Child Abuse~ Not sure what’s going on lately. I thought that I had escaped my 39th birthday unscathed but something has happened. But here I am pouring my heart out again.
Category: Mental Health
How my Diagnosis Saved My Life
The Diagnosis was Bipolar 1.There are things in our lives that we
wantneed to keep to and for ourselves. It is an innate self-preservation instinct. But there is a time and place for everything in this world. My time has come. I need to come out of the shadow of my diagnosis. I am more than a label. (more…)
How to Survive Shark Week without Someone Losing a Limb
Shark week is not my favorite week of the month. Shark week (menstruating and PMS, in case you were confused) is just one more thing that I have to deal with on my already full Mommy plate. Shark week is that one week of the month when my entire body rages against me and decides to attempt yet another mutiny. Ain’t no mutiny like a shark week mutiny! Damn you, shark week!
Kids, this is your mom before shark week.
But then something happens. My head begins to spin. My breasts ache. I am ravenous to eat things like hot fudge sundaes with jalapeno chips at will. My ovaries feel as if a tiny angry troll is squeezing them. I’m bloated like a dead fish (no correlation to the smell, I smell like a summer’s day, damn it!) and as if by some cruel joke, it’s the one week of the entire month that my husband finds me completely sexually irresistible (well, that and ovulation week. Conspiracy, I tell you!).
My ovaries feel as if a tiny angry troll is squeezing them. I’m bloated like a dead fish (no correlation to the smell, I smell like a summer’s day, damn it!) and as if by some cruel joke, it’s the one week of the entire month that my husband finds me completely sexually irresistible (well, that and ovulation week. Conspiracy, I tell you!). New baby? Who dis? Ain’t nobody got no time for that.
Unfortunately for him, I am like a hybrid between a Praying Mantis and Black Widow spider. All I want to do is rip his head off and eat my young, not necessarily in that order. Pretty much, if you breathe you are in danger of incurring my bloody, hormonal rage and for some reason, I swear my teeth get bigger.
This is Your Mom on Shark Week
For your safety, I am listing here a few ways to survive Shark Week without Losing a limb;
- No sudden movements or loud sounds, Mama usually has a migraine during shark week. Move slowly and quietly for optimal chance of survival rate.
- For the love of God, please don’t hide my Diva Cup or flush all the tampons. I’m talking to you fruit of my loins, this could result in Mommy’s head spinning and/or completely popping off.
- Have chocolate and carbs in the house. A pizza with a side of French fries and a Ding Dong usually does the trick. And NO, don’t remind me that I’m on a diet. There is no reasoning with me when I am on shark week.
- Don’t ask me any stupid questions, like where is the milk? It’s in the fridge! Do you want to die? And please pick up your f*cking socks! I’m not your maid. Would you like me to shove them down your throat? ( This is directed at the Big Guy, not the children. I pick up their socks, with no threat of choking them out, on the regular.)
- Don’t look at me sideways, it will surely not bode well for you. I know you will be tempted to test this theory, but just be aware that during shark week, better men have died for less.
- Don’t comment on how tight my jeans are or the extra head-sized pimple that has sprouted on my forehead. I can see it. I’m menstruating, not blind and I am hyper aware of every single flaw this week.
- Don’t expect me to try on clothes, especially a bathing suit for a vacation. Don’t even ask. You will be wasting your time and is your life worth it?
Shark Week, is that eye roll worth dying over?
- Don’t take my measurements for any reason under the sun. Seriously, Mr. Personal Trainer, I know you are a man and don’t understand but I don’t need to know how many inches the water retention is adding to my body. My jeans are cutting me in half; believe me, I’m already aware.
- Don’t be my Mother or Mother-in-law, anything you do while I am on shark week will leave me exasperated and annoyed, usually taken as passive aggression and held against you for the week. I would recommend marking your calendars and not calling me or making eye contact at all that week.This is more for your benefit than my sanity. I promise.
- Don’t ask me to step on the scale, this is pretty much any day of the month but it could have dire consequences for you during this week.
- Don’t raise your voice at me, not even moderately. You can try it. But I’m pretty sure that I will have snatched the snark right out of your mouth before you get to the second word. But, hey, it’s your life.
- Don’t touch my boobs or ask for any kind of “service” for you. I’m dying over here. Why should you be having a good time?
