Money, so they say…

I know it’s been some time since my last post. Truth is, I’ve been too preoccupied with my finances (or lack thereof) to worry about much of anything else.  I’ve been home from Los Angeles for about two and a half weeks. I’m still adjusting, both to no longer being in LA and no longer being in a show, but it is nice to be back. I always have one foot in a different world (no matter where I am), so there have been plenty of moments of me asking myself whether I am in the right place or not, but until I have a better, more concrete alternative, I think I’ll just stick with Fresno for now.

Still doing the no gluten thing. Still haven’t had any migraines. I have had some “touches” of headaches since I’ve been home in the Valley. I don’t know if that stems from being more sensitive to cross-contamination when I do come across some gluten, or if it’s just my allergies. Either way, I am feeling better than before going gluten-free, so that’s enough reason to keep on keepin’ on.  Weight loss has been a very insignificant benefit to this diet as of yet, but I do feel less bloated and achy in general. That’s gotta count for something.

I appreciate the season change; I am much more comfortable in fall & winter clothing, although I suppose it is a trade off with the more melancholy disposition I seem to wear during the colder months. I need to stay busy or I will hermitize myself until spring. It’s happened before.

In other news, I finally finished the first draft of the play I’ve been working on since early February. We’re doing a reading at my place on Monday. It definitely still needs work, but considering I have about 47 other unfinished scripts, it feels good to have finally made it to a marker point on one.

Nothing much else I feel compelled to write about at the moment; just wanted to check in.

As you were. 🙂

Love and some verses

You know what’s crazy?

The more you start to love yourself, the more you can’t help but love the people who have been there loving you all along.

When I first ceased my party-girl ways, there was a near immediate shift in my relationships with both friends and acquaintances. In the very beginning, the transition was somewhat awkward- i.e. Who am I when I’m not the drunk girl or the stoned girl? What do I do? What do I talk about?-  but then I noticed I actually began to enjoy myself more (and be wholly present) in most conversations. Sure, some people quickly faded away from my life (because all we ever really had in common was mutual bad habits), but the majority of my friendships were subsequently enriched. Partly this was able to happen because, while sober, one has the ability to focus more on what someone else is saying. Also, when not hiding behind an addiction (or other negative coping mechanism), one is able to be a more authentic version of themselves. It’s only natural that inter-personal relationships improve as a result.

I’ve felt like the friendships I’ve forged (and refined) during the last few years have ALREADY been some of the most rewarding of my life. What a treat it is, then, to have them grow in importance and value even more than before, over the course of the last few months. The more I learn to appreciate my own self, the more I can see that affection and appreciation reflected back to me through the eyes of my loved ones. In addition, the more I can return the favor- because the less and less my ego seems to get in my way. There is an old  saying that implies no one will truly love you until you first love yourself. I’m learning very quickly (and delightedly), this isn’t the case with me. I’ve had love and affection surrounding me, in spades, for ages. My only regret is that it took me so long to see it.

I know I still have a ways to go in my recovery. I’m sure I probably have some future hiccups awaiting me, in both my eating and thinking habits. But I gotta say, in these last few weeks I’ve been astounded by the staggering amount of love and gratitude I’ve felt moving both through me and around me. I feel lucky. I feel appreciated. I feel like I am exactly who and what and where I am supposed to be….and I have never felt that all at once, especially for such a sustained amount of time.

It’s pretty fucking cool.


While we’re on the subject of the great “L” word, I should admit that for the first time in about a millennium, I allowed myself to develop a small crush on someone. Granted, it lasted for the total of approximately one whole minute before I realized this person had a significant other (which meant I abruptly put a stop to the afore-mentioned crushing), but it’s nice to feel like I might be ready to start tearing down some of those huge, thick, brick walls I’ve built up around my heart over the years. It’s also nice to note that my “type” has changed drastically for the better, and that instead of wanting something/someone obsessively (which is all romance tends to be when you’re using sex to fill a void), I am now capable of having a mere fleeting attraction. You know…like a normal person.

I’m very happy to learn this about myself, because for quite some time now I’ve all but resigned myself to a life of being perpetually single. It’s good to know I may be open to other options.

I mean eventually, of course.


32 flavors and then some…

For better or for worse, this gluten-free diet is achieving it’s purpose (i.e., making me feel better). My skin and joints are less tender and I find I am less fatigued. I don’t have my scale here to verify, but I am also certain I’ve dropped another few pounds.


Actually, all kidding aside, I’ll take it. I am at the point in my life where if feeling better and feeling better about myself  means cutting out warm sourdough bread and buttery pastries and chocolatey cookies and creamy pasta and (sorry, I got distracted there for a moment) ahem…and other delicious, gluten-filled items: I say, bring it on.

Bring. It.

