So in lieu of that, please check out my post about my battle with Bulimarexia and stumble it, comment, discuss, pin, Tweet, FB,like, share with anyone that you think might benefit from having this information. We need to change the world for our children. No child deserves to live in a world where we base our worth on our weight, a number on a scale. No child deserves to be put on a diet or suffer shame and ridicule for being overweight. No child should ever feel less than enough. We need to raise awareness. We need to change the world. It starts here. It starts today. It starts with us.

In the meantime, love yourselves, love one another and remember to just breathe.XOXO

Bulimarexia is an eating disorder distinguished by a combination of the symptoms prevalent in both anorexia nervosa and bulimia nervosa; develops primarily in teenage and young adult females. It is hard to treat because of  having symptoms of both diseases.

Patients with bulimarexia usually have poor self esteem and a distorted body image. Women are more likely to develop this condition. The patient engages in an aggressive campaign designed to generate weight loss and falls into a cyclical pattern of disordered eating. This can include prolonged fasting accompanied with the use of medications like diuretics to try and lose weight, followed by a binging and purging cycle where the patient eats large amounts of food and vomits.

Health risks with bulimarexia are considerable. Patients can develop organ damage as a result of the extreme stress on the body along with issues like damage to the enamel on the teeth and reduction in bone mass leading to an increased susceptibility to fractures. Comorbidities like depression can be observed and patients may overexercise, putting additional strain on the body. Patients with bulimarexia can lose weight precipitously and will still report dissatisfaction with their appearance.

The photo above is what it feels like to have an eating disorder diagnosis. You feel alone, sad, your life feels hazy and you become a slave to your disease. You are hungry and unsatisfied. Unsatisfied with your body and there is a hunger within that is never fulfilled. Your disease becomes all consuming.

I hear people throw around the term anorexic and bulimic with no weight. These are two very serious diseases. They are more than simply not eating or binging and purging. They are punishment for a crime we didn’t commit. We punish ourselves for eating; the very thing that is needed to sustain us. It’s self-loathing. Can you imagine how that feels? Can you imagine hating the skin you are in so much, wanting to be in control of your body so badly, that you are willing to go to any lengths and risk any consequence to have that feeling of just being normal?

I do. I had what is now referred to as Bulimarexia for 8 years. I started off like most teen girls, hypersensitive to the criticism of others because of the already established need to be perfect set forth by magazines and television. My dad made a comment in passing that I needed to “run more”. He is an avid runner. This went into my ears, entered my brain and got twisted into ” You are fat. You are not good enough. If you were thinner, you would be better. I could love you more. YOU.NEED.TO.RUN!”

I went on my first diet at 12. I think it was about 5 minutes after my dad made his comment.

This went on for about 6 years. Me fighting my body to keep my curves from becoming too pronounced. By the way, I was 5’7″ and a size 8-10 in high school. I think at my absolute heaviest in high school was about 130 pounds. I thought I was huge.

Then before I left for college, everyone I encountered reminded me of the freshman fifteen (I was too young and naive to realize that the fifteen was caused by alcohol intake not food) and every girl we knew left thin and by Thanksgiving returned, at least fifteen pounds heavier. This scared me to death.

Aside from leaving my family for the first time ever, leaving my boyfriend,my friends, my hometown and going to a new city, living on my own and being completely out of my comfort zone; I felt out of control. There was no way that I was letting my weight get out of control. I had to control it. I had to control something. I restricted my calories to about 600 calories a day (max)  and proceeded to throw up everything I took in (including water) and exercise for at least 2 hours a day. I remember heading down to the dorm gym in the basement at 10 pm, alone, and not returning to my room until midnight. I did a lot of things alone in those days. This started the fall I turned 18.

This is Bulimarexia

This continued for 8 years.

I was caught by a friend of mine once the first year. My parents found out. All the baggy sweatshirts and loose jeans can’t hide a 20 pound weight loss on an already average sized body. I had to return home from school mid-semester.

Even after I was caught, I never quit the bulimarexia. By that point, it was my trusted friend. I relied upon it. It was my routine. It was my safety. I didn’t care about the ramifications. I was in too deep to stop.

I got sneakier. I learned to pretend to eat and move my food around on my plate, eat off of smaller plates. I learned how to vomit silently and hide the evidence. I learned what was easier to digest and what tasted better coming up, what got hung in your throat and what did not. I learned a lot of ways to do this that I won’t share here because it would be irresponsible for me to share the intricacies of bulimarexia with you here. I don’t know who could be reading this and I refuse to give detailed instruction on how to kill yourself.

