I don’t know how often it happens like this, when a single, unforeseen moment delivers a sizable chunk of what you’ve ever really needed in your life, but that’s what happened at that moment, when Dr. Phil confronted me with this truth. He nailed it. I was so starved for approval. My feelings of self-worth came from others liking me and approving of me. My happiness was dependent on getting love and attention from others. Disapproval or rejection from others meant I wasn’t good enough. My best feelings came from outside myself—from how other people or a particular person treated me. I couldn’t handle pain, especially the pain of disapproval, rejection, abandonment, being shut out, isolated, or lonely. In short, people could throw me a few crumbs and I acted like it was a whole loaf.
If you’ve ever found yourself sacrificing your own principles to please someone else, you may be an approval addict like me. If you do this for too long, you won’t even know who you are—or what you think—without having it filtered through someone else.
I don’t want to turn this chapter into one of those heartless self-help stories, but, honestly, appreciate who you are. It kills me to think that I have been living so much of my life to make other people happy.
People-pleasing really springs from a lack of self-trust. If you feel fundamentally unworthy and have to constantly prove yourself, if you don’t feel it’s acceptable to set boundaries on your time and energy, if you believe you can’t survive the disapproval of others, then you will give yourself away over and over again.
Instead of learning to take responsibility for your own happiness by loving and approving of yourself, you have handed yourself over to others for love and approval, making them responsible for your feelings.
This inner self-abandonment will always cause the deep pain of low self-esteem, making you dependent on others to validate your own sense of worth. The sad thing is that love is the most abundant thing in the universe. It is always within us and around us—if we can recognize it.
Living as an approval addict is a very hard way to live. You have to constantly make sure you look right, say the right thing, and do the right thing to get the needed love and approval. But then if it only takes one glance of disapproval or one unappreciative word to ruin our sense of self-worth, we’re in bondage.
We don’t have to be approved of by other people in order to feel good about ourselves. If all of us accepted who we truly are, we would come to find that “fitting in” and acceptance from others wouldn’t even be an issue. Dr. Phil told me that I wouldn’t crave approval so much if I gave it to myself. I knew I had a lot of work to do there. But I was determined.
“You’ve got to stay on guard,” Dr. Phil advised. “Make sure this [referring to scandal] won’t ever happen to you again.”
I nodded. “I can’t mess up,” I said grimly. “I can’t.”
NUGGETS:
• Do not fear rejection. If you fear rejection, be aware that you’re likely to feel better about yourself if you take the risk—even if it doesn’t pay off this time. There is a famous quote, “To risk nothing is nothing.” Therefore, I think we must seize life, and grow with it as a plant grows toward the light.
• Watch “FOMO”—Fear Of Missing Out. This will make you go down wrong paths.
• Do not kid yourself or talk yourself out of it, which is what I did with the Fake Sheikh. The most important person whom you need to be honest with is yourself. Once you lie to yourself, dishonesty will become the norm in all the other dimensions of your life. Every situation presents us with a choice: When we make negative judgments about ourselves and others we send out negative energy and the situation will explode. When we see the positivity in situations, then we send out positive energy that will make us bloom.
• Respond, rather than react. I am now more in the habit of saying, “I’ll get back to you.” That way, I can consider in the privacy of my own mind whether a request is something I want to do, and why.
• Before offering a favor to please someone else, ask yourself whether your behavior will actually please the other person or if you are just assuming that it will.
DIARY ENTRY
August 14, 2010
I am beginning to really stop and think and listen to myself. I have come to realize that I have not been living, I have been existing. I have not relished the moments. I have not had time to stand and stare.
I look at myself, really, for the first time in 25 years and say: What is it I want? What is it that fills my day?
I am 50 now, and soon to be 51. I have been going at such a mind-blowing speed. But where have I been heading?
Beatrice and Eugenie both said they are grateful for the Fake Sheikh’s entrapment, as it has saved their Mummy. They may just have an enormous point.
I have been complacent to the nth degree, running toward a destination that did not come, that seemed to be around the next corner, the next weekend, the next Monday.
Anyway, Yeats sums it up in this poem:
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
Let me not wait until I am too old to enjoy myself and thereby my world and thereby my God.
12 The Two Wolves
When I get my life back, I will not let go of it.
I SPENT MANY HOURS digesting Dr. Phil’s wisdom and reading and rereading my notes. I shared my progress and learnings with Anamika, who told me this Cherokee legend, the story of the two wolves:
A Cherokee elder was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to them, “A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, hatefulness, and lies. The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, humbleness, kindness, friendship, generosity, faith, and truth. This same fight is going on inside of you, and inside every other person, too.”
The children thought about it for a minute. Then one child asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The Cherokee elder replied, “The one you feed.”
This ancient wisdom spoke loudly to me since I must admit that on my journey, I had been feeding almost equal parts of each wolf—and sometimes I even let them feed each other!
