Parts is Parts

The long Thanksgiving weekend is over.  You're tired.  You're a little cranky about going back to work.  You may be a little grateful to have family all gone home.  And your pants are a little tight.  Oh, hell.  Who are you kidding?  You've nearly given birth to a food baby.

But your heart is full.

Most people spend a little time on Thanksgiving thinking about what they are grateful for.  After all, that is the essence of the holiday.  A lot of people these days go above and beyond that and spend the entire month of November being grateful with a new entry for thankfulness every day.  I think it's a fantastic trend that really has no down side.  But what happens after Thanksgiving?

Before the turkey carcass is even cold we are bombarded with messages that we don't have enough.  That we aren't giving enough.  That we can't rest until we take advantage of the biggest sale prices of the year.  These messages will continue right up until Christmas day, driving that frantic holiday timeline ticking down like a doomsday clock.  How many times have you already heard that our holiday shopping season is shortened more than usual this year?

I'm not a total scrooge.  I want to have a nice Christmas, too.  I love seeing the looks on my children's faces when they open their gifts.  I'll just do my shopping from the comfort of my own home and avoid the crazy out there.  And pants.  I'll avoid pants as well.  Which is just as well.  See: Food Baby.

The entire holiday season is supposed to be filled with joy and good-will but nine times out of ten I see my friends exhausted with the pace of it all, stress levels at an all time high.  We are told to be grateful for what we have for an entire month while we scour the ads for the best price per pound on turkey.  Then we are told we aren't enough for another 4 weeks.  Black Friday?  That sounds festive. Sale Sale Sale.  Buy Buy Buy. Shop Shop Shop.  By the time it's over we are tired, cranky (again) and most likely broke.  We are ripe for being picked off one by one in the next media battle.

Here the best (read: worst) part of the season starts.  Now we are told we are too much.  Can you believe the nerve of all our excess? After being instructed to consume in every way possible we are told we have gone too far and we have to change.  After all - 2014 is your year, right?  Time to get skinny.  Time to be better.

December 26th you will see the entire diet and industry machine roll out and begin to bombard you with reminders of all your inadequacies.  We see headless people everywhere with zoomed in bloated, muffin tops and plumber's cracks at every turn.  You have to change.  You should be ashamed.  Don't let another year go by.  Join now.  Save now.  Buy now.  Starve now.  And maybe, just maybe, you'll be good enough again.  Maybe. (But not really - that's not profitable for the machine.) Until it starts all over.

Goals are not the problem, not if they are reasonable and responsible.  There's nothing wrong with wanting to better yourself.  There is absolutely no down side to wanting to become healthier and stronger and happier.  But if you think for one second that this industry as a whole cares about you more than the power of the almighty dollar, you are fooling yourself.  There really isn't a lot of money to be made when it comes to body acceptance.  At least not until we demand something different.

Last year at this time I decided to publicly challenge myself with a month of body gratitude.  How would entering the season of New Year's Resolutions feel if I had already spent time being grateful and accepting of all of me, even the parts that were harder for me to love?  The result, which I wrote about, was not that it made me skinnier in 2013.  Sorry to disappoint you. But I've been skinnier and I can tell you without a single doubt in my mind that it didn't make me happier or love myself more.  No, what I got out of this challenge last year was appreciation for this gift of a body I have.  I completely changed my internal dialogue by focusing on the beauty I could see rather than the flaws.  Changing the way I think, removing that desperate feeling of "Oh my God, I have to lose weight NOW" and just appreciating where I was right that moment was life changing.  At least for me.

I've had a few requests to start this Body Gratitude Challenge again and I will be doing so starting today on my Facebook page.  I double dog dare you to try and come up with a new body part to be grateful for and accepting of every single day for 30 days so that you can start your New Year with a mindset of love and thankfulness for what you have rather than the feeling of inadequacy and imperfection that is shoved down your throat by an industry that actually benefits more from your failure than your success.  From your fabulous teeth and gorgeous hair to your too long toes and your dimply thighs - I want to hear about the easy parts and the more difficult parts to love. And I'm quite certain you DO have a winning personality and a breathtakingly sharp wit *cough* but that's not what I'm talking about here.  I want body parts and I want them all.  I know you're fabulous on the inside.  I want you to believe you are fabulous on the outside, too.