Luckily for me, I am in currently in a town that caters to people with fidgety dietary needs, so the adjustment period has started off as relatively easy. The only really annoying modification is having to make sure to prepare ahead of time for all meals; checking menus on the internet before I plan to go to a restaurant, bringing snacks when I am heading into a long rehearsal. Spending so much time “planning” my meals is probably not an ideal situation for someone as neurotic about food as I am, but I have a hunch that after doing it long enough, it’ll become second nature. I’ve decided to extend my two-week trial run to a full month, to test out this theory around my menstrual migraines. I visited my healer again yesterday and she said the longer you go without gluten, the more health benefits you may notice. She said she was still noticing positive, life-changing effects even a year into her new eating habits. Again, I hesitate to go full throttle, but we’ll see what happens in a month. For those of you who may be considering this move yourself, she also warned that in the beginning, you may go through withdrawl-like symptoms- anything from headaches to digestive to nervous system issues. Knock on wood, I haven’t felt anything but great.

The rolfing is still affecting my body in positive ways as well, though I do take back what I said about it not being either painful or pleasant. In certain moments it can be very, very (I am not overstating here people and I’m going to throw in one more for good measure) very painful. I had to focus on some deep breathing exercises at my last appointment to even get through the session without crying out, “STOP! OH MY GOD, PLEASE STOP PULLING MY LEG OFF OF THE REST OF MY BODY!!”. But, as in life, after a few seconds of incredibly intense pain, she would move on to another part of the tissue that would feel absolutely phenomenal and released because of the previous stretching.

After the first appointment, I felt like I was standing a little taller. After the second one, I feel like my walk is more balanced. My stride has always been someone irregular, due to my left side being shorter than my right. Through whatever method of TORTURE (kidding) she inflicted on me yesterday, I feel like my legs are covering equal amounts of ground and my torso has been elongated because of it. It is a weird, wonderful, and welcome feeling.


In other news, I am acclimating myself back to the hectic pace of life that is required by this city, and remembering the things that made it so hard to leave the first time around. My friends here are just….beautiful. So many beautiful people, all nestled among an overpopulated mass of assholes, pricks, Negative Nancy’s, douchebags, WAY too many cars and not near enough parking spaces. 

This past weekend, I spent my 32nd birthday doing something for someone else. And I gotta say, without hesitation, it was the best birthday I have on record. Actually, one of the best nights of my life, period.

Jarvis was my religion professor in college. I had him for two classes; Global Studies (sort of a religion/theatre hybrid course) and Modern Christianity. To call him a professor is an understatement. This man changed my life. He was one of the first voices to tell me it was okay to go with my gut; to question everything I learned in school, in church, in life and to toss it all out the window if it didn’t set well with whatever was in my own heart. A Christian pastor, who told me it was okay to question everything I had ever been told about Christianity! It was okay to think for myself! This was a HUGE revelation for someone as fragile and conflicted as I was at that age. I learned more about religion (and myself) in those three semesters then I did in an entire eighteen years of going to The Free Will Baptist Church in Corcoran, CA.

Of course, even this over-simplifies all Jarvis is to me. He also was President of Kingsmen Shakespeare when I was working for the company. Him and his wife, Susan, were (ARE) there nearly every show, in a picnic box dead front and center. When you aren’t in a show, they invite you to sit with them. He and Susan are two of the biggest cheerleaders of not only the company as a whole, but all of us individual artists as well. I can’t even tell of all the conversations at the Festival and the after-parties that we’ve had where, without even trying, he imparted some major much-needed wisdom on me. As my friend Barry put it, “sometimes it was just a little thing, but in the long run, the little things are the big things.”

Susan and I have grown really close over the years, too, and she has also been one of my biggest supporters in….well, life in general, I guess. I could really gush on and on about both of them, but for brevities sake, I’ll just say they are two of my all-time favorite people. And though I’ve always suspected as much, I learned this past weekend that I am not the only one who feels that way.

You see, Jarvis is sick. Really sick. And I can’t go into too much detail about it without having to stop and cry for a good hour or two, so let’s just leave it at that, as I feel like I’ve been weeping on and off for the past four days straight.

Susan and I, along with a handful of other people, worked to throw him a surprise party- to celebrate his life and let him know how much he is appreciated. I should mention here that Susan’s birthday was also this past weekend, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she numbers this as one of her best ones, too. Not only did we completely and totally surprise Jarvis (with way over 100 people! How is that even possible in this day and age?!), but there also was so. much. love. in that backyard that one could not help but feel it creep into their veins at the party.  I think we were all the best versions of ourselves that night, and I am just humbled and blessed to know so many good, beautiful, gorgeous people and share in the love that was omnipresent at that party.

Of course no evening could go by without my negative voices creeping in, trying to ruin anything good. When I got up to speak about Jarvis, I was already in tears before I started. And as I was speaking off the cuff, I said two (just two!) stupid things that in hindsight, I wish I could have taken back. So, my voices arrived instantly at the front of my brain (before I even stepped away from the microphone) to remind me what a worthless, stupid, selfish, egotistical, bad,ugly person I really, truly am.