Eventually, I allowed myself to eat more and vomit more. It became the norm for me to vomit 5 times a day; some days as many times as 10 but usually no less than 5.  I never really ever binge ate. Binging, to me, was weak. It lacked self-control. I remember being tired a lot, cold ( bad circulation and no meat on my bones), hungry (always hungry), puffy (my face would look puffy from constantly throwing up) and having scars on my hands from involuntarily biting down in the middle of a purge. Honestly, I’m surprised I have any enamel left on my teeth at all.

I remember people constantly trying to feed me and telling me that I looked sick. Most people had no idea that I had bulimarexia. I knew how to keep a secret. Every single time they said “you look like you are sick”, I felt validation..someone thought I was skinny. A concerned boyfriend once told me that I was getting too thin. I accused him of cheating. I preferred to give up the relationship with him than give up the bulimarexia. This was a serious relationship, not a casual boyfriend. It didn’t matter.

I stopped the behavior when I was 25. I will write about that in another post.

Bulimarexia makes you defensive. Starvation makes you mean. You’ll do anything to protect the disease. You take comfort in the control. I can tell you about this now because I am not that same girl. I am trying to not let my number on the scale rule my life. I’ve not starved or purged in almost 15 years. In fact, it will be 15 years this fall. I still have times when I consider it for a moment, but then I look at my daughters and I know I want to live. I want to be a good example for them and I can’t do that with disordered eating. I’m sharing this so you can understand that eating disorders are more than someone simply choosing to be skinny. They are not terms to be thrown around lightly because the weight and price of eating disorders is death. I was lucky, I survived my bulimarexia others do not.

Bulimarexia the Consequence of Impossible Standards

Photo Credit

Pin It

Motherhood is finding bliss in the mundane

Embracing Motherhood in the Quiet Moments ~ Those few and far between moments of motherhood when I can drink in the love of my children and fully cherish my role as mom. In these quite moments of mothering, as I lie here between my two little girls in bed; both holding a hand, cuddled deep into me and making me the center of their universe. I inhale the sweet smells of their childhood and grip their tiny sticky hands more tightly than I should and exhale with a sigh of appreciation at the gift of these two creatures. How I want these moments to last forever. Before I had my girls, I never realized how dynamic the mother/child relationship actually was.

I look at my 6 year old, lying to my right, and I see a 16 year old looming. I can feel her childhood slipping through my fingers. As she lies there in her slumber, her angelic face relaxed, no sassing in sight, I can lose myself in that small face forever. She is so pleasing, imaginative and clever, the type of kid who simultaneously amazes and inspires you. She looks at the entire world with a child’s naivete and wonder. My sweet girl is the kind of child who leaves random sticky notes for me to find with  “I Love you Mome” written on them in the endearing handwriting of a child. I always seem to find them just when I need them the most. In many ways, she is my savior. How I wish I could protect her from the hurts of the world and from the cruel realities and injustices that exist beyond our doorstep. Soon she will be taller than I am, but when I look at her, I always see the tiny newborn that they placed into my arms on the day that I became a mother. The day that my life changed forever. I may barely be able to carry her off to bed any more but I will always carry her in the space that she occupies in my heart. It was made for her. For as long as I take breath into my lungs, she will reside there.

Motherhood is finding awe in the ordinary

My 4 year old, lying in bed to my left, with her night mask on, looking like the world’s sweetest sleep bandit. How I wish I could keep her small forever. She brings joy to my world on a daily basis and I am eternally grateful for being allowed to be her mother. She is so strong, sensitive, and loud. Yet, shy when meeting someone for the first time. She is refreshingly, near brutally honest. This is one of her most endearing qualities. She becomes more and more like me every day. When she was born she was so round and full and now before me lies a waif like angel. She was once dark and covered in curls, now she is ethereal and light. She is ever changing and ever surprising and certainly, keeps us on our toes but she is like the air that I breathe; she sustains me. She gives me hope and happiness just to see her smile. She makes the world a better place just by being in it.

In this moment, I realize that I need to be more present. These moments of motherhood are moving by quickly, years are passing like days and before I know it, I will not be able to lie here at night and watch them sleep; hear them breathe, know they are safe, fully employ this honor of being their mother. Motherhood has made me a better person in the world. I’m not afraid to say it out loud, my daughters are my greatest accomplishment and joy. I know that may sound antiquated but as I lie here looking at their tiny faces, so gentle, peaceful and perfect; I know that I have changed the world. I have made a difference. These girls are a gift to the world. They are the change that I want to see in the world.