The only rule I have in the entire challenge is that you have to be positive.  No back-handed compliments to yourself.  No passive aggressive bullshit.  No self-deprecating nonsense.  If you think I won't call you out on it if I see it you are mistaken, my friend.  Do you even know me? Self-deprecation was almost a second language to me and I'll spot it every time.  You can't bullshit a bullshitter.

Join me on my Facebook page on my daily post if you'd like or start your own Body Gratitude on your own wall. Just promise me you'll go into 2014 with love for what you already have so that you can make loving, responsible choices for your health and your body rather than being motivated by shame and imperfection.  Shame doesn't motivate anyone.  But love does.  And so does acceptance.

You are so much more than all your parts, it's true.  And this may seem like a self-centered challenge to some.  But I promise you that only good can come from being grateful for the body you are in right now.  When you celebrate each and every part, even the ones you deem your "trouble spots", you lift up your entire being to a whole other level.  You are wonderfully made.  Join me in celebrating that.

"The whole is greater than the sum of its parts." - Aristotle

But you have some pretty fucking good parts.  I promise.

Miss Understood

Yesterday I had a conversation with someone who referenced my comments on Facebook regarding an article I shared.  She said it was no wonder I was having trouble with a former colleague.  I was telling everyone to get larger while he wanted everyone to come in to the gym to get smaller.

Wait - what?  I don't recall saying that.  I do recall saying I would never again apologize for the space I take up and if you didn't like it you could move your ass over.  But telling everyone to get larger?  What?

In her defense I know she was just kidding around.  But it got me wondering if perhaps I'm coming off the wrong way.  When I say that I'm not going to make myself "small" anymore do people think I'm talking about my size?  Because I'm not.

I don't give exercise advice here because it's no longer my job to do so and you can find just about anything you want to know on the internet already written by smarter people than me (and some not so smart).  In addition, what's right for me is not necessarily right for you.  Same with nutrition.  I'm not going to tell you what to eat.  I'm not going to write a specific diet out for you.  Because, frankly, I don't believe in that.  I once had a trainer try to give me a diet to follow that seriously listed items such as: 4 raw green beans, 7-9 almonds, 6 pieces raw broccoli, protein shake.  Are you fucking kidding me?  What I eat may not be what you want to eat and I'm not about to tell you to eat something you don't like.  Seriously - have you met me?  I firmly believe food should be pleasurable.  I do have some pretty definite feelings on both issues and if you ever wanted to really talk about it I would be happy to give my opinion but that's not what this blog is about.

From the beginning of this blog I have been about one thing - making peace with my own body.  Whether that leads me to wearing a smaller size someday or not, that is my goal.  It was my entire bucket list in my last blog.  But maybe people aren't smelling what I'm cooking here.  Maybe I'm not making any sense. Maybe I've become a misheard lyric.

Oh my God.  I'm Tony Danza.

Body Acceptance.  That's what I'm talking about.  But I'm starting to wonder if people think I'm talking about Fat Acceptance instead.  There is a movement online that's gaining momentum for Fat Acceptance and I think it's a fabulous thing.  I think the pain, harassment and prejudice that people of any size larger than average endure is unacceptable.  I think people should not be ashamed of their weight and deserve to love their bodies. But I'm not actually talking about Fat Acceptance because my feelings go so much further than that.  I don't care if you are overweight or underweight.  I know for a damn fact that you have battled body shame at one point or another in your life, regardless of weight, and every single one of us can benefit from Body Acceptance.  Every single one of us.

But what does Body Acceptance mean?  I think for many there is a belief that if you accept your body as it is right now that you are admitting defeat.  You are giving up.  You are lazy.  You are unmotivated.  You are making excuses.  But I'm about to lay down some truth on you and tell you why they're wrong.