I spent a while teetering between embarrassment and all the other emotions I was feeling, before telling myself, “Enough!”  and reminding those terrible voices “This isn’t about YOU!”

I refuse, I REFUSE,  to let my negative voices ruin anymore memories by telling me lies. When it comes down to it, that’s what they are: lies. We are, all of us, imperfect. Why have I demanded such perfection from myself for so long? It’s fucking exhausting. If I demanded the same amount of perfection of my friends and family that I do from myself, I wouldn’t have anyone left in my life! It’s high time I exercise the same amount of forgiveness and patience with myself.

So, first day of age 32, and I already learned a new lesson: namely, not to be so hard on myself when I do something stupid, and to keep in mind that I am pretty damn awesome in a host of other ways.

I really, really am. 

I have a feeling it’s going to be a good year. There is love everywhere, and I’m really starting to take some of it with open, accepting (and completely proportionate!) arms. Which reminds me, have you told someone you love how you feel about them lately? Try it. It feels awesome.


Here are my most favorite pictures from the party. They are each worth a thousand words, as they say.

I, of the beholder

Ever since I decided to start taking compliments at face value, I’ve been humbled by the sheer volume of times people have stopped to tell me, unsolicited, that I am beautiful, or gorgeous, or striking, or lovely..or whatever else. People have mostly remarked on my winning personality (ha!) but some (like seriously, more than a handful in less than a week!) have specifically remarked on my physical appearance…positively. Has this been happening all along? This many people? This many times? Even if beauty is only in the eye of the beholder, if there are enough people out there who are saying nice things about me, I must not be as hideous a monster as the voices in my head would have me believe. Right? It is only really hitting me now: this has always been the case, hasn’t it?

This has always been the case.


I don’t know if the molecules of my skin are actually moving around and shifting. Does a self- kind heart have the ability to morph your physical appearance?  Maybe it is all in my mind. But…I actually do look different, don’t I? When I’ve  looked at myself in the mirror the past few days, there isn’t a scared girl staring back at me through sad, weary eyes. There isn’t a shapeless, pale, masculine, hunched, drained loser. There is a beautiful woman there. A tall, curvaceous woman. With kind eyes, and a bright smile. With…something else, too. What is it? A spark? A fire? A strong, interminable conquering spirit?  All of the above?

Every time I catch my reflection, I have been making myself say something nice- even if (especially if) I don’t feel it. I know it sounds cheesy: looking in the mirror, repeating mantras that sometimes you, yourself, don’t even believe…but oh my gosh…can it be? Is it actually…working? My dad gave me a Christmas card several years ago, and in it he wrote “Life is always beautiful and so are you”. I keep it, nestled in a flap on the visor of my car. The other day, out of nowhere, it fell in my lap, wide-open. Like a sign from the universe. I have been repeating that to myself every time I look in the mirror. Every time I have an ugly or hard moment. Every time.

And sometimes, it’s almost as if I beat myself to the punch. Like there are multiple positive voices emerging from underneath the skin of the molting unkind ones.

Voice One: You’re so beautiful, Haley.

Voice Two: Hey! I was gonna say that.

Voice One: Beat you. Gotta speak up quicker next time.

Voice Two: You’re on, buddy.


Can this all really be as simple as adjusting what you hear and what you say?

Last weekend, I visited home for a couple days. As much as I was eager to see my friends, family, and awesome (if I do say so myself) apartment, I was equally anxious to get on my scale. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve gone so long without a weigh-in. I got in to Fresno at about one in the morning. First thing I did was head to the bathroom, empty my bladder and step on the scale. I’ve lost four pounds since coming to LA. But really, no surprise there. I’ve been taking better care of myself. I’ve been physically active.

I didn’t let myself step on the scale the rest of the trip.  The weird part is, after I got over that one withdrawal-esque, compulsive “need” to weigh-in, I didn’t really even have a desire to get back on. How is a number of my body mass any reflection of what I have to offer the world? I must remember this when the urge strikes.

These seemingly minor changes are probably invisible to the naked, untrained eye. But I am really beginning to feel them in my body, my soul, my consciousness. It helps, too, that I started seeing a health practitioner who specializes in rolfing. I bet a lot of you haven’t heard of it, so I’ll explain. Rolfing is a holistic bodywork that uses manipulation of the body’s soft tissue to realign and balance the body’s myofascial structure, started originally by a biochemist named Ida Rolf.  The idea is that not only can it directly improve your posture and other general body habits, but it can also bring long-term relief for all-over aches, pains, and tenderness, as well as improve breathing and increase energy.  For those of you who are familiar with the Alexander Technique, it is very similar in approach and theory- only much more hands on. It doesn’t exactly feel good, nor is it necessarily painful, but I do feel like I am standing taller and walking straighter. I know that this, too, must contribute to the positive, evolving reflection I’m seeing in the mirror, because my bad posture has long been a top issue of self-loathing. As far as rolfing goes, I’m not gonna lie; it ain’t cheap. But I decided a while ago, that when it comes to my health and well-being, it’s worth it.