These quiet moments of motherhood inspire me to embrace all that I have been given. How has motherhood changed you? How has motherhood inspired you to go after your own dreams?

Motherhood makes Ordinary women ExtraOrdinary

 Pin It

Wine & Fashion go together like Love and Marriage

Wine Drinkers and Winners ~First, I’d like to say thank you to all of you who entered the Karen Kane $100 Gift Certificate giveaway. It was a great success and the winner is Anna Pry! Congratulations Anna! There is so many beuatiful pieces to choose from, I’m sure the hardest part will be trying to decide which one to use your gift certificate on.

If you didn’t win, I am sorry but remember Karen Kane has extended a 25% discount for all of The TRUTH about Motherhood readers; good from January 13, 2012 to February 13,2012. Just use the promo code TRUTHFULMOMMY! You know you want to.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

I have been sick all week and, as such, have not had a chance to get my fashion on. Sure, I could have just  pulled an amazing outfit off  of Polyvore.com or Pinterest but I like to have hands on experience with the pieces before I tell you to love them. So, in lieu of fashion this week, I am sharing with you something that is always in fashion..WINE and the Shit Wine Drinkers Say. Besides, when you are holding a glass of wine in your hand, don’t people just look infinitely cooler? I think it’s the wine goggles. This video is Soooooooooo Good!

Shit Wine Drinkers Say

I think we should all pass this post around #wineparty tonight so that everyone can get a good chuckle. I promise, “Not that I’m a wine snob” but this video is spot on.

Wine is always in Fashion

*Remember, here at The TRUTH about Motherhood I love my wine but I don’t advocate dangerous behaviors such as texting while driving ,texting while drinking, driving while drinking, dressing little girls like hookers, or playing with rabid dogs. So be cool, stay in school, drink your wine after the kids go to bed and not while driving.Pin It

Calling people illegals is dehumanizing

” Illegals” are not okay~ Earlier this month, the Charlotte Observer published a story about the birth of Tommy Arias, the first baby born in 2012 in Charlotte, North Carolina. The article sparked an outpouring of hate from some readers.This really gets me hot because another beautiful brown baby was born a day later, my nephew, and I don’t understand how something so precious could incite racism? How could the birth of any baby ( black, white, brown, purple, green, yellow) spark hate? The hate came from the color of the baby’s skin and the assumption that the parents were illegal immigrants, prompting an explosive use of the term illegals or the i-word for polite society.

The entire immigration situation in the United States has been ridiculous for quite some time now. I am Mexican. I am a first generation American. My father was born in Mexico. Just because my father is of brown colored skin does not give anyone the right to assume that he is in the country illegally or to call him derogatory names such as illegal, wet back, Spic, Bean eater, illegal aliens (WTF, we’re not from outer space) and all the other wonderful names that people come up with for Latinos nor does it give people the right to comment so heinously on a newborn baby. I don’t give a flying fuck where you fall on immigration legislation. People are not inanimate objects, they have thoughts and feelings and they can hear your words and be hurt by your actions, even when you think they don’t understand. Believe me, they do understand. English is taught in the schools and not as an elective, as a requirement.

Here’s what happened. A photo of new mom Lucero Arias, 19, and baby Tommy, was published along with the article, which did not reference Ms. Arias’ immigration status, or national origin. The piece, however, did mention that Tommy’s grandfather called from Mexico City. How asinine is this? My children’s grandfather calls from Mexico on certain occasions at certain times of the year because he’s retired and that’s where he goes when it’s cold. Besides, would there have been such an issue if  baby Tommy’s grandfather had called from Spain? Italy?Australia? Germany? Japan? Africa? I’ve got news for you, we were all immigrants (unless you are a native American) at one time in our history. Some of us just got here sooner than the others. But make no mistake, we are all descendants of immigrants; illegal or otherwise. We are not all “illegals” and no one deserves to be called by that name.

“illegals” is derogatory and hurtful

That was enough for the comments section to fill up with anti-Latino, anti-immigrant rants, causing the Observer to shut down commenting for the article. The paper also added this note: “Comments have been disabled because of repeated violations of site policies. Please refrain from profanity, obscenity, spam, name-calling or attacking others for their views.”