- Which reminds me, little one, please don’t ask Mommy for a baby brother on this week. It truly is the furthest thing from my mind. Birth is pain and I’m in enough right now with the troll squishing my ovaries, my sore boobs and cramps. Ask me in a couple weeks, when the water weight is gone and I‘m feeling frisky (this tends to happen during ovulation week. See, conspiracy I tell you!)
- And under no circumstances, ever ask me if I’ve got PMS? Just observe and know it, that’s enough to save your life. I don’t need your commentary. I know I’m on shark week. I don’t need to know that you know and think I’m being a hormonal bitch I already know that.
- Your best bet for surviving Shark week is to stay still, be quiet and hope that I don’t see you. In 3-5 days I will be back to my sweet self but for the next few days, stay out of the water.
What is your best tip for surviving shark week in your home? Has anyone ever been seriously maimed during that week? What was there crime? Can’t wait to hear your stories in the comments, Misery enjoys company…especially this week. Oh and for an extra dose of The TRUTH I am guest posting at Blogging Dangerously Where sex in the city meets married with children today. If you are not already familiar with Blogging Dangerously, go now and check it out. Kit is an amazingly funny and quick witted writer and I’m sure that you will love her as much as I do. Also, she is the creator of #wineparty on Twitter every Friday night. What’s not to love?
*Disclaimer; I did not coin the term Shark Week.I can’t remember who the brilliant soul on Twitter was who did, but I have made it my own. That week of the month will forever be known as Shark week in my household. When my daughters begin menstruating, I will pass it down. Shark week is now my legacy:)
P.S. No husbands, children, Mothers or Mother-in -laws were harmed in the making of this Shark week post.
Happy Shark Week, Hope we all make it out alive
September 11, 2001~ The Day the World Stood Still
I resolved not to write about September 11, 2001, that fateful day. I didn’t feel that I needed to be reminded of the events that transpired on September 11, 2001 because, in all reality, I have never forgotten them. I never will. I see it every day in the eyes of my husband and the sweet faces of my daughters.
September 11, 2001 is the day that the world stood still for all of the collective United States.
We held our breath and helplessly watched as our lives were tragically changed forever. Most of us remember exactly where we were and what we were doing on that infamous morning, when the plane hit the north tower, at 8:47 am. That moment is seared into my brain like a branded battle scar. The myriad of
Most of us remember exactly where we were and what we were doing on that infamous morning, when the plane hit the north tower, at 8:47 am. That moment is seared into my brain like a branded battle scar. The myriad of emotions that overwhelmed me in that exact moment in time will be with me always. It can’t be forgotten. I can still feel the sickness in the pit of stomach eating at my soul, as I type this.
No, I wasn’t going to write about September 11, 2001 but I am thankful for my husband that I was afraid I might have lost that morning, my daughters who have been born since that day, for my friends in New York who made it through that day with their lives and survived the devastation that losing their friends, family members and loved ones brought in those following days.
I am commemorating those unsuspecting people who lost their lives, the heroes who at the cost of their own lives kept going into the collapsing buildings to save others and those of us who have chosen not to be victims of that day but who joined together as a nation to overcome the heinous crimes inflicted upon us by a group of cowardice monsters.
My thoughts and prayers are with all of those families who lost someone that day and for the rest of us who survived it and must live with the pain and loss that September 11, 2001, has left in its wake. This is my story, we all have one.
September 11, 2001 they ran in when everyone else ran out
I can very clearly remember the bright blue morning sky of September 11, 2001, as if it were yesterday. We were living in North Carolina, it was 2 weeks before my 29th birthday. We had only recently celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary. My husband was away on business in Pennsylvania.
Per usual, I went to work, at a small publishing house, and the moment I walked in the door my editor silently motioned me over to the television to see what was happening. There we stood paralyzed, watching in shock and horror at the footage being shown on the television… of what was happening. Could this be real?
It couldn’t be real. It looked like some horrible action movie but it was live TV. It was the footage of flight 11 hitting the first tower. I remember my heart falling to the floor as I realized my husband was away from me on business. I couldn’t make sense of it. It was all happening so fast. We were being attacked on our own soil.