After hearing me list all my health issues, my healer told me that she thinks my symptoms are all tell-tale signs of a gluten allergy. I’ve wondered this before and just sort of hoped it was not the case. When I went to the allergist, they found I was allergic to so many plants,animals, and indoor allergens, they remarked that my food allergies seemed relatively minor in comparison. I think at the time, I just sort of hoped that was my get-out-of-jail-free card. But I think it may be time to at least give my body a few weeks of strict non-gluten eating, just to be sure. I have only a few weeks without my favorite carbs to lose, and everything to gain. Again, when it comes to my health and well-being, it’s worth it to try.

I hesitate, as always, with any dietary restrictions. Not only do I worry about hyper-vigilance, but if I want to keep up my vegetarian lifestyle, adding gluten-free goals to the mix sure isn’t gonna make my life any easier. But as my healer said (she has a gluten allergy herself), “It just got to the point where it was much more important for me to feel good than to eat what I wanted.”


I am so there.

I know the next couple weeks will probably be hard for me. I’m sort of diving in head first. I asked my friend Kristeina for advice (she deals with a gluten allergy herself), and she said the best way to do it is to just get rid of all the gluten you have in your house and go cold turkey for a few weeks. She said you should feel better by the end of the first two weeks, and (unfortunately) much worse if and when you do cheat. So, I’m just gonna start there. Two weeks. And we’ll see what happens. Of course, I’ll be checking in.

Hope everyone is having a glorious September. It is the best month of the year, you know? 🙂

My friend Gabi posted this on her Facebook page the other day. I love it.


The other day at rehearsal, the actor playing opposite me said “You have really pretty eyes. It’s helpful, since I have to be enchanted by you, to just look at your eyes. ”

Now, what he probably meant was: “You have really pretty eyes. It’s helpful, since I have to be enchanted by you, to just look at your eyes.”

Of course, what I heard was: “I have to find some reason that my character would be attracted to such a fat, gelatinous blob, so since the rest of you is so hideous, I’m going to focus in on your eyes, which are, at least, vaguely acceptable features.”

Working on changing your body and body image sometimes means you’re also going to have to change a lot of other things about your personality and current behavior. Here is a list of some of things I particularly want to stay aware of during my journey.

1. I need to work on my hearing. My goal for the next few weeks is to try and take everything everyone says at face value, without letting my ‘voices’ apply any sort of their own warped theories to the reality of their words. 

2. I need to stop gossiping about/complaining about/ bashing other people when I am feeling insecure. I really should stop doing this in general because, really, what good does it ever do to tear down other people? But I am most likely to engage in this behavior when I am feeling vulnerable or unconfident, so I want to start tracking the roots of when and why I get catty.

3. I need to continually work on my patience. I will not get the self-love (or body) I want overnight. But I will not get it at all if I don’t let time run it’s course.

4. I need to remember that it’s okay to be flawed. The fact that I had two desserts on Saturday doesn’t mean I should punish myself the rest of the following week. It doesn’t mean I’m a terrible, gross person. It means I had two desserts on Saturday. Nothing more, nothing less.

5. I need to remember that the glass is always, always, always at least half-full. Always.
That’s all that’s on my mind for today. I might come back and add more to this post as things come to me. What’s on your list?

I’m going to leave you today with this hilarious video of Melissa McCarthy on The Ellen Show, talking about ‘When Spanx go horribly wrong.” I’ve definitely had some Spanx-flashing moments myself, but not quite to her extent. The clip made me (really. literally.) laugh out loud, so I thought some of you would enjoy it as well. What we go through for beauty, right, folks?

Real quick update

In an act of sheer defiance against the cruel voices that rage in my head, tonight I made myself wear the outfit I was originally going to wear last night….and no one pointed and laughed or even scoffed at me!

Imagine that.

So, en garde, cruel voices! Haley the Conqueror is starting to fight back! It won’t be long until you will all be out of my head for good. Mwah-ha-ha-ha. Victory is most assuredly mine!


I don’t know what’s going on here, but I like it…





“It took me too long to realize that I don’t take good pictures, cuz I’ve got the kind of beauty that moves…” – ani difranco

I’ve always loved this quote; I force myself to think of it every time I see a picture of me that makes me want to stab my eyes.

I’m thinking of it right now because I saw a picture of me that makes me want to stab my eyes.

I went to my friend Anne’s wedding this past weekend. It was in Seattle during a small stretch of perfect weather. The ceremony was gorgeous. The reception was gorgeous. Anne was gorgeous. Her women of honor were gorgeous. I felt pretty decent myself…until I saw a picture from the event. My collective-of-negative-voices-in-my-head’s initial reaction was “bad posture. rosacea nose. ill-fitting ensemble. messy hair. double chin. fat. fat. fat.”

