Three Peaks and a Valley #7: Downtown Manhattan Day

This series, Three Peaks and a Valley refers to three positive moments and one negative moment that happens during a twenty-four hour period of my life. When I’m feeling down, my mom tells me to remember one positive and one negative thing about the experience: a peak and a valley.

Three Peaks and a Valley aims to outweigh the negative with the positive.

Three Peaks and a Valley is a regular miniseries that, by sharing my own moments of joy and vulnerability I hope that you’ll think about your own.


PEAK: I went on an awesome tour of the 9/11 Memorial and One World Trade Center this morning. The tour ran for an hour and a half and afterward, we were released to go to the Freedom Tower observatory on our own. I realized once I reached the 102nd floor and looked out at the city just how afraid of heights I really am. Alexa jostled me rather roughly into the window at this point and I damn near shit myself.

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PEAK: This hat. Ten bucks, best purchase ever. We took the subway down from Times Square to lower Manhatten, did the tour, and decided to walk the 4 or so miles back to the hotel. Thirty blocks in my neck was a baked yam in the sun. I saw this at a stand and picked it up immediately. My goodness is adequate sun protection a game changer. Plus, I look cute.

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From Instagram: My sunglasses say, “It’s not AmeriCAN’T it’s AmeriCAN,” while similarly I am a garbage can, not a garbage cannot.

PEAK: I went into a candy store called It’Sugar after a lovely sophisticated lunch of ridiculously fancy, overpriced salad at this Australian cafe near Soho (I’m the worst blogger ever, I forgot the name–not that it matters anyway. It was a peak, but not nearly this tall of a peak…)

Inside this candy store was rainbow, jumbo penis lollypops. This particular variety on the left is 1,015 calories of dick. There was no shortage of inappropriate jokes.

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VALLEY (I’m venting, you can stop reading here if you want): I got into a short blow-up argument about food this morning. Talking about what I eat or being judged for how much I eat stresses me out.

Within the confines of my family, I feel as though my food intake is constantly watched and tracked… even though the eating disorder happened many years ago in my early teenage years and I’m a full-fledged adult at this point. How I see it is as if in their eyes I’ve made no progress, that I’ve atoned for none of my choices, and I carry this guilt around in my back pocket.

Food is something that I have always been made to feel bad about–that I’m not eating enough, or I’m eating too much too much, and eating becomes a big production or punishment. Why wouldn’t I have a tricky relationship with food when so many interactions with others about food is negative?

Frankly, what bothers me the most is when anyone thinks they can claim ownership of my body or the choices I make for myself. Especially when I’m in a good place. I’ve been at a stable weight for years. When false accusations start flying it’s like a switch flips and suddenly I feel the anger, guilt and trauma bubble up again from deep below the surface. It takes everything in me to snap out of it.

This is a long valley. I needed the space to vent though and there’s so much left unsaid. One of these days I’ll write more about it. In the meantime, I refer you to Dying to be Pretty.


Share your peaks and valleys with me in the comment section below.

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