They had to disable comments because of all the venom that was being spewed about a baby who happened to have a Grandfather who called from Mexico, really? Do people just wait for any excuse to hate other people? It’s like a license to treat people like inanimate objects because they are Latino. Not every Latino is Mexican, and not every Latino is here undocumented, and not every Latino looks Latino so you should probably watch what ignorant comments will be coming out of your mouth because we come in all different shades; including white.

According to Observer readers and Drop the I-Word supporters, the attacks included the derogatory i-word and “anchor baby” slur. Jess George, the Executive Director of The Latin American Coalition, wrote the Observer asking them to Drop the I-Word. They didn’t drop it, but they published the letter, which also sparked hateful reader comments, including these: Way to be an asshole Observer!

” … When kids see lawbreakers get away with their crimes they think they can as well and kids know what illegals are. There IS a difference between Human Rights and US Citizens Rights … “

“Thats right. When an illegal takes a job, he displaces a citizen. When the citizen collects unemployment and goes on food stamps, we pay. This is just one hidden cost of employing illegals.”

“… The way to stop “stereotyping” is to have no illegals here, only legal Latinos. Where could any U.S. citizen sneak over a foreign border and expect a free ride?”

The incident is worrisome, as Charlotte, the city with the largest Latino population in the state, and host for this year’s Democratic National Convention, has also seen a rise in anti-immigrant, ant-Latino bullying. In a span of two weeks at the end of 2011, at least seven cases of anti-Latino bullying in Charlotte public schools were reported to the Latin American Coalition.

The term “illegal immigrant,” which many journalists are having a hard time giving up, is not too far of a stretch from describing people simply as “illegals,” which the Associated Press, New York Times, and the Observer itself have deemed pejorative. Both terms are dehumanizing and further the concept that a person’s being can be illicit. “Illegal immigrant” is not even legal terminology; the Board of Immigration Appeals does not use it, and neither does the Supreme Court. It’s not constitutional or precise language not only because the term convicts people, denying due process. But also because people are never found by courts to be “illegal.”

Can we please stop using this insulting term? How about Latinos? Mexican Americans? Mexicans? You wouldn’t use the n-word, don’t use the i-word. Humans should not be reduced to being called “illegals” it implies that the person is breaking the law by their very existence. It’s derogatory, it’s mean and it’s not going to be tolerated any longer. Throat Punch to anyone who thinks this term is ok. Throat Punch to anyone who uses it. Throat Punch to anyone who can hate a child for the color of it’s skin. Throat punch to the human who can not recognize the humanity in the eyes of another human, even if those eyes are dark brown and happen to belong to a Mexican.

Hope you will link up your Throat Punch Thursday posts with me. I wanted to extend a personal invite to all of you to link up any posts in which you air a grievance, call out any asshatery,or just dole out a well deserved throat punch to one of societies shortcomings or political douche canoes. If not this week, I do it EVERY single Thursday and would love for any or all of you to join in! All you have to do is grab the Throat Punch Thursday button ( listed under the “about” tab at the top of the page), put it in your blog post and link up. If you’d like to stay in the Throat Punch know, I’d love it if you would email or RSS subscribe ( as GFC will stop working soon). People are no more illegals than they are felloniouses, unconstitutionals, or forbiddens ( do you see how stupid the misuse of these words truly are?)

Just say no to the term Illegals

 Pin It

Being a Mommy Changes Everything

• If you have a luxury item that you just have to have… a snazzy pair of Louboutins, a Berkin or that hot new Burberry coat…GET IT NOW! That extra money in your pocket, is never “extra”. Soon you will have to save it. You WILL need it!
• Sleep is the most important thing in your world. Nap, often. Sleep in. Cuddle your partner. Sleep sideways. Linger in bed doing the crossword as the birds sing on a Sunday morning.
• Enjoy the silence. Quiet will never be so quiet again. Just be. Still. Silent. Look at the sky and imagine all the endless possibilities of the world.
• You are never going to look this good again…EVER. Never. Run naked through the streets. Stay naked. Jump on trampolines. Show your belly. Show off that derriere. Appreciate the ebb and flow of that body. You are more gorgeous than you can appreciate right now.
• There is no such thing as perfect Mommy or even a perfect person. It doesn’t exist. Don’t even look for it. Don’t try to reach it. Just be the best version of you.The one that makes you proud to be alive and happy with your place in the world.
• Pamper yourself. Get your hair cut, dyed, highlighted. Style your hair. Go for a massage. Pedicure. Manicure. Get that facial hair waxed and those eyebrows threaded. Put on make up. Be beautiful.Feel beautiful. You are beautiful!