I’m 99% certain most other people in the world wouldn’t look at the same picture and see all that, but instead of only telling myself, “Haley, you’re insane and you’re the only one who thinks you look like a homeless person,” it’s helpful for me to reason that the camera is simply not advanced enough to capture what’s really there. Maybe because by doing that, I still get to claim the girl in the picture looks bad. Or maybe I just like to quote one of my favorite songwriters. Or maybe both. Anyway, it helps, so I thought I’d share it with you. Anytime you see a bad picture of yourself, just reason it’s because your extreme and extravagant beauty is moving to quickly for that silly ol’ camera to catch.


Today was my first day back in LA. I did okay. Food-wise I did okay. Body image-wise, not so much. I had on one of my hippie-esque outfits, and while on the way to rehearsal, I decided I didn’t want people to meet me and think “ugh, that girl needs to update her wardrobe to this century,” so on the drive from Fred’s house to the theatre, I stopped in at Marshall’s and bought a shirt that I felt would make my first entrance in front of all these new people be more neutral. Because god forbid they see my personality right off the bat (assuming they even give a flying fart).  What a weirdo I am.

Random impulse shopping has seemed to take the place of my former addictions (though I am too poor for it to ever get too problematic). I did, however, pack an obscenely excessive amount of clothing for this one-month trip, and in my apartment back home, you can’t even tell any clothes are gone. Obviously, the need to have a million items of clothing stems from my need to feel like I have greater odds of finding something to wear that will make me feel comfortable. But the thing is, until I feel comfortable in my own skin, it doesn’t matter how many outfits I have available to choose from- because since I don’t like my body, I really don’t like any of my clothes. Even my stupid, brand-spanking-new neutral shirt.

At the rehearsal, two of the male actors had to lift my friend Barry for one of the more movement-orientated scenes. The director asked him, in front of everyone and very casually, “How much do you weigh?” Barry then responded, in front of everyone with his guesstimated weight. It made me think: how many people take for granted that males are comfortable with that sort of thing? Not that there was any of that in this case…but in general, I think people have different assumptions when it comes to mens bodies versus women’s bodies. Women do make up the vast majority of  people with eating disorders, but there are millions of men in America who suffer from the same thing.  Of course, people have all kinds of assumptions all the way around when it comes to body and appearance. But I bet that men who deal with body image issues and/or eating disorders may even have a stronger stigma/oblivion from outsiders attached. Any of you men out there want to weigh in? (Your thoughts, I mean. Not literally “weigh in”.)

I will say that even Barry, who I would never, ever in a million years think of anything other than slight and fit and perfectly healthy still said something like, “I could probably stand to lose a few pounds,” at the end of the inter-change. Human interaction is so interesting.

I would like one of my upcoming posts to deal with the assumptions people make about weight, body image, appearance and whatnot. Any of you that have written me personally who would be okay with being included in the post, please let me know. I want to post your picture (with a little story about each of you) so people can see how there is absolutely no way to gage what a person is going through on the inside by just looking at their outsides. Basically, you cannot judge a book by it’s cover.

In college, I had two professors herd me into a corner to tell me, very delicately, that I needed to lose weight if I wanted to work in professional companies.  Obviously it was well-intended and undoubtedly true advice (especially in Los Angeles)….but the point I want to make in my next post was that it was the wrong thing for them to do.

If you ever think you need to tell someone they need to lose weight, or even gain weight, let me make something very clear for you: you don’t. They already know. 

But what you don’t know, is what they’re going through, or why they eat, or what health problems they have, or what genetic issues they face, and so on and so forth.

After that conversation with my professors, I immediately packed on about ten to fifteen more pounds. Why? Because the whole reason I’ve carried extra weight almost my entire life is that I deal with such ego-blows by binge eating! If I had the tools to love myself and take care of myself, I certainly would have done it many times over. And at that time (senior year of college), I wanted to be a professional stage actor more than anything in the world. You don’t think I would have lost the weight if it was as simple as incorporating more diet and exercise into my life?

So, yeah. Unless you’re a doctor or dealing with someone with a serious health-related concern, my advice to you is: mind your own business. Your “help” might end up making someone feel (or look) worse.

Back to what I was saying before: if any of you want to be involved- or would be okay with being involved-for that future post, please let me know.

Also, if any of you are up for doing a guest post on any related topic, I would love that as well.

The good news, is I am starting to value myself and take care of my body now, in my thirties. I had another (more polite) professor tell me I should go do something else for ten years or so, and come back to acting when I ‘grew up’, because I was better suited, even then, for the older roles. That hurt, too, at the time…but after a few years of flailing about LA aimlessly, it’s essentially what I did. I will say my goals and desires have changed drastically since he and I had that conversation…but I certainly won’t hate it if he was right.

‘gnite everyone. And if you’re in LA, let’s hang out, okay?

Good Times, Bad Times, you know I’ve had my share….

Yesterday sucked.

I mean, the day itself didn’t suck too badly, but I sucked. I misbehaved. I was a bad, bad girl.