My husband, the other half to my whole, was in Pennsylvania, much too close to where everything was taking place. I tried to call him but all the phone lines to the east coast were jammed from terrified loved ones trying to reach their families in New York.
I distinctly remember the newscaster making the announcement and showing the footage of the south tower being hit by flight 175, as I was still trying to absorb the north tower being hit. Seeing the dark billowy puffs of smoke escaping from the rubble and the heartbreak of seeing the frightened and desperate people jump from the building, it was all I could do not to start driving in the general direction of where my husband was. All I wanted to do was hear my husband’s voice. I needed to know he was safe.
I couldn’t imagine the fear and thoughts going through the jumpers minds as they were forced to make that decision or the pain and sheer fright they must have felt being trapped in the collapsing towers. It must have felt like the world was ending. In many ways, it was.
Just imagine minding your business, doing your work and your entire life being snatched away. Your future, no longer an option. Knowing that you would never hold your baby, kiss your husband goodbye or tell them that you love them.
Then they made the announcement on the news that Flight 77 crashed into the western side of the Pentagon. I held my breath once more and through tear filled eyes, continuously dialed my husband’s number on the cell phone. I had to reach him, somehow.
September 11,2001; A Day that will live in Infamy
Then the announcement that Flight 93 went down very near where my husband was at on business. I dialed and dialed ( as I know many people were trying to do ) until my fingers were cramping from pushing the buttons. But the phone lines were all down due to what was happening and all the calls trying to be made by scared families trying to reach their loved ones, just like me. Everyone was trying to make sure that their loved one was not in or near the buildings hit. We all just wanted to hear the voice, to have the reassurance that our loved one was safe. I remember being there at work, watching helplessly as my world was collapsing. An entire generation of American people lost our safety and security, our trust and innocence. We thought we were untouchable on our own soil but the events that transpired on September 11, 2001 made us realize just how vulnerable we were. I stayed at work that very long day with my boss because I was 10 hours away from my nearest relative and going home to our empty apartment waiting for him to call me meant sitting there alone with my thoughts…with my fears.
My husband was there…nearer to the situation than I would ever want. I thank God every day that he wasn’t in New York that morning. Eventually, he called me. It seemed an eternity waiting for that call to come. I remember thinking..this is it..this is the day my world could come to a screeching halt. It did in a way. My life was changed forever, as were the lives of every American. I will never feel safe again. Not completely.
Every time someone I love gets on a plane, I hold my breath until they land safely. I’ve not been on a plane since this happened and I am sure that when I do, there will be an inordinate amount of anxiety. When the phone call finally came that my husband was OK, hearing his voice on the other end was one of the greatest moments of relief that I have ever experienced in my life. I had never been so thankful for my blessings and for the simple things such as my husband’s smile across a crowded room, his laughter ringing out at the most inappropriate times or just the way he says my name. I will never take those things for granted ever again.
Osama Bin Laden is dead and I’m glad. I won’t make apologies for being glad that he is gone. I feel that we are all a little freer from the tyranny of terrorism that we have been under for the past 10 years. My heart still aches for all the wives who lost their husbands, children who lost their parents, parents who lost their children and anyone who lost a loved one, a friend, a co-worker or even just someone who smiled at you on the street every day or as you passed in the building.
Their smiles, voices, laughter, and existence will be missed and felt by many. Their ripple is great and every moment is more precious to me now because I know that any moment can be the last. I now know the unconditional love that a parent feels for a child, I know the unbreakable path between a couple, so close that you don’t know where one begins and the other ends, and I can imagine the unfulfillable void and pain that losing that would cause.
I’ve been holding on to these feelings for a long time. I’ve had them wrapped up tight in a small little box, hidden away far back in the recesses of my soul because I didn’t want to think about how vulnerable we
wereare. I was afraid that if I allowed myself to feel those feelings, it might be too much. I was dreading today because I wasn’t ready to dig that box out and open it up. But we owe it to those we lost, the mothers, fathers, friends, daughters, sons, husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, the heroes who ran in when everyone was running out on September 11, 2001 to #NeverForget!September 11,2001; I will #NeverForget
Depakote for the Mommy Soul
It seems for some reason, the same crazy notion that makes people think they have an unspoken carte blanche permission to rub our Mommy bellies when we are pregnant segues into being allowed to judge our every thought and action after we become a parent. It doesn’t matter who we are or what we do, we are at the mercy of other people’s judgement almost always. Sometimes that judgement becomes too much and we need to step back and regroup. I’ve felt this pressure heavier than usual lately, or perhaps it’s just settling on my heart a little more, either way I need some catharsis. I need an outlet for the stress. I needed a little Depakote for my Mommy soul. I came up with this, I’ve decided to write an open letter to my assailants and I must say I found it highly cathartic.