Being a Good Mommy is hard work

• Enjoy your food. Eat it slowly. Chew it. Enjoy it while it is still hot.Try new things. Savor the flavor and texture of everything that enters into your mouth.Soon your Mommy fare will be shared, luke warm food, usually leftover on a child’s plate.
• Try everything. Have no fear. Live your life with no regrets. No one ever died wishing they had tried less or worked more.
• Love like your heart has NEVER been broken.Dance like no one is watching. Sing at the top of your lungs.Live out loud!
• Enjoy your solitude. You will NEVER be alone again. Take long baths. Read books.Turn the radio up as loud as you like. Watch rated R movies. Go shopping.
• Enjoy your partner. Go on dates. Whisper sweet nothings. Linger in one another’s arms. Hold hands.Kiss long and often.Look into their eyes. Don’t rush anything. Abide within the moment together.
• Be prepared to love someone more than you EVER though possible. Be prepared to love someone so much that it hurts. Take the love that you have for the person that you currently love most in the world, double it and then multiply that by infinity…that’s how much a Mommy loves her baby.

Mommy; the hardest job you’ll ever Love

*I originally published this piece on Moonfrye back in October but I am super sick today and I’m sure many of you did not get the chance to read it.I think every woman needs to know these things before they become a Mommy.

 Photo CreditPin It

Kindly STFU, I can parent my own kids. NO how to parenting intervention needed

We are in a situation where we are currently living with the Big Guy’s parents. It is very generous that they allow us to live in their house while our house is on the market. It really is and I truly appreciate the sacrifice they are making. We tried the whole commuter marriage for two years and Sunday’s just became too much to bear. But lately I see the lines becoming blurred. It’s slowly but surely evolving into a too many cooks in the kitchen scenario.

I’ve noticed my MIL raising her voice a little more at my kids lately. She’s taken it upon herself to tell a 4 and 6 year old that they need to help out around the house more. What? 4 and 6, people not 14 and 16. They already set the table, help load the dishwasher and feed the dog. This seems like a lot to me, aside from picking up their toys. After a particularly aggressive conversation between her and the girls my husband stepped in and reminded her of their ages. She responded ,”Well, I just thought I’d teach them some responsibility.” Is she implying that we do not discipline them or are too permissive in our parenting?

How to parenting interventions are Most always Unwanted

I can feel the judging eyes and impatient stares when the children misbehave. I feel like my every parenting move is under scrutiny. How do I stop this? I ‘ve tried the firm yet gentle approach but my efforts seems to go unnoticed.

Sitting at the dinner table the other night, I watched in muted shock as she scolded my children for not eating everything on their plate. I am trying to teach them to eat until they are full and then stop. I have rules that they have to eat certain amounts of fruit, vegetables and milk. They are never obligated to finish carbs. In fact, I prefer they not. But she stepped in and reprimanded them for NOT eating the 3 helpings of carbs in its entirety.

I feel like my hands are tied because of the situation we are in and I really prefer not to be homeless. How do you tell your MIL that her, assumed, well meaning how to parenting interventions are stepping on your parenting toes? I know she loves them and she’s a good parent, after all, she did raise the Big Guy and he’s pretty freaking amazing. But these are our children and we are the only authoritative figures that should be parenting our children. I appreciate wise how to parenting tips from someone who’s been there already but I feel we can parent effectively all on our own.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think she is doing this to be nasty or undermine our parenting or even intentionally. I just think she thinks she is doing what is best. She’s a fixer. If there’s a perceived problem she fixes it. I am more concerned with the effect that it is having on the girls. They are getting confused about who is in charge. My 4 year old told me the other day that is was Grandma’s house and she makes the rules. Which we all know is true except for when you live at Grandma’s house. In any case, Mommy and Daddy always have supreme reign over the children. Even worse, I am afraid that going from being the visiting, doting Grandmother who loves to spend time with them to the Grandma who they see every day and she reprimands and has no patience for them may hurt the relationship between her and our girls.

Am I looking a parent resource gift horse in the mouth or am I right in feeling like my parenting skills are being questioned? We all know how hard it is to parent in the first place, try doing it with your every parenting move being under a microscope. Has this ever happened to you? Has a parent or well intentioned family member or friend stepped in and parented on your behalf, without your permission? What did you do? How would you handle this sticky how to parenting situation?