I’ve been carrying around a lot of anxiety lately. Anxiety about my unemployment, anxiety about the extra weight I’ve gained over the last month, anxiety about my upcoming (albeit temporary) move, and so on and so forth.

Anxiety is one of the primary emotions that gets me in a bind when it comes to food. I carry panic (like many people do) in my chest, and sometimes I feel the only way to calm that heart-racing, rib-cage-tightening, apprehensive-feeling of yuckiness is to eat, a lot, and instead, turn the focus of that inner conflict to another area of my body; namely, my stomach.

I’ve been really proud of the fact that I haven’t purged in nearly two months. And although I have been a bit indulgent lately, I mentioned before that I feel letting myself eat what I want, when I want (without thinking too much about what it is or how much I’m eating), is really the only way for me to start to come to terms with what it is my body is truly looking for as far as nourishment goes. I need to learn how to listen to the signs of “I am hungry”, “I am full”, etc, without judgement or criticism.

Unfortunately, as I mentioned two posts ago, this process means I’ve gained some weight recently. And although I am very, very aware that this is a means to an end and am generally taking it somewhat in stride, there is still a part of me that can’t help but want the weight to GET OFF ME NOW.

Like, NOW, NOW.



Anyway, my usual reaction to that sort of frustration is to binge and purge (which of course, I’m trying not to do). Last night found me somewhere in a weird mix of new-Haley and old-Haley, as they battled about how to handle my fried nerves.

This is what happened:

I went to the store. I bought some ‘healthy’ food (eggs, beans, fruit, that sort of thing).

At some point on the drive home, I decided instead to go get one of those cheap $4.99 large pizzas they have at really shittty pizza places. This was a bad idea for many reasons: a) I should be pinching pennies, b) I already had food RIGHT NEXT TO ME, c) a large pizza in my house generally means a large pizza in my mouth, d) $4.99 pizza is really never worth it, is it?

For whatever reason, I talked myself into going. You’ll just have a few pieces and throw the rest away. $4.99 is pocket change. You deserve it, you barely ate anything today. Blah, blah, blah.

When I got home, I ate a few pieces before deciding it was underdone. So I put a few more pieces in the oven and ate them, too, after I got them to the crunchiness level I originally desired. At this point, some voice in my head (‘Cooler Than You’ll Ever Be’, to be specific. He/she is the one that thinks I’m so pathetic, I should just ‘go for it’ during a binge) told me since I already ate so much food, I should just eat the whole pizza. At least one of my voices was looking out for me, because I made a compromise with myself. I’d eat the rest of the pizza, but I wouldn’t chew it and swallow because that meant I would eventually end up throwing it all up.

So, I sat down with my pizza box and my trash can, took bite after bite and spit the chewed food into the garbage.

I know this is absolutely disgusting, but ultimately it really is the healthier option when compared to binging and purging. (As sad as that is).

I got down to two final pieces and had enough. Aren’t I supposed to be overcoming this? The remaining slices I doused with water and threw in the trash, just to make sure I wouldn’t go digging for them later.

This morning, I was so mad at myself (and felt so crappy), I slept in until 11am. That alone was enough to make me depressed for the rest of the day (I hate wasting all those useful morning hours), so I told myself that in order to redeem my actions from the previous night and my 12 hour snooze-fest, I would fast today. Just one day. And then not tell anyone. No one will ever know.

I did fast for breakfast and lunch, but by dinner time, I had talked myself back into eating a regular meal. I can not fix bad behavior with bad behavior. (By the way, by no means am I saying that cleanses or fasting is bad in general…just under my current circumstances).

I’m telling you all to hold myself accountable, and because I know that setbacks are natural. In the future, I need to work on writing these sort of posts while I’m going through the emotions instead of after, and then eventually, maybe I can write beforehand and avoid the mistakes all together.

One day at a time. One day at a time….


Also. Today on Facebook, my friend Cara posted the following picture of me:

My initial rection was horror. Look at my hideous arms! Why did I think I could get away with a tank top! My huge cheeks! Man, I need a tan!  But then, I made myself look for the good instead. Oh, my eyes are striking, aren’t they? I sure like my new haircut. That color looks good on me. Then, I even went to the additional length of making it my profile picture (although I did crop out my arms.)

Hey. I’m not going to be cured overnight.

L.A. Woman

It occured to me that I should write a post while I’m having one of my bad days.

Of course, in those moments, the last thing I want to do is wax philosophical about my love/hate relationship with myself. I generally just want to eat chocolate and watch re-runs of Law and Order SVU. But for those of you following my journey as you simultaneously try to heal your own demons, I think it is unfair for me to present this as all easy-going positivity and light- mostly because that simply isn’t the case. I still have meals where I eat too much. I still have days where I’m tempted to only drink water with lemon and cayenne pepper. I still have moments where I have to talk myself out of spending the entire evening moping in my bed.