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Photo Ziptivity.com Dear You ( you know who you are),
Judgy Mommy
This conversation has been a long time coming. Your condescension, flippant attitude and the demeaning way you talk to me makes me want to stick you in the eyeballs with a dull, rusty object. Yes, both..that’s how much you annoy me. Polite society says that I need to be nice to you. That I need to smile, say please and thank you and may I have another but I don’t want to. I want to scream at the top of my lungs for you to shut the fuck up and get out of my way. I want to pull you by the hair and punch you in the face. I realize this is not the ladylike behavior one would come to expect from a grown woman, no matter how foul mouthed, lazy or unfit for the task that she may be accused of being.
I thought perhaps that I should seek some medical attention, a little prescription perspective but then I realized I don’t want to botox my emotions. Why should I have to take precaution when you are the one with the issue? I can’t say this to your face for many, many reasons but I won’t utter it beneath my breath or behind your back either. That’s just not how I roll. You know my heart. You can see through the plastered polite smile. You KNOW what wrongs you’ve done.
This is my scream into the pillow before my head explodes. This letter is saving us both a lot of aggravation and uncomfortable conversations. I have to say that I am exhausted from all the giving and feeling quite battered from all the taking you have done. Piece by piece, you’ve chipped away at my soul and my spirit. But I’m still here, bursting with will and navigating my way. You criticize but I am loving my littles and pushing forward.
I do my best to be my best but it never seems good enough for you. I’ve come to realize, though not less painful, that you are the one with the problem. Your shortcomings have cheated me, not the other way around. I have done the best I can with what I have. I am sorry I am not what you expected or wanted but again, this is your issue. I hope someday you realize just exactly what a disappointment you have been to others with your judging eyes and condescending nods. I smile my polite smile and power through the pain for I am stronger than you have ever given me credit for being.
You’ve cheated yourself. I’m better than you deserve and more than you could have hoped for. I’m tired of giving and that damn polite smile is about to give way to an honesty so brutal that you will be forced to look yourself in the mirror and know that monster that you really are. I hope this has made you happy, making everyone else miserable. I hope the satisfaction of being condescending can make up for the lack of genuine love and respect that anyone has for you. Always remember, you get what you give in this life and you, my dear, have given nothing but pain and aggravation.
Yours truly,
Every Mommy
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Self-Worth~I’m No beauty Queen,I’m Just Beautiful Me
Today, I’m linking up my Self-Worth post @ Ciaomom.com. I stumbled across her link up as, one by one, all of my Twitter friends were sharing it. Of course, I wanted to know what all the excitement was about and then I read her post and I knew. In a world full of self-doubt and deprecation, she is spreading the idea of self-love and self-worth. Can you imagine?
Self-Worth
I am the Mommy of two daughters and my biggest fear in the WORLD is that they will follow in my footsteps down a path of self-doubt and poor body image. In my teens, like most girls, I was very unsure of my place in the world. I was tall before any of the boys in my middle school. Then puberty hit and all the body changes that accompany. In a matter of a summer, I went from the cute, smart girl with the big almond eyes to being an amazon by middle school standards, breakouts, breast buds, braces, body hair, hips and being extremely uncomfortable in this new foreign body. 8th grade was a hard year for me. I no longer tried to stand out for excellence, I wanted to be invisible. I was afraid that if someone saw me they would notice (or worse) point out my flaws.