No how to parenting assistance needed

Photo Credit

Size 8, 12, and 14

I joined Weight Watchers on Friday the 13th~ I was inspired by my good friend, Lori of @mommyfriend. Her honesty and bravery have given me the strength to finally be honest with you about my biggest fear. My weight. I have been terrified of the the scale all of my adult life. More petrifying was that someone, anyone, would find out the number on the scale. Even though I may look overweight (as you can plainly see) I’ve become accustomed to pushing, pulling, nipping, tucking, spanxing and hiding the “fluff”. It’s amazing the power of a shaper these days. Those suckers must be made of of some super strength material from the planet Krypton. But when you remove the spanx, the fluff remains, no matter what angel you try to position yourself. Suck in, lay down, to the right, to the left; no matter what…it’s still there.

Weight is more than a Number on the Scale

I’ve done Weight Watchers once before. I lost 25 pounds, which sounds like a lot but I had a lot more to lose. Then life happened, as it always does, and we moved half way across the country. I missed my Weight Watchers group. I missed the support. I tried other meetings. I tried a couple different places. But it wasn’t the same. I wasn’t the same. My state of mind wasn’t the same. I was stressed and irritable. I turned to my old friend for comfort, and I gained the 25 pounds I had lost plus another 11. I was the heaviest I had ever been in my entire life and I felt miserable. I feel miserable.

I felt fat. I felt slovenly. I felt ugly. I felt out of control. I wanted to hide from the world. I started avoiding social situations out of fear of the audible gasp at the gain. Or worse, the disappointment in people’s eyes from gaining back what I had worked so hard to lose. I felt like a failure. I don’t do well with failure. I am the person who succeeds at whatever she sets her mind to so gaining this weight was a giant failure. A black mark on my very soul. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve never stopped trying to lose weight, but it’s not been the priority lately ( back went out, severely sprained my ankle, and holidays). Complaining seems to have been a lot easier.

I spiraled deeper and deeper into my black hole. I felt as if I were smothering beneath the weight of the guilt, the sadness, the grief of not having more control over my health, my body, my life.

I am more than my weight

I have started this journey so many times that it makes my head spin to think about it. I feel like the little boy who cried wolf, but instead I’m the woman who cried diet. No one believes it anymore. Have you done this? Broad sweeping declarations , “Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life. I WILL LOSE THE WEIGHT!” The problem is, even I stopped believing it was possible. Then lately, people and inspiration have been put into my life to prove that it is possible.

I know some of you know exactly what I mean. Some of you don’t have to because you are naturally thin and to you I say, “I am so freaking jealous and I hope you never know the misery of having to lose weight.”

Last week, I joined Weight Watchers. Last week, I weighed myself, Friday the 13th, 2012, and I weighed 243 pounds. ( I will pause while you pick yourself back up off of the floor). No, I am not 8 foot tall. I am 5’7″. I am very overweight. I wear a size 18 pants. I am not telling you this because I am proud. In fact, not even my closest friends or sisters know my actual weight. I am sharing this with you because I REFUSE to be a slave of that number anymore. I will no longer hide in the shadows of life because of the number on the scale. It has never defined me but it has kept me from broadening my definition lately. No.MORE! In my first week I lost 5.8 pounds.I am very proud of that small accomplishment of losing that weight.

I’m telling you now because I am encouraging all of you to stop defining yourself by the fucking number on the scale. You are a bigger and better than that. Your value is not in the size of your pants. By telling you my number, I have taken away it’s power over me. It’s not a secret anymore. I AM changing that number. It might take me months, or even years, but I’m not stopping. I can’t. Not this time. This time it’s personal. I want to be healthy to be around to play with my children, dance at their weddings with the Big Guy and chase my children’s children around. I want to be able to dance my ass off on my 40th birthday this September in something cute and short; not the size of a toddler bed sheet.

I don’t know what’s lit this fire under my ass and compelled me to be so freaking honest with you, maybe it’s the new sassy hair cut or maybe I am simply tired of trying to hide my weight from the world. I am more than just a number on a scale. I am all kinds of awesome but I do want to change the packaging. I want to be as proud of the packaging as I am of the gift inside. I hope my honesty inspires you to free yourself from the weight of your world and face your fears; whether it be a number on the scale, an unrealized dream or anything that brings down the happiness quotient in your life. What is the greatest weight in your life? Will you join me in freeing yourself from the weight in your world?