On my bad days, I’d feel very lost, with zero belief in myself. I sometimes shocked myself with what entered my mind: “You’re not going to make it.” “You’re fat.” “You’re not good enough.” This wolf looms large and scary at times. Sometimes I believed it would actually eat me up.
I realize, though, that the wolves are my own creation. I can just as easily feed the wolf that is filled with compassion, humility, love, grace, good humor, and action. It really is a matter of choice, even though when the wolves come, we don’t think it is. We actually believe that that big bad wolf is going to eat us and forget that all we have to do is stop feeding it!
To do that, we have the most powerful weapon in our arsenal and that is our thoughts. Some people see roses and are sad because they have thorns—yet others rejoice that thorns have roses. We need to see, look, and believe differently if we wish to change our feelings and perceptions.
Beyond the notions of positive thinking, it’s about shifting our attention and intention to what we WANT, from what we don’t want. In my relationships, rather than spending time thinking about all the things people do that irritate me (and believe me, the list is long and I spend far too much time feeding that wolf), I get power
, compassion, and energy when I focus on all the wonderful things people do that delight me (and that list is just as big, if not bigger).
My day is brighter, my energy higher, my joy wider when I give myself grace, remember my sense of humor, and do the things I need to do with integrity. It’s a wonder why most of us end up feeding the nasty wolf because the joyful wolf is so much easier to be around.
NUGGETS:
• Think about how your day is going right now. Which wolf are you feeding?
• You can choose the nasty wolf, or that other wolf, the one that speaks of benevolent thoughts, acceptance, positive thinking, dedication, and self-love. It is totally down to you; you can choose the kind of day that you want.
• Be grateful for the positive and dwell on those times and situations that have brought you joy.
• See things differently; shine a light on those dark places in order for them to go away.
• Accept what life brings us in all its glory and all its emotion. Life is filled with tragedy and celebration, fullness and emptiness, sadness and joy; moving within these extremes is part of what it means to be human—to be alive.
• Energy goes where the focus goes—you have to choose the kind of day you want.
From: Simon
To: Sarah
Live every second and do not waste a single moment. You have good friends … be with them. You have wonderful daughters and a stalwart ex-husband who has been fantastically loyal. Just keep your head up and sit in the sun, read some good poetry, and reflect on the good things and the good people who are your friends.
Simon
13 I Swallowed a Duvet
I couldn’t even begin to tell you the fears and anxieties I’ve had. The only way I could cover it up was to laugh or eat.
WHILE ON MY journey, I did not want to get chubby. Or should I say chubbier? I realized that my weight had been creeping up, and it would have been easy to pack on more pounds, since my antidote for the glums has always been to stick my nose in a food bag and eat and eat more food.
We have not talked yet about my body in this book. My body is a good womanly figure. I have a nice “up top” and enough down bottom to look shapely. I can hide a spare five or ten pounds if I dress carefully and wear mostly black.
I think that fifty-one is a good age, and I feel really good now, although the weight just doesn’t fall off like it used to. I know I just have to work even harder.
As I write this book and relive the last twelve months through my diary entries, I realize with excitement I have come a long way.
Even so, I am painfully self-conscious about my body. Last year, I attended the wedding of Antony Clavel and Maria Novella in Capri, Italy. Both are special friends of Beatrice and Eugenie, and although a difference in age, my magical soul friends, too, and they gave me a bracelet of the Blessed Lady, which I treasure every day.
The night before the wedding, there was a formal party. I wriggled into my body-squishing Spanx so that my gown would fit. I walked into the party and all I could see were hundreds of Bond girl look-alikes. I’m sure none of them were wearing Spanx. This was all too much for me; I immediately felt like I had swallowed a duvet.
A fine and stunning girl called Katie, with a near perfect porcelain skin, came up and we chatted. I asked her about my endless problems with swollen ankles and hands, puffing up at certain times of the day. She felt my wrist and pushed my heart chakra. She said that my pulse was that of someone who had had a severe trauma, a death or a car crash.
“Have you had any of those?” Katie asked. She had no idea of what I had put myself through, since she doesn’t watch television or read newspapers.
“Yes, I have been through such a punishing trauma that I do not know what to do.” I was amazed by how well she picked up on my troubled nature.
“Maybe you should not strive so much for perfection; the fact that you are alive is a miracle.”
Katie was so right. I left the crowd and sat alone for awhile in the ladies’ loo until I could muster up enough courage to return to the party.
My weight issues probably started as a child. This is not just a perception. I look at my baby pictures, and there are my chipmunk cheeks popping out under my curly red hair. Meanwhile, there is my beautiful slim mother, not an ounce of fat on her figure. She was trim and fit—so were my father and sister—so this is how I thought I should be.