It didn’t help that my parents were both in great shape. My dad was very athletic and, once puberty started for me, he had the habit of telling me that I “needed” to run more. In my head, I heard ” You are not good enough yet, you need to run so that you can be perfect and worthy of love“. This plants a seed of self-loathing. Have I told you how much I hate running to this day? My already uncomfortable place in my new skin became unbearable. By the time I left for college, I was so afraid of the Freshman 15 that everyone had been sure to warn me of that I was resigned to subsist on the least amount of calories possible. 17, that was the age I was when I started on my 8 year battle with anorexia/bulimia. I never binged and purged. Never. I was a perfectionist. I starved myself to about 600 calories a day and then I vomited it all up. Everything, even water. If it went into my mouth, it came out almost immediately after. The very thought of food in my stomach was enough stress mentally to make me vomit involuntarily. It left me feeling NOT GOOD ENOUGH!
But this is not what I want for my girls. I want them to have an exorbitant amount of self-confidence, self-esteem and most importantly
Self-Worth
To do this, I have to lead by example so here is my list of what I love about myself ( after years of therapy and self-understanding:)
I love those big, crazy almond eyes of mine because I can see and cherish my daughters’ daily
I love my voice because it sings to my girls and speaks to those I love
I love my hair, it’s curly and sometimes straight and it’s beautiful
I love my strength of character because it has helped me to survive my past and go after my future
I love my resolve because it helped me overcome 8 years of eating disorder
I love my intelligence and wisdom to know what I can change and what I can not (even when it’s hard to accept).
I love my laugh, it’s loud and crazy like Ricky Ricardo but it is authentic and when you hear it; my heart is happy
I love my body for allowing me to conceive, grow and birth my children
I love my wit and humor which has allowed me to keep perspective
I love my personality that has landed me my wonderful husband ( of course the 25-year-old tits and ass didn’t hurt either:)
I love my uncanny knack to assess a situation, size up people and never back down from anything
I love that I don’t know the word quit
I love that I am so socially charged that I am NEVER uncomfortable in a group, in fact, I thrive amongst people
I love that I am honest to a fault
I love that I am genuine
I love that I love with the same faith in people that I have in God
I love that I can forgive and move past circumstances
I love that I have grown to love my own skin for all that it’s worth ( I still battle the body dysmorphic disorder) but even on days when my eyes are unhappy with the mirror, my mind knows better.
I love that I am not perfect but I am worth it. To quote Selena Gomez ( yeah I have kids…busted), I’m no beauty queen, I’m just beautiful me and that is better than good enough. And today, “I WOULDN’T WANT TO BE ANYONE ELSE!” Where does your self-worth come from?
Self-Worth
Pour Your Heart Out~The Night the World Stood Still
I have decided to write my first ever Pour Your Heart Out post. I am very open on my blog. I am very honest about what I write and the opinions and feelings that I have about any given subject. That being said, I write a Mommy blog. Every part of me that I ever was, am or will ever be is not relevant to my posts. So you don’t know every single thing about me. And that’s okay because I don’t know every single thing about you. Who really knows everything about everyone? We know what is pertinent and the rest is extraneous information, except for when it isn’t.
This morning,I found myself impulsively writing a post. It was one of those situations where the heart took over and my blog was where the feelings landed. Needless to say, I spent the day being attacked but that’s OK too because we are all entitled to our feelings and our opinions…that includes me. I heard your reactions and I took my lumps, like a big girl. But I realized that you don’t know things about me. I am going to share a part of my past that I don’t like to talk about or even recollect. I’ve not shared it up to this point because it was simply irrelevant. Today, it became relevant.
It was a bitter cold night in January 13 years ago.I was a senior in college and had been out at the bars with my friends and fiance,having the time of our lives. Not a care in the world. In fact, I was on top of the world. I had just newly gotten engaged and the whole world was in front of me. We were out celebrating our engagement with our closest friends. Life was finally looking promising.
This particular night, I had been out with my now husband and my best friend, who introduced us, and a few others close to us. My best friend had grown up with my fiance and he was like her brother. From the very beginning, she raved at how I had to meet him.Here we were, like any other night at college, drinking, talking, dancing, laughing and living.Living life so full and hard that sometimes it felt too good to be true.
This night, something was different. She seemed distant….removed. But when I asked she said that she had things on her mind. A little more drinking and a lot more probing and she told me that she was feeling like she was losing our friendship to the engagement. She felt left out. She felt angry. She felt sad. I hugged her, as best girlfriends do, and I assured her that no this was just the beginning to a very long friendship.I assumed that was it. The night proceeded as usual and then we parted ways. She dropped me off at my apartment and said she’d see me tomorrow and then drove home to her apartment on the opposite side of town.In retrospect, I should have known something was wrong since she hadn’t decided to just crash at my apartment, as she did on so many other nights.