Weight, you have no power over me

Photo Credit Pin It

Fashion and Hair ~This week’s fashion Friday is all about the hair. Sure, it’s nice to have a hot outfit on but the hair is truly the glue that ties it all together. Shit hair with a hot outfit can destroy the whole thing. If you think I’m exaggerating, try a ponytail with a hot red dress.Not sexy, just sad. Maybe the look could be pulled off with one of those loose and sexy ponys. You know the I just fornicated ponytail that looks like someone just tried to rip it off your head in the heat of the moment as you rolled around in bed. Yeah, that one is sexy. The one we throw our hair into when we drop the kids off in our pajamas…not so much.

My Hair on my 38th Birthday, Fall of 2010

Long, shiny and layered has always been my preferred hairstyle. All boys like long hair, right? Long hair is sexy. Men love to run their fingers through long hair. Isn’t this in the handbook for tween girls somewhere?

I felt pretty with all that long, flowing hair. When I wore it big and curly, I felt even more sexy. But then sometime in the last 6 years, not coincidentally around the same time I became a Mommy, all that beautiful hair spent 97% of the time in a ponytail. What am I, 6?

Sure on special occasions, I fixed it and most of the time it looked awesome. But I have naturally curly hair and a LOT of it, and it’s strong willed and stubborn (consider the head it’s attached to) and has a mind of its own sometimes. So some days it would look great and other days it looked like I had gotten into a wrestling match with my hair…and I clearly lost.

Then all that ponytailing made my hair start to break off, couple that with stress making it fall out. There you have me, forehead turning into a fivehead and my tub looking like kittens were trying to escape down the drain each time I shower. Pssst, I’m pretty sure all that hair boycotting my head decided to be political and occupy my floor. Then this fall, this started happening….

My hair in the fall 2011, a bit matronly and unruly.

The hair completely boycotted ME! Sure, it doesn’t look awful but this was a good day. This was no ponytail.But NO CONTROL. Any other day of the week, I can assure you that I was wearing yoga pants, a t-shirt, and a ponytail. It made me feel ugly. It made me want to be invisible. My hair had always been a source of beauty on me. We all have them, parts and pieces of who we are that we love and adore. For me they were as follows, in no particular order; intelligence, humor, hair, eyes, teeth, boobs and legs and a good fashion sense. But everything else had to come first and I devolved into someone who couldn’t project self confidence and worth if she felt ugly and sub par.

They say that every great change throughout history has started with a very small step. Yesterday, I took that step.

My Hair Today

I haven’t had a haircut in over 6 months and not a decent stylist since before Abbi was born ( she’s 4).  I’ve been band aiding my soul with just getting by. Meantime, my self confidence has been being chipped away at an alarming rate. I made up my mind, I bought a hairstyle magazine, found the one I liked, asked siri for the top stylist in town and voila…new amazing stylist. She was intuitive and receptive to me and what I wanted but reminded me of what I needed. This is the cut I decided on. We cut off 8 inches of my hair yesterday in that Aveda Salon and sent it away to Lockes of Love ( a charity very close to my heart because of my nephew who suffered from leukemia .)

I left the salon feeling lighter, not only freed from the weight of the hair that had been cut off but of the weight of having to figure out what to do with said hair. My hair is currently too short to pull into a pony. I chose this hairstyle because it forces me to fix my hair and form a new habit. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that with this new cut, color and style; I don’t feel like just these precious little angels Mom. I feel like a woman again. I feel feisty, sassy and ,dare I say it, even sexy.My husband absolutely adores it and hasn’t been able to keep his hands off the back, as it is shorter and textured. He told me that he was afraid to put his hands in my long hair for fear of messing it up or getting tangled up in it.

I just want to tell all of you beautiful ladies, who have been wanting to change your hair, the color, the length, or drastically cut it shorter; GO FOR IT! It was so liberating. I feel like there’s nothing I can’t do. I feel like when I go out and people are staring at me, they are staring at how hot my hair is. It just screams run your fingers through my hair. Unlike before, they were staring and thinking to themselves, poor girl really needs to run a brush through that nest.

This haircut was like going to college, it totally liberated me from being who I allowed myself to be preconceived as. I’m happy, I am optimistic, I am sexy, I am Sassy, and I am feisty and loud about the whole thing! What a difference a hair can make.