Before I do that, you should know that I struggle sometimes with really slowing down and meditating on things.  I think it's because I get way too emotional.  I like to lift heavy stuff and I like to box.  I have not really connected with yoga yet and that's probably because the whole two classes and one meditation I've been to made me bawl like a baby.  Today I am going to get all Zen up in this bitch.

I've considered learning more about Buddhism many, many times.  I've been so turned off by religion from lifelong experiences that this "philosophy" really appeals to me. To lead a moral life; to be mindful and aware of thoughts and actions; to develop wisdom and understanding.  I can get on board with that without all the traditional religious dogma.  However, aside from the fact that I'd probably get kicked out of both branches of Buddhism for continually repeating this entire scene from Caddyshack by heart, I didn't get very far in much of the teachings.  It seems the first of the Five Precepts of Buddhism is to avoid killing or harming living things.  Houston, we have a problem.

Imagine my surprise while trying to do some research on Body Acceptance that one of the most fabulous things I came across was a Dharma talk by Tara Brach, author and leading western teacher of Buddhist meditation, emotional healing and spiritual awakening.  Her talk, Genuine Acceptance, is definitely worth a listen on your own but I'll share some of the information that I found most beneficial.

First, let's talk about what acceptance is.  Tara defines genuine acceptance as "recognizing the truth of this moment without resistance.  With openness."  She says acceptance is an active, engaged process - not passive.  It's not lazy or giving up. It's an intention.  "Acceptance is in this moment how you are relating to the reality that's right here."  Essentially a state of heart/mind with absolute non-resisting presence.  The opposite of acceptance is "any moment that we are trying to manipulate our experience."

Tara goes on to say that there are three major archetypal challenges to acceptance that we are programmed for.  Fight-Flight-Freeze.  When we fight acceptance we push it away, we judge or blame.  Fight is full of "shoulds".  How do I apply this to the idea of body acceptance?  We judge ourselves for our own bodies or we get mean and spiteful over other bodies. (No one does the latter better than a woman.)  We "should" ourselves into a long list of restrictions and demands to try to change it.  And we beat the tar out of ourselves, emotionally and physically, in an attempt to get smaller.  Flight, in regards to acceptance, is about ignoring, denying and tensing against it to avoid pain.  I think this is where we distract ourselves with whatever method of pain relief we have. Mine is often food.  It's where we avoid truly looking in the mirror and going out and living life.  It's where we skip big events in our lives for fear of what someone else will think of our weight gain.

Freeze is more difficult for me to put a finger on.  She says that it's a "doormat in the guise of acceptance".  It's pretending acceptance when we've really just stuffed it under.  Perhaps this is where I was when I thought I had it beat and had it all figured out.  At my lightest weight and highest muscle mass and teaching classes and training clients all week and being a "role model" and "inspiration" for obesity turned fit.  Maybe that whole time when I thought I had all my shit figured out I was really just frozen.  Must have been. "If you push it under it always comes out sideways." Indeed.

Tara says that the Buddha's inquiry when life happens or when we struggle is how to find that liberating quality of non-resistant presence so that we can respond, not react.  The basic teaching in the spiritual tradition is that "wise behavior arises out of an accepting presence".  What's the difference between responding versus reacting?  Take for instance a child who has just gotten into trouble. (Not that I would know anything about this.)  I had an opportunity just this week to sit down with my child after getting a call from the school and discuss some serious topics.  Keep in mind that I had several hours to process everything and deal with my emotions but I can tell you that responding to his issue from a place of love and acceptance - knowing that maybe what happened was just merely a result of him not having all the pieces to put together in his mind - rather than reacting from a place of anger and judgment made all the difference in the world to the results we got from him.  He understood.  He responded and he was willing to change.  Parenting for the win!

In relation to the body, can you imagine how it feels to come at yourself from a place of rejection and reacting solely to that emotion.  Of course you can.  We all do it.  Sometimes even daily.  Now imagine coming at yourself from a place of whole-hearted acceptance and then responding. Of really taking in where we are in this moment, staying with it and feeling it, without judgment and thought, until we can respond with love and inevitably heal.  Doesn't that sound like a better method?  If are willing to treat our children that way why can't we approach our own selves in that manner?