This past week has been one of many ups and downs. The constant, though- even in the throws of PMS or mid self-insult- is that I do truly feel a shift happening in my consciousness. My therapist told me to equate where I am right now in my journey with food to where I was when I was only one-to-two months sober. Comparing the shaky hold I had on my sobriety back then to where I am now serves as an easy gage for measuring just how important it is to be patient with the process. I am the type of person who wants to be in control RIGHT NOW, so this is as lot of work in of itself. But I think the major difference is: even in my weaker moments, there is a hope (even a knowing) that truly wasn’t there before.  And that is what matters.

I was offered a chance to play Maria in Twelfth Night, in a production some of my Los Angeles friends are doing in the North Hollywood/Studio City area.  When I got the call, the only thing I could think was, “why the hell not?”, so I said yes. I will be there for the month of September and the first two weekends of October. Part of me is very excited to have the opportunity to hang out with my old Kingsmen and college friends for a few weeks, but there is another part of me that is extremely nervous about the arrangement. When I think back to the girl I was when I was living in LA in my early-to-mid twenties, I picture a total stranger. That girl was so unhappy- so defensive and paranoid and sensitive- I really don’t want to cross paths with her again.

There is a part of me that will always love Los Angeles. Some of my dearest friends live there, some of my favorite restaurants and dive bars and theaters and coffee shops and thrift stores are there. But there is also a darker side to LA that exists in my mind. LA for me is the epitome of yin and yang. It is a town of outright, repeated rejection but also a town of constant, eager hope and anticipation. It is the place where I first lived completely on my own (I heap my Thousand Oaks days into my L.A. days, by the way), and also where I first learned how to drink when no one else was watching. It was nights full of laughter, stimulating intellectual conversation, and some of the best theatre and museums I’ve yet to see in my life, as well as nights of cocaine and booze-filled one night stands and threesomes with total, disgusting, unattractive strangers whose faces to me are now (and maybe even then) a total blur. It is the place I first acknowledged that, yes, I was attracted to women as much as I was attracted to men and therefore could act on those feelings (if only while intoxicated). It is also the place I kicked one of my dearest girlfriends out of my life because I couldn’t handle my confusing feelings for her. It is the place where I spent five months living out of my car…but had enough friends to find places to regularly shower, get warm meals and couch-surf.

To me, Los Angeles can be summed up by that one moment that happens when you’re driving north on the 405 at night, and just before you get to the 101 intersection, you come up over a hill where you can see the entire San Fernando Valley lit up like stars…only to then notice the endless stretch of red brake lights from the path of highway in front of where your car sits.

I went to my first rehearsal last week. I was already down south because I had sold my crepe irons to a pair of sisters in Huntington Beach. The transaction was bittersweet for me, but I am somewhat happy to put that dream to rest, as I ‘trade up” for other ones. Plus, the sisters seemed really excited, so it was cool to be a part of helping someone else begin their crepe-making venture. I stayed down there for a few hours, teaching them how to make batter and use the irons, then they took me to the Farmers Market and showed me where they want to set up their booth. Judging by the size and location of the market, I think they are going to have a much more profitable business than I did.

Anyway, rehearsal came afterwards. I fussed and fidgeted over what to wear. One of my crueler voices was telling me that if Brett and Jason saw my upper arms, they would immediately renege on their casting offer. I ended up deciding on a baggy, 3/4 length sleeve blouse that, in hindsight, probably added an additional ten pounds to my appearance. After the rehearsal, I spent a good hour or two worrying that I had performed terribly and that they were probably having a conversation about how to get out of offering me the part. I then decided that, even though I love acting, I do not like the neurotic crazy person it makes me become, so after I get through this show, I will stop acting and just focus on directing and writing. (How neurotic is that by itself?!). My  sister then pointed out that if I see this ‘conquering’ thing through, perhaps I won’t be as neurotic in real life and therefore not as neurotic as an actor, either. In any case, my nice inner voice was like, “Why don’t you just refrain from making any decisions at all when you’re feeling vulnerable and antsy?” My sister was like, “Um. yeah. That’s what I just said.”

I did have a nice vegan dinner with my friend Elizabeth while I was down there. She has been one of the many rays of sunshine during this process- a constant cheerleader, who has been open and upfront about her own past struggles with food. I am comforted to know that while I am down in LA, I do have a nice network of people who “get it” that I can turn to when needed. And others, though they may not ‘get it’, who still want to uplift me in anyway they can.

In any case, it will be an adventure, to be sure. I have a feeling it will be a good test for me (to stay grounded in uncertain situations) and I know it will feed my creative spirit to work with these artists that I have so-long respected.

For those of you in LA, look me up while I’m down there! I’d love to see as many of you as I can. I am off to Seattle for a wedding this next week, and then will be hitting the city of Angels right after Labor Day. Much thanks to my long-time friend Fred (he’s really family at this point), who is letting me stay in his spare bedroom.

Twelfth Night opens the last weekend of September and runs through the second weekend of October. Shows are Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. More info to come.

Progress and Voices

“There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.”- Pink Floyd


I’ve been a busy little bee this past month, but I’ve been meaning to check in and tell you all something very important:

This is working.