Don’t forget the giveaway for the Karen Kane $100 GC is still open until next Friday. Please see here for direction and how to enter via. Raffle-copter. My new hair looks stunning with my Karen Kane vest, a long t and  well-fitting, good pair of jeans.

Judgmental Doctor You Suck

Tonight’s Throat Punch is brought to you by a judgmental doctor. Don’t get me wrong some of my favorite people in the world are doctors; my brother in law, one of my best friends to name a few. I realize that they are, in fact, human; just like you and I. But I expect a standard of professionalism when they are practicing medicine. What they say at home, that’s between them and their HIPAA conscience. But when a doctor brings assumption and judgment into the exam room, we have a problem .

I’ve been having persistent coughing fits for the past 2 weeks and decided to go to the local RediMed, as I don’t have a GP here yet. The doctor walked in the exam room ( after I had waited 2 hours to see her) with a less than enthusiastic attitude, as if I had done something to deserve to be sick. It was apparent from the moment she walked into the room looking through her nose at me, that she was a judgmental doctor.  Worse still a cold bitch, as the room dropped 10 degrees when she walked in.

She began by asking me the standard questions. How long have you had the cough? Are you feeling any sinus pressure? Are you feeling any pressure in your ears? I say yes. She asked, “Pressure? or PAIN?” Her tone was as if I had misunderstood her question. I had not. She had a very thick accent. I’ve grown up immersed in thick accent as my fathers mother tongue is not English. I don’t usually have an issue understanding accents but hers was quite thick.

Judgmental Doctor You are No Lady

“Do you have any allergies?” Yes, I have seasonal allergies.

“When you cough are you bringing anything up? Yes (I’m assuming she was referring to phlegm).

This is when it all fell apart.

At this point she is looking at me, as if I have totally done something wrong, “You really have to watch what you are eating late at night!”  I eat at 5:30 every night.

I have no f*cking idea what she is talking about.

“You must cut back on the greasy food! Take some Prilosec and stop eating these kinds of food!!!! ” She’s practically yelling. I feel as if I am on trial.

“Stop drinking all the sugar, sodas and coffee at night. You need to watch what you eat so you don’t destroy your esophagus with your unhealthy eating habits.”

I don’t!I don’t! I don’t!

What the f*ck is she talking about? Since when did a cough warrant a scolding on non-existent eating habits?

Judgmental Doctor Say What

Then it hits me like a ton of rocks hurled by sizists at the fat kid. Somehow, when I was explaining to her that when I lie down at night the coughing fits get worse, she heard “I’m a big fat asshole who has acid reflux because I can’t control my binge eating at night. I drink 2 liters of soda and pots of coffee with reckless abandon because I just don’t give a shit about my health!”

She was being very condescending and rude.

I know I am out of shape. I am heavier than I ever wanted to be.

I DO NOT HAVE ACID REFLUX.

I HAVE NEVER HAD HEARTBURN. I don’t even know what it feels like.

I came in for COUGHING FITS not a judgmental doctor with a side of asshole bedside manner. Who did she think she was?

I seldom drink caffeine, never at night. I’ve never been a binge eater. I’m a restrictor. To add insult to injury, I’m pretty sure that the reason I am as heavy as I am now is partly from all the damage I did to my body when I was in the throes of my 8 year battle with eating disorders. Doesn’t this bitch know I have body dysmorphic disorder?

Of course she doesn’t, she’s just the freaking drive thru of doctors and she doesn’t have my full medical records. That insensitive bitch just used her judgmental doctor powers on someone who has to talk herself into accepting herself on a daily basis. I’ve never felt so ugly in my life.

I was deflated. Enraged. Wanted to throat punch her and cry simultaneously. On top of everything else, it’s shark week and I’m not feeling especially happy with excessive water weight that I’m holding.

Thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Kevorkian.My throat Punch goes to the wicked stupid, judgmental doctor with the sizist attitude and atrocious bedside manor.

Hope you will link up your Throat Punch Thursday posts with me. I wanted to extend a personal invite to all of you to link up any posts in which you air a grievance, call out any asshatery,or just dole out a well deserved throat punch to one of societies shortcomings or political douche canoes. If not this week, I do it EVERY single Thursday and would love for any or all of you to join in! All you have to do is grab the Throat Punch Thursday button ( listed under the “about” tab at the top of the page), put it in your blog post and link up. If you’d like to stay in the Throat Punch know, I’d love it if you would email subscribe ( as GFC will stop working soon). Just say No to a Judgmental doctor.

Photo Credit