After my mother moved to Argentina, I tried to eat my pain away. I became a compulsive eater because of the comfort I needed. I still see symptoms of it today. Whenever I have a hole in my heart, I want to eat. And I think: That’s how I must have felt when I was twelve. I was desperately in need of love from a woman. When there’s nothing inside, I feel empty, and I need filling up. So I’d fill up with food, thinking that would solve it. I became a fat girl struggling to be in a slim body, engaged in a constant war with my weight.
By the time I was nineteen, dieting became an obsession. I knew the catechism of every diet out there. I knew low-fat. I knew lowcarb. I knew high-protein. I knew all the different kinds of crash diets, including one I made up myself: living on black coffee and irregular, imbalanced meals. The end result was a jittery wreck, completely wired up, a woman who would faint in the middle of the afternoon.
During my palace days, I missed Andrew so much. Did food take the place of affection for me? Perhaps. One thing I know: Overeating kept me from feeling things I didn’t want to feel. If I started feeling anxious, or angry, or trapped, I practically ran to the kitchen. No one can deny that food is a great tranquilizer.
And on the cycle went; I didn’t know how to break it. I’d have different sizes in my closet: 16, 14, and 12, and I’d have to mix and match them until something fit.
Later on, serving as spokesperson for Weight Watchers would literally save me. I was so lucky to work for a company that listened to the voice of real people with real lives, and gave real results. I was part of a giant embrace of goodness. I loved my time at Weight Watchers, and to this day I praise the friends I made. The leaders, who helped so many people to change their lives, lived and breathed the lifestyle plan, and I do too. Weight Watchers is always there for you, always at the end of the street. Linda Carelli and Sharon Riguzzi both changed my life, and I shall never forget the wisdom I learned in the twelve years I was the spokesperson. Linda and Sharon have passed away now, and I know if they were alive, I would have spent many a moment with them, seeking advice and wise counsel.
In the past, the British press had been so vicious, unrelenting, really, in making mockery of my weight. I can remember everything bad about my weight that has been said or written. I was forever compared to my best friend and sister-in-law, Princess Diana, who, of course, was quite slim. By contrast, I was called the Princess of Pork or Frumpy Fergie. If one newspaper reporter called me fat and ten others thought me pretty, I would believe the worst every time and carry it with me the rest of the day.
But the article that took first prize was a story claiming 82 percent would rather sleep with a goat than Fergie! (I’m afraid that I was far enough gone not to question the judgment of the other 18 percent.) Featured in one of the heavier-breathing tabloids, it was for me unforgettable.
Many other snipes have been made about my weight. Obviously, I could go on. From talking to other women, I know we all have a list like mine in our heads. We just don’t forget.
These statements make me feel horrible to this day. Being fat, even a little bit fat, gets me very depressed. Sometimes, I hardly remember places or situations, just how my body looked in the mirror at the time. Whenever I think of all the things everyone says about me, my insatiable desire for comfort food kicks in, and I lose control of my food pattern. Once that happens I beat myself up even more because I’ve lost control of my eating.
DIARY ENTRY
I long to jump with excitement when all the boys say, “Let’s go swimming in the sea, right now, and be back in time for drinks at sunset.” I long to throw on a p
air of blue jeans and not have to find a shirt that is long enough to cover the backside!
No chance in hell will I ever be able to slink into anything like a bikini. I didn’t even want to wear my black swimsuit or my black sarong in which I could hide my fatness. I left both in London.
This self-torment all has to stop. I have to get fit, brown, and thin. I have to, and it all comes down to mind-set, determination, surrender. I have a long, long journey ahead. After sitting for one and a half hours in torrential rain and diabolical traffic, I sobbed into a 6:30 PM meeting, with not a stitch of makeup on and feeling like a frump. I looked like a fat, ugly, rain-sodden person, and my hair is cut shorter so I look older, like an old woman who no longer cares. I have to get in shape, into fitness, into discipline, and tell the dark torment to shut up.
Who needs the media to tell me I’m fat and frumpy? Obviously, I don’t need help; I can do it all by myself.
I think it’s important for you to know that I’m human like that. I honestly know deep down that I am a very good person. But I slide back when I hear people saying: “You’re bad” or “You’re fat.”
I do have to spend my whole life worrying about my weight. My naughty comfort-eating moments that tempt me, when I am trying to fill the void, the no-man’s-land in my heart, is mayonnaise, French bread with salted butter, Cheddar cheese and tomatoes, sausage rolls, and my egg salad sandwiches! I enjoy diet colas and have an affinity toward M&M’s and savory foods. In fact, I love prosciutto ham so much that an Italian boyfriend once said that all the pigs tremble when I arrive in Italy.
Logically, I know that when you are as thin as you can ever imagine, the people who didn’t love you before will still not love you, and the people who did love you before will love you still. People will come, go, leave, and die, no matter how much you weigh. I try to remember this, even though I constantly struggle with my weight.
Finding Sarah Page 9