Granted, I have gained a good ten pounds since starting all of this, but I am able to rationally attribute it to being a logical first leg of my journey. I have been making myself get in some exercise every day (which tends to always make me gain weight in the initial stages), I have not once allowed myself to purge this past month, and I have been allowing myself to eat whatever it is I feel like eating without feeling guilty afterwards. The weight gain, therefore, is no big mystery.

Normally, the packing on of ten pounds (TEN WHOLE POUNDS!) would send me into a depressive tail-spin that would only beget more binging and purging, more self-loathing and judgement, and so on and so forth. This time I’m doing my best to shrug it off as part of the deal. This time, I noticed the weight gain, looked around and realized: no one has dropped out of my life, most of my clothing still fits, I still have the use of my arms and legs…and the sky did not fall. Life is ooooo-kay.

Other recent triumphs include:

-getting myself to go a full day wearing a shirt that exposes both my back and arms…in front of people!

-acting in a short film where two other actors had to carry me! (Oh my goodness, that was hard).

-seeing my reflection in the mirror after getting out of the shower one morning and the first inner voice I heard said, “You’re not looking half bad, Haley” (I know that isn’t the most generous compliment in the world, but for a semi-positive voice to beat out one of my many Haley-bashing inner voices is progress).

-forcing myself take my morning walk/jog around Fresno High, where the football and volleyball teams were outside practicing (no small feat).

-hearing a dear friend tell me, “I feel like you only see 25% of your capabilities,” and instead of feeling that usual ache in the pit of my stomach that, if verbalized, would sound something like, “You’re wrong. I’m only worth 25% of the average person. You don’t know my dark secrets,” my inner voice was instead like, “I know! I’m damn sick and tired of it! Get ready because I am coming out!”

Now. Hopefully, you were able to take more from those bullet points than just the fact that I have voices in my head who talk to one another.  They are fascinating, if I do say so myself. Each voice has it’s own fully developed personality and an area or two of my life in which it prefers to interject. For instance,”The Mother Load”- the worst of them all- is a distinctly female voice who likes to employ guilt and shame tactics to make me feel bad about almost all of my life choices, whereas “High School Mean Girl” really only cares about what other women think of me. She is the main one who likes to see me purge after binging. “Cooler than You’ll Ever Be” is asexual, and is the voice who thinks I’ll never have any real friends and is shocked anyone has ever been desperate enough to sleep with me. “Religious Guilt” is a booming male voice; he is still pissed I didn’t save myself for marriage and is certain if I went to church once a week, I wouldn’t be having any of these problems to begin with. I may need to get better nicknames for these guys at some point; at least that’s what “Cooler Than You’ll Ever be” tells me.

There is another voice rambling around up there in that brain of mine. She is meek and mild, probably due to years of being bullied by the other voices. I picture her sitting in the corner, long arms wrapped around her legs,chin on her knees. Every time she lifts her head to quietly speak her mind, the other voices laugh and ridicule her.  “The Mother Load” does so from the vantage point of a chaise lounge in the dead center of this figurative room. She drinks a martini and wears a 1940’s formal gown with pearls. Her hair and make-up are pristine. Her figure is that of an old Hollywood film star.

“Cooler Than You’ll Ever Be” smokes a clove- because he/she is too damn cool for a regular cigarette- and keeps an eye on everyone else while gazing at his/her own reflection in a large bejeweled mirror. He/she wears suspenders and has a large tattoo across his/her chest- it’s a quote by Nietzsche, probably, or someone with an equally cynical world view.

“High School Mean Girl” sits cross-legged on the floor, wearing a cheerleading uniform and low, braided pig-tails tied with shiny ribbon. She smacks bubble-gum while thumbing through old picture albums of me, cackling after viewing every.single.picture. Every once in a while she adds a pitying, “Oh. My. Gawd,” while shaking her head in disgust.

“Religious Guilt” paces back and forth across the room, silently judging all the other voices. He thinks he is far superior and should be the only voice there, with the exception of “The Mother Load”. The two of them tend to agree on most issues.

But the quiet, meek little girl in the corner is getting fed up. She has started to voice her opinion more often, and is learning how to talk back, too. In fact, the other day when she told me, “You’re not looking half bad, Haley,” another voice (I’m pretty sure it was “High School Mean Girl”) immediately chimed in “except for that huge pimple on your right cheek and even bigger age spot on your left one”.  Usually that’s where the conversation might end, but on this particular day, the quiet little girl snapped back “both of those could be covered up easily with foundation, and neither of them have nothing on those bright, shining eyes of yours.”  I think the other voices were shocked into submission, because no one else said anything, and I cried for a good minute straight. Happy tears, of course- a minor victory won against my bathroom mirror and my cruel, antagonizing voices.

I haven’t named the quiet meek girl voice yet.

But I think I’m gonna call her “Haley”.

A friend posted this on Facebook the other day. I thought it was worth sharing 🙂

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