Sometime a few hours later (I’m not really sure of the time as I was in a dead sleep when I received the phone call), she called me. She was half incoherent and she was mumbling. I could barely understand or hear her. She was speaking in a low, heavy whisper. All I remember hearing is “I love you and I wanted to say bye”. Then the phone went dead. My heart froze and my stomach dropped. I tried frantically to call her back as I was throwing on my clothes and searching for my keys. I called the police. I tried to call her again. No answer. The phone rang. It was her mother, frantic and scared sounding exactly the same way I felt. She had gotten the same call. I ran out the door half dressed because in those moments every single second was life or death. I jumped in my car, with no coat and snow pouring down, tears streaming down my cheeks and my heart beating out of my chest. My head was spinning.The car stalled. It wouldn’t start. I called my fiance to come and get me.I called the cops again. Time was moving so fast but so slow.It was like helplessly watching a train wreck in slow motion.Knowing everyone on board was going to die but you couldn’t stop it.
The dispatch ( knowing that I was frightened out of my mind) checked with the on scene police officers and told me that paramedics were at her apartment trying to resuscitate her. TRYING.TO.RESUSCITATE. HER!! Her mother called. My friend had taken sleeping pills and pain killers.Lots of them. Life was muffled and spinning so fast and far out of control that I could hardly breathe. I felt trapped in my own head.What was only 3 minutes felt like a lifetime.My fiance arrived, I jumped into his car, in the middle of that dark, freezing cold night in January and raced to the hospital. I was it. We were her family. Her parents were 2 hours away. So, we sat and we waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, her mother arrived. Finally, the doctors let us know that she was going to be okay.
I have NEVER felt so helpless in my entire life. I am not a victim. I do not sit idly by and watch as life happens to me. I am engaged. I am involved. I make things happen. I keep the people that I love safe. Her act left me helpless and in a panic. All I could do was pray. She called me after the fact. She didn’t even give me a chance to help her. It infuriated me. It infuriates me to this day. When you kill yourself, or even try to kill yourself, the ones you leave behind are the ones who are left with the void and the pain. Maybe that is why the events that took place this morning incited such a strong reaction within me. In fact, I am sure that my own personal experience is what caused my gut reaction. So, next time, you will know that I hate the helplessness, the situation…not the person or the illness.
Letting my Full Figured Freak Flag Fly
Today , I stopped over at The Curvy Girls Guide and read an article about all these brave women telling the world their weight and posting beautiful pictures of themselves. In the article Getting Real about Your Weight, I was hit immediately by how deeply I could relate to the first paragraph
“For twelve years, I have hidden my weight from my husband, refusing to step on a scale in front of him. This man sees me naked every day. He’s been in the bathroom while I pee. He’s held my hair while I vomited (from the flu…not tequila…give me some credit here). He has touched every single inch of my body. Yet, my weight has been a shameful secret.”
I have spent most of my adult life, as long as I can remember, obsessing over my weight. Always wanting to be just that 10 pounds less. I’ve been a 5 and a 20 and everywhere in between. This is not an easy thing for me to admit..or accept. I am very sensitive about my weight and have gone to extremes to keep it down. This is evidenced by the time my all consuming fear of the freshman 15 sent me into an 8 year battle with anorexia and bulimia. So obviously, when I see these women being so loud and proud. I am simultaneously impressed and proud of their courage but at the same time the thought of sharing my actual weight “in numbers” horrifies me and I think I would avoid it at all and any costs.
But in the fall of 2009, when I was the heaviest that I have ever been, I just felt that I had to tell my husband. I know he has eyes and can see but for the same reasons that I kept my deep dark secret, I needed to be honest with him.For the 8 years that I was consumed by eating disorders, I was a liar( to myself and everyone around me..about food), a manipulator ( I could convince people that they had seen me eat, even when they had not), I was not the person that I wanted to be..aside from the body.It left me feeling guilty and shameful. They say you are only as sick as your deepest secrets, well, I needed to unburden myself of the weight secret before into sent me back into another tail spin. I had to be honest with him as a way of being completely honest and accountable to myself.