Famous psychologist, Carl Rogers, once said, "It wasn't until I accepted myself just as I was in this moment that I was free to change."  Acceptance is the precursor to true transformation - accepting ourselves in this very moment.  Resignation is quitting or giving up - feeling defeated.  Don't confuse the two when I say I am working on body acceptance.

Am I able to make this change to acceptance all at once?  Of course not.  I struggle daily.  It's an active effort to steer my thoughts and feelings in the right direction and be at peace with who I am in the present.  I resist on those days I run into someone at my new gym who knew me at my lightest and I feel like I have to explain myself.  I resist when my clothes don't fit anymore or when someone talks about a certain clothing size being their "OMG I can't go back to that" size and it's the size I'm wearing right now.  And I freeze sometimes when looking in the mirror and wonder why I let myself get to this point again. (All of these things have just happened in the last few days.) But I make the intention every single day to come at myself with love and acceptance for who I am in this very moment.  It's all I can do.  And I make a little progress each and every time.

Tara Brach says that in it's purity, genuine acceptance "is no different than love.  The space that accepts is a loving space."  She doesn't say that it's easy, however.  It's going to be difficult because we are programmed to fight, flee or freeze.  It's going to take tremendous effort to arrive in that place.  That sure doesn't sound like giving up to me, though.  Maybe my pants size is larger than it used to be and maybe I'm not working out 6-7 times a week anymore but I'm not giving up.  What I am trying to do is not pretend acceptance like I did before, only to have it wreak havoc on me again.  This time it's for real and that's why I am not preaching about how you should move or what you should eat or how to get smaller.  I believe that if you truly love yourself in the form of absolute acceptance then you will RESPOND by caring for yourself in the healthy manner in which you and your body deserve.

We are all born loving and accepting ourselves just as we are.  Life changes that in so many different ways but I have to believe it's still inside me and I can find it again.  The American spiritual teacher, Gangaji, wrote, "Opening to whatever is present can be a heartbreaking business. But let the heart break, for your breaking heart only reveals a core of love unbroken."  I'm going to find that love again.

Since beginning this blog and it's Facebook page I have repeatedly used the phrase, "Love first, change second."  If you keep up with me you'll see it again. It's still my mantra. Who knew I was so fucking Zen already?

Dorothy, you've had the power all along.

Birthday Cake

I'm going to be 40. When?  Someday.  In a little over ten months to be exact.  But it's there.  It's just sitting there.  (name that movie!)  40 is coming whether I like it or not and I've actually decided I like it.  I'm ready.  I've got this.

A long time ago I decided that we were going to take a huge trip overseas for my 40th birthday.  It was going to be amazing, full of castles and Scotch and kilts, by God.  Except now we aren't going because, well, life.  It happens.  So I decided I would make a bucket list of all the things I wanted to experience in my 40th year.  Then I realized that I really don't want to go skydiving or be in a flash mob or learn to play guitar.  And traveling?  We already covered that.  The bucket list idea started to feel like a "to-do" list and I've got enough shit to do, thank you very much.

I remember a conversation I had with my sister-in-law when I was turning 30.  I told her I felt like my 20's were about figuring out who I was and that I hoped my 30's were about making peace with those revelations.  She told me that the 40's were about "not giving a fuck what anyone thinks of you anymore."  I like the sound of that.  But I'm going to go one bigger.  Since what others think of me really isn't any of my business I'm going to focus on the opinion that matters the most and that is mine.  But I have to get one thing out of my way once and for all. This right here is THE bucket list before I turn 40.

Of course this is the ongoing theme of my blog but it's time to make some real progress.  I refuse to go into my 40's still letting how I feel about my body determine my self-worth.  I needed a drastic intervention to finally get over this hump and onto some real healing.  There are so many other more important things to focus on.

About a year ago I wrote about my insecurities and how they manifested in a major fear of photography.  I badly wanted to be over this issue as it affected me in many ways, not the least of which is having no family pictures to speak of.  My mother-in-law has been lecturing me for at least 10 years that she doesn't have a family picture of us yet.  Yeah, yeah.  I'll get right on that, Hilda.

