Free-Write with Me

One of the parts that I cut from the essay I submitted to the writer's workshop, about breaking up with food, that my readers wanted to know more about was the turning point, how I decided to finally say goodbye to that bad relationship. For that instance, the turning point was finally getting myself to therapy, after a very miserable 5-ish years of post-pharmacy school life, at my heaviest non-pregnant adult weight. We started with movement, strictly from an endorphin perspective. My husband, who was not working at the time, and I would walk together early every morning, through our apartment complex and into the wooded area behind it. Not fast, especially not for him, with our 14 inch height difference, and I would usually listen to music on headphones. He was there as my security patrol, really; it was dark and there might be animals and I didn't want to go alone. It's not the first nor would it be the last time I relied on him to simply give me his presence so I could...

My first formal intervention about my weight happened when I was 12. My grandmother and my mother conspired to get me to go to Weight Watchers. My grandma would come with me for moral support. The talk was emotional and full of tears on everyone's parts; the logic for this, as presented to me, was that it's really hard to be an overweight teenager- my mom was too- and that they wanted to help me. I was hurt by the implication that people don't like me as I am, especially boys, and also glad that my family cared about me, at least. We didn't even pretend that this was about being healthy. It was not about health at all. My mom lost weight through a combination of exercise, restricted eating, and water pills. She hadn't been to a doctor since my youngest sister was born. She didn't hide her disdain for her body, though she was now a size 6, or mine. This was about appearances. Mine, specifically. I'd been pudgy my whole life; I enjoyed food and treats; my ...

I'm prone to creating inconvenient situations for myself, mainly through a combination of carelessness, preoccupation, and constant tardiness. This time, I'd left my computer charger at home, the computer was dead, I needed to drive 3 hours west, and my house is 20 minutes to the east. I needed the computer for the weekend adventure, and though the morning's lab activities had taken less time than the original estimate, I was still running behind without time to go 40 minutes out of the way to retrieve it. I work at a major research university; surely I can find a spare charger around this damn place somewhere, I think. I scour the lab and adjacent offices; nothing. Or rather, plenty of chargers, but none that fit my older model computer. (Damn you, USB chargers.) IT! I think. I'll just drive over to their building on my way and ask to borrow an extra. A fine plan, if I do say so myself. Unfortunately, there was no one in their office, and I was loath to poke ab...

There's no point in going to a new place if you don't explore it a bit, figure out where you are, find the cool places. I was walking around Appalachian State University's campus after moving my (previously illegally parked) vehicle when I found a small stream between the buildings and the road. Probably just a drainage ditch, I thought. It was around 7 am on a Saturday in the summer- not much happening on a college campus. So I stood there for a minute looking for signs of life. Nothing in that direction, what about the other, then? I turned to my left for another look. I almost missed them- small fish the same tawny brown as the sandy bottom, darting around so rapidly it appeared like the bottom of the stream itself was in motion. They traveled in pairs, wriggling around in unison. The overcast morning meant they cast no shadows. I was so glad I'd waited an extra 30 seconds before writing the right side off as not having any life, either, and continuing on my expl...

Fresh off my first writers' residency and workshop, I have decided to take the instructor's advice and commit to daily writing and envision myself as a writer. I don't know where this is going to go, but I've used a blog as a vehicle for my words in the past and it worked for me. Here we go! I'm JD, a wife, mother, researcher, faculty member, and WRITER, born and raised in (east) Detroit, now living in the South. I've always kept a journal, I am formerly an avid reader, and my favorite high school English teacher thought I should go into literature. I, however, grew up in a working class family, and was not interested in being poor or a starving artist. I was also good at science, and so I went to college, then pharmacy school, then into an academic research career. I'm currently attempting to make tenure with two small children. Why add another activity to the mix? Because it makes me feel alive, that's why. And there's a lot of the rest of my l...