My husband knows about the history of eating disorder, he was a big catalyst for why I stopped 13 years ago. I just couldn’t face the thought of him finding out on his own and thinking I was completely crazy, or worse marrying him and getting so consumed by the disease that he lost me. Either way, I pulled a Charlie Sheen and I made the decision to stop, and I followed that by 3 years of weekly therapy. Yes, I’ve examined myself inside and out..several times.
But fall of 2009, more nervous than I was the first time I had to break the news to him that we were pregnant, I took a deep breath and I made the decision to say the number out loud. With trepidation, I uttered those three numbers.It was terrifying, sad, and scary.In that moment, I faced my biggest fear.
Now,I am working hard to get this weight off and keep it off the healthy way with the help of Nutrisystem, this really helps me with my portion control. I am also , as an ex Weight Watcher, counting calories and watching points and getting more active. I need control of the weight. I’m not vomiting or starving myself anymore so I have to be sure that I am aware of what I allow into my body. I hate that I am this way but it’s just the way I’ve been hardwired for so long.I always say being an person who had eating disorders is like being an alcoholic, you may refrain from partaking but you have already tasted the forbidden fruit and you know that option is there..looming. I am in no danger of returning.I’m working my journey and I will get to where I feel good in my skin and then I WILL PROCLAIM MY WEIGHT WITH PICTURES AND A VLOG. But for now, I’m still a little too raw about the number on the scale, the size of the jeans, and the way my clothes hang on my body.But I will get there, not to a number…to the feeling, of comfort and grace. Curvy is beautiful but we all have a place where we need to dwell within ourselves that leaves us feeling beautiful and peaceful.This is all that I want, that’s all that anyone wants. Isn’t it?
But I wanted to point out these beautiful , brave women. Please go check out the article and leave them so me love. And if you’ve ever been where I’ve been, love yourself. You are beautiful. You are amazing!
Eating Disorders affect more than just your Body; Maura Kelly
Maura Kelly, sex and relationship blogger for Marie Claire, wrote a post yesterday titled, Should “Fatties” Get a Room? (Even on TV?).The post was about the sitcom Mike & Molly, “the show centers around a couple who meet at an Overeaters Anonymous group has drawn complaints for its abundance of fat jokes [as well as] cries from some viewers who aren’t comfortable watching intimacy between two plus-sized actors.” In her post, she expressed her disdain for having to watch two “Fatties” make out, or simply walk across a room. This post garnered a lot of attention on the blogosphere and spread through twitter like a wildfire. I know, I was there..fanning the flames. I thought, what a monumental asshole this broad is behaving like. My next thought, who the hell is running that joint Marie Claire? Are there no editors? Talk about free speech!
OK, so she wrote a post about a sitcom. The problem is how she wrote it. The voice she used was very condescending and insulting. I agree with her that I don’t like to watch two people make out either but it has nothing to do with size, shape, color; I simply do not want to feel like I am watching porn. If that is what I wanted, well, I’d let the Big Guy choose something. But Ms. Kelly just kept repeatedly stepping in the proverbial dog shit. It was as if she backed up and stepped in it all over again, just to make sure she got it on her shoe. As evidenced by this quote
So anyway, yes, I think I’d be grossed out if I had to watch two characters with rolls and rolls of fat kissing each other … because I’d be grossed out if I had to watch them doing anything. To be brutally honest, even in real life, I find it aesthetically displeasing to watch a very, very fat person simply walk across a room — just like I’d find it distressing if I saw a very drunk person stumbling across a bar or a heroine addict slumping in a chair.
As if that were not enough, she continued on
But … I think obesity is something that most people have a ton of control over. It’s something they can change, if only they put their minds to it.
(I’m happy to give you some nutrition and fitness suggestions if you need them — but long story short, eat more fresh and unprocessed foods, read labels and avoid foods with any kind of processed sweetener in them whether it’s cane sugar or high fructose corn syrup, increase the amount of fiber you’re getting, get some kind of exercise for 30 minutes at least five times a week, and do everything you can to stand up more — even while using your computer — and walk more. I admit that there’s plenty that makes slimming down tough, but YOU CAN DO IT! Trust me. It will take some time, but you’ll also feel so good, physically and emotionally. A nutritionist or personal trainer will help — and if you can’t afford one, visit your local YMCA for some advice.)This part is simply insulting to injury because you see Ms. Kelly has had self-admitted issues with eating disorders, anorexia in particular, herself. So, really she shouldn’t be giving diet and nutritional advice to anyone. ANYONE! She claims to be recovered. Of course, having had my own experience with eating disorders, I know that being a recovered Anorexic is about the same as being a “recovered” alcoholic. You may have stopped the behavior but you have to take it one day at a time because you can’t unlearn what you’ve already become privy to. You may decide that it’s not the way for you and stop the behavior but your mind still knows the path.
I’m no shrink but I’d say, from my own past experience, I had NO tolerance for overweight people because I was insane with an obsession with my own weight. I felt like if I could control myself from eating, what I ate, how much I ate, when I ate, if I ate; then why couldn’t others show the same self-control? You develop a disgust because partly they don’t have your self-control, but with that, they also do not have your misery. The misery that wanting brings and this causes some jealousy and resentment. I’m not saying she still has eating issues but I think maybe she still needs to work through to her own resolution. This is not an excuse and probably not understandable to anyone who has not experienced these issues.
I’ve been “recovering” from these issues for 13 years and I still battle with acceptance of my own body. I have chosen to do it the right way, the slow..healthy, working out, eating the right way. With the time it takes the body to heal it also gives the mind and spirit time to heal, appropriately. I do not cringe at heavy set people anymore. That was my own self-loathing being externalized. I say to each his own. There is a terrible obesity epidemic in the United States and, for health’s sake, I hope people can come around to healthier lifestyles.
There is nothing wrong with the show Mike and Molly, it is representative of a large part of our population. What’s wrong with having a show that lets us see these two people falling in love? Don’t they deserve the same happiness that anyone else deserves? Shame on you Maura Kelly for projecting your own issues onto the overweight people of the world. Does it make you feel better to make them feel worse? Just remember how miserable you felt when you were obsessing over your weight, and now realize that your piece may have done that for some poor overweight woman or girl! If you’re not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.
Be A Better Me (You) Challenge-Day 13 ~ Love yourself unconditionally
Yesterday’s Be A Better Me (You) Challenge -Day 12 ~ See yourself through your child’s eyes
is not always easy, especially when I feel like a hot mess or am overwhelmed by it all. But if I listen to my children, somehow in their wisdom they see the me I am on the inside. The Me that I have always been and will always be..the beautiful Mess that is me. So, today I am embracing the Me that my girls see every time they look at their Mommy, its probably very much like the best versions of them that I see every time I lay eyes on their small little perfection. Hope you are embracing the awesome you that your children know you are; because I think kids have special powers they can see the real us….even if we forget what that person looks like.Today’s Be A Better Me (You) Challenge – Day 13~ Love yourself unconditionally. It’s exactly what it sounds like. We have to learn to stop putting ourselves down and comparing ourselves to some kind of unrealistic standard..that doesn’t exist. We need to take yet another lesson from our kids and love ourselves the way they love us; the way we love them. No one is perfect, that is a fact. What we must strive for is to be our best selves. I have always been my hardest critic. I’m too fat. My skin is flawed.I have too many freckles. I’m not tan enough. My hair is not perfect enough. My smile is not white enough. My clothes are not right. I should be doing more with my life. I don’t have a career worth mentioning. I am not a good enough daughter, sister, Mother, wife, friend. Its always something. I always feel like I fall short.You know why? Because the standard is impossible. To meet the standard, every waking would be needed to acquire the impossible dream there would be no time for real living..loving..laughing. My challenge for you is to love yourself, for who you are..not who you want to be. You deserve to be able to love yourself;no matter the size of your jeans, in spite of your imagined imperfections. You are more than you give yourself credit for. Would you not love your children because they weren’t perfect? Of course you would and so should you love yourself. You can never be your best you, if you don’t truly embrace the person you are now.
You are worthy of all that life has to offer. You just have to believe that yourself. That is the key to acquiring all that the world has to offer and to, more importantly, enjoying it! Now, tell me how you can make efforts to love yourself unconditionally. This will be the hardest one for me thus far. A little body dysmorphic disorder goes a long way. Please link up!