I've had a lot of feedback from friends who seem to feel the same.  Hating pictures is a universal theme in our own body shaming and the habit goes back probably as far as photography does.  Filmmaker and author, Ransom Riggs, has collected vintage photographs for years that he's found at swap meets and antique stores and recently published a collection of his "Talking Pictures" showing how self-deprecating people can be about their own photos.  I found it fascinating and I can relate to so many of them.

While this issue is not exclusive to women I think it's most prevalent with them.  Peter Gowland, famous photographer and author of Secrets of Photographing Women, once said, "Women are difficult to photograph because no matter how hard you try, most photographs just show how they look. Women want a photograph to show how they THINK they should look and that means having to get into their mind and discover what that image is. This is not a task for the faint-hearted!"  Since he was best known for his nude photography I'm guessing no one knew this better than him.

Last October I wrote specifically about a young body love blogger who appeared online in her underwear to show the world that she wouldn't accept judgments about her body from anyone anymore.  I admired what she did but under no circumstances was this an option for me for many reasons, the greatest being my fear of photography.  I've tried to cure it before by hiring a professional but it just didn't take.  I wasn't ready. It was going to take something more extreme.

A former coworker of mine contacted me after reading my blog and told me that she had the perfect exercise for me.  Boudoir Photography. Seriously?  Did she not even read what I wrote?  Tera was adamant that it would make a difference in how I felt about my body and photography in general.  I wondered just how much of her mind she had lost since the last time I saw her.

I may joke about going pantsless all the time but photos in my drawers may be the most terrifying thing I could possibly think of.  There will be no pants off-dance off when cameras are present.  Rule number uno, Tera.

I've been working really hard this past year to accept myself and to love me as I am right now.  Love first, change second, right?  I would love to have some beautiful photographs like that some day. But maybe if I just lost 20 lbs. first.  Or got my arm definition back.  Or thinned out my cankles.

No.

That's not loving first.  That's not accepting who I am, right now, before even considering steps to change.  And then there's 40.  And the bucket list.

I met with Tera, saw some of her boudoir work (she does not have a website set up for that portion of her profession yet) and made a game plan.  My husband was also turning 40 a whole 10 months before me and I thought maybe this could be part of his gift.  Body confidence and a sexy birthday gift.  Two boobs with one stone.

I enlisted a friend of mine to help me out.  I've got rudimentary make-up skills at best and I needed desperately to go into this with as much confidence as I could muster.  My friend, Bryna, is amazingly talented when it comes to make-up and hair.  I've admired her for both since I first met her almost 5 years ago. She's also a fantastic up and coming vocal talent.  But what I admire most about her is her love for herself.  She's crazy confident and after putting in the time and doing the work necessary for it she just exudes self-worth.  I want some of that.  Hair and make-up. Check. Check.

I spent several weeks trying to find things to wear and fretting over every detail.  I had mini panic attacks leading up to it. I even emailed Tera and asked if she was sure as at that very moment I felt I had NO business taking pictures in my skivvies.  Who did I think I was?  Tera was supremely confident I would be happy.  So much so she said she planned to use some of them in promotional material, with my permission of course.  No pressure there, right?

Two weeks after I turned 39 I stood in front of a camera in my underwear and the fiercest make-up I've ever worn, thanks to Bryna, having only ingested a limited amount of champagne and had my picture taken.  For hours. Of course I had a kick-ass sexified music playlist, too, but those that know me well know this had to be a given.  And I survived.  At my heaviest weight in six years. Dare I say I even had fun.

Tera was fantastic.  She was complimentary.  She was encouraging.  She knew what I was afraid of and how to calm me down.  She couldn't hide her own excitement when she saw something "really hot" through her lens.  I couldn't help but feed off her own passion for her work.  I knew it was a success.

Until two weeks later when she said she was uploading the pictures.  I came <this> close to vomiting. What if I looked horrible?  What if, through no fault of Tera's, every horrible thing I ever saw in pictures of me was visible?  I could still get him a tie, right?  Or some kind of power tool?

