about my decision to hire Scott, and I considered canceling the appointment in light of that reaction and my own hesitations expressed above. However, after some helpful chats with my trusted friends and David, I decided to go ahead and keep my appointment with Scott. Because while there's a piece of me he can't fix, he is a professional organizer, and I need the services he sells. I don't have a good organizational system, and have been unable to put together one that works. The food analogy works well here, too: yes, I needed the 12 steps, but I also needed a nutritionist to tell me what to eat and a therapist to help me sort through some of the larger issues that came up through my step work. OA minus those auxiliary professional services would not have yielded the same level of excellent results that I've been blessed by. I needed all of it.

OA sponsor. And yes, I am seriously considering at least dialing in to a Clutterers Anonymous telephone meeting. I have dedicated a lot of my life to self-improvement and enlightenment in different forms. I'm grateful for all of the tools I have used including therapy, Judaism, books, energetic work, yoga, meditation, exercise, etc., but nothing has ever been as transformative to me as the 12 step program of recovery.

I have started applying the first three steps to clutter:

1. I admit that I am powerless over clutter and that my life has become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity.
3. Became willing to turn my will and my life over to the care of God as I understand God.

My lengthy, personal email to Scott was my step one, detailing exactly how my life is impacted by my organizational problems and how unmanageable it has become. For me, the higher powers I'm trusting to restore me to sanity are God and Scott, in that order. Step three is a process of letting go and surrendering my problems to forces greater than me, combined with footwork on my part. It's not enough to say, "God, make my house uncluttered." I have to do the aforementioned homework/opportunities.

In spite of the progress I've seen in my food addiction, there is a piece of me that considers that a once-in-a-lifetime kind of miracle. I believe adults can change with a ton of hard work and tenacity, but it doesn't happen much. Lately, I've been blessed with profound, positive changes in two areas of my life: intimacy and anxiety. I see these as reminders from God to me that my recovery was not a once-in-a-lifetime miracle, and that if I put in the work I need to and turn the results over to Him/Her/It, that I can grow and recover in other areas of my life. My fondest wish for myself and my family is that we can grow and heal in this area too. I'll keep you apprised of my progress; my appointment with Scott is Wednesday. Like my food issues, I'm sure there will be periods of regression, but I have the tenacity of a terrier, and am determined to give this my best effort.
Posted by Sarah at 11:43 AM 5 comments: Labels: clutter, recovery


Quick Updates to LOL Playlist

I wrote about my laugh out loud playlist recently, and have two updates, which won't surprise you if you've caught on to my sense of humor:

16. "The Sex Is Good" by Saving Abel: "I have to fake it/I'd leave if I could/I'm not in love but the sex is good" and "we don't get along that well/not much for talk, but you're hot as hell" never fail to make me crack up.

17. "F**k You" by Cee-Lo Green. Brilliant, just brilliant. Once I finally listened to this, I could see why it created so much buzz. That this song is so cheerful and soulful, and yet so relatable, is great. My biggest problem is not singing this in public. Maybe I should listen to the radio-friendly version, "Forget You," in case I slip.

I had a super-busy day and have a super-busy night ahead, so peace out!
Posted by Sarah at 6:44 PM 2 comments: 

Book Review: Origins: How the Nine Months Before Birth Shape the Rest of Our Lives 


This book is full of fascinating facts based on research into fetal origins. Some things I found especially interesting include:

* According to some researchers, about one-third of gay men are gay because their mothers had more sons before them. The researchers hypothesize that this is because the mother's immune system manufactures antibodies directed at proteins secreted by male fetuses. When she becomes pregnant with another son, these antibodies allegedly affect the baby's developing brain in a way that predisposes him to homosexuality. According to these researchers, the more older brothers a boy has, the more likely he is to be gay.
* Babies reap the same benefits their moms do from cardiovascular exercise: their heart rates and heart-rate variability are lower than those of fetuses whose moms don't exercise.
*One emerging consensus coming about due to fetal origins research is that one's disposition to heart disease may have as much to do with prenatal nutrition as one's diet and activity level. Specifically, a lack of healthful nutrients during gestation seems to predispose offspring to cardiac and other organ problems.

These are just a few examples of the interesting research that Murphy Paul writes about. The reason I can’t give the book more stars is that the author seems particularly prone to confirmation bias; she is all too eager to unquestioningly accept research that supports her theories, and is apt to confuse causation with correlation. One example of this is Murphy Paul’s descriptions of the effects of obese mothers on their babies. She cites a study comparing the obesity rates of children born to the same mothers pre- and post- gastric bypass surgery. The kids gestated post-surgery were 52 percent less likely to be obese than siblings born to the same mom when she was obese. Murphy Paul takes this as proof that the changed physiology of the mother causes the changed obesity rates of the post-surgery offspring.

I found this conclusion arresting, because anyone who successfully loses and keeps weight off after bariatric surgery has made major changes to her diet and presumably her household environment that supports that diet. Murphy Paul erroneously drawing these conclusions, and blindly accepting research results and/or confusing causation with correlation, cast a pall over the rest of the book for me. It made me doubt whether I could trust her reporting of the clinical studies. Fortunately, the book is well-sourced, so I can personally look up any studies that I have questions about.

Another thing that disturbed me was how Murphy Paul blindly seemed to use the research she found to justify her own experiences. She was pregnant at the time she wrote the book, and it flows between data about fetal origins and how that meshes with Murphy Paul’s experiences as a pregnant woman. Both of her sons were born via cesarean sections, and I found myself rolling my eyes when she was extolling their virtues, such as the assertion that children born via c-section are less likely to experience pain as infants. There was no information whatsoever about the very real risk of c-sections to fetuses. In the interest of fairness in a book about fetal origins science, I would have preferred a more balanced look at the pros and cons of vaginal and caesarean births for the baby in light of current research on the topic.

Overall, this is a very entertaining read, but take it with a gigantic grain of salt.

Posted by Sarah at 6:23 PM 1 comment: 

Reflections on an Intense Day Labels: Family, religious


Shomeret Duty Labels: recovery, religious


My "Laugh Out Loud" Playlist 
Elvis's Birthday Fight Club Labels: Entertainment, theater


A Long Weekend Of Good Art Lyme Disease Links