I believe my exact response to Tera after I viewed the pictures for the first time was, "Holy fucking shit, I'm hot."

The boudoir shoot exceed every expectation I had.  Every single one.  I was in absolute shock. Out of 99 pictures that she showed me there were maybe 3 that I didn't really care for.  Do you know what a big deal that is?  It's huge.  There are a couple that push my comfort zone but I promise you this - I did not look at one picture with any kind of negative dialogue running through my head.  Not one.  I didn't pick them apart.  I didn't tell myself the horrible things I've spent a lifetime saying about my body. What I saw was art.  And beauty.  And me. 

Tera said her retouching was only blemish removal and skin texturing.  There was only one picture  where she "liquified" a tiny bit of the back of my arm because my corset (I've always wanted a corset!!) had pushed it out funny.  Otherwise it was all me.  I can still see the imperfections.  They are still there.  But they don't get in the way of what I really see.

I may not be the size or weight I want to be but I am beautiful right now.

I may not have worked through all my body confidence or self-worth issues

but I am beautiful right now.

I can work out and get stronger and leaner if I want to.  But right now?

I am beautiful.

And since I have talked about my dislike for my legs and my cankles in the past I should mention that one of the most stressful moments during the photo shoot was when Tera decided to take a picture of them in all their glory.

And I am still beautiful. (And those are some bad-ass shoes I bought, too!)

I'm not changing the world.  My bare ass won't bring world peace. And you may not feel the same way about how I look and that's totally ok because I'm going to be 40 and it doesn't matter. It may sound silly to say but this was life changing for me.  Being able to say, "I'm ok right now, no matter where I go from here" is so freeing.  My internal dialogue over the last month has changed dramatically.  Tera was right.  It did make a difference.  I'm filled with gratitude for what she has done for me.

There are, of course, a lot more pictures and some much more revealing but I'm not going to put those here.  I do have to consider my children in this regard and their future internet use.  And frankly, it's not YOUR birthday.  But if you wanted more information on working with Tera Photography or another boudoir photographer in your area if you aren't local to Minnesota, I would be open to sharing what I know.  I couldn't be happier with my own results and I would encourage anyone to embrace who they are and where they are at with their body right in this moment.

In fact, this Saturday I have another photo shoot with Tera.  I'm finally having family pictures done.  My mother-in-law will be so pleased.  Life has been passing us by so quickly.  It's time to document where we are right now before my kids are grown.

I took Mathew to a spa for his birthday weekend.  Maybe I had one too many dunks in the cool plunge pool but with everyone pretty much living in their swim suits I saw so many different kinds of bodies and they were all lovely.  All of them.  And when we all wore our matching fluffy white spa robes we all looked the same, too.  It's crazy but that fact was so beautiful to me.

I gave my husband the photographs presented in a black leather keepsake box and I watched his face while he looked through them.  He commented over and over how fantastic they were and pointed out some favorites but I couldn't help but notice the lack of absolute shock that I felt when I saw the pictures for the first time.  Why wasn't he completely dumbfounded as I had been?

Later when I asked him about his reaction he looked at me with total confusion.  Then he said, "I am very surprised that you had the photo shoot.  It's not like you at all to do something like this.  But I was not surprised at all by how they turned out."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I've always known you were this beautiful."

Hey, 40?  Bring it.

Thick Girl Couture, Part Deux: Minecraft Strikes Back

Yep, I'm going to talk about my kids again.  Why?  Because I don't get out much.  This is my life.  Mom by day, Badass by, um, I think the remaining 7 minutes and 34 seconds.

My kids are pretty average boys at 11 1/2 and almost 13. (Well, other than their inherited above-average intelligence, but enough about me.)  And like most adolescent boys they love video games.  This includes an old PC game called Minecraft that's been around for ages.  If you have a kid around the same age as mine you've heard of it.  If you haven't heard of Minecraft, can I please come live with you?

So back in August we were back-to-school shopping and my kids saw some Minecraft t-shirts and lost their damn minds.  Lost them.  I gave in and got them each two of these coveted shirts after spending nearly thirty minutes deciding who gets which design.  $10 a shirt.  No biggie, right?  It made them happy.

My oldest wore one of his shirts on the first day of school.  When they came home from school my youngest proceeded to tell me that "everyone" (read: one kid) totally made fun of his brother for his shirt, calling him a nerd and a gamer. My oldest quickly piped up and said, "I don't care who likes my shirt.  I like my shirt and I'll wear what I want."  Yay!  Good for him!  ASD continues to be a life saver in the self-esteem department.

My youngest son flat out refused to wear the shirts.  Refused.  I tried to talk him into it.  I tried to guilt him into it.  I tried everything.  Mostly I was ticked off that I spent $20 on shirts he'd never wear but I also hated the fact that he could be so easily influenced to just toss away something he was so excited about.

He finally decided to wear one of the shirts this week I think in an effort to either make me happy or prove a point to me, which in any case was a win-win for him.  He got off the bus, came in the house and said, "See!!  I knew this would happen!"  This same kid that likes to pick on my kids for everything they do and overshare all kinds of explicit sex mis-information that I then have to correct (without the benefit of wine, mind you) decided to call my kid names and make fun of his shirt, including calling his shirt "gay".

I lost my shit.  I really did.  I told the boys that they should not be worried about what other people think.  That this kid wasn't the end all, be all in fashion choices.  That maybe they should consider not hanging out with someone that made them feel bad about themselves all the time. That if I ever heard them use the word "gay" as if it was some kind of insult that embodied wrongness I would tear their Minecraft world apart, block by block. Then the doorbell rang about three minutes later.  That kid wanting the boys to come out and play.

I didn't yell.  I didn't cuss (gold star for me).  But I told this kid in no uncertain terms what I would and would not accept from him if he wants to play with my kids.  Mostly I scared the scrap out of him.  Could have been the fact that I hadn't showered all day but I think it was my fierce Mom-tude.

Any way, the kids still went out to play with him, my kid will wear the shirts, the mean kid stopped himself from being a turd and apologized to my kids mid-insult.  I win, right?

Except I don't.  All of this crap reminded me of junior high and peer pressure and all that.  It sucks, right?  It's horrible for everyone and I can totally sympathize with my son for wanting to fit in or at least not stand out in a negative way.  I get it.  I wanted those things, too.  I wasn't usually successful at them but I wanted them.  I don't blame him for feeling that way but, God, I want it to be different for him.  I want that so badly.  So much so I would give up all the Guess jeans I ever fit in to in order to make it different for him.  Oh, wait.

Here's the deal.  I have really spent the last year getting my shit together.  I'm not there yet but I'm so much better than I was.  Working on body confidence has been a HUGE eye opener and I know I've come a long way.  But God damn if I didn't fuck it all up when I first started this blog.

To date one of my most widely read blogs is my blog on fashion for the thick girl.  I basically tried to tell you what and what not to wear.  I've had so much guilt (my number 2 talent, shame being number 1) over this stupid blog in the last few months it's made me crazy.  Do you people not like me?  Do you not care enough about me to tell me when I'm talking shit?  Seriously, what's a girl gotta do to get you to smack some sense into her?

I don't know a God damned thing about fashion and I admitted as such.  Everything I told you came from a place of, "You can't get away with wearing that" or "You're too fat to wear that" or "Don't draw attention to yourself or any of your imperfections".  That's how I have lived my life in regards to fashion.  Well fuck that.  To quote one of my very favorite internet personalities, Fit Mama Training, "What you think of my body is none of my business."  And that applies to what I'm wearing.  And it applies to what you are wearing, too.

So lets just break this down, bit by bit, and revise my previous rules on fashion:

Jeans:

I tried to give you advice on pocket flaps vs. no pocket flaps, bedazzling, whiskering, wash, skinny legs vs. bootcut.  Jesus.  This from the girl who can't find one pair of jeans to fit her right to save her life.

Revised rule:  Wear whatever the fuck you like.  You don't owe it to anybody but yourself to like your own damn jeans.

Shapewear:

I didn't so much as give you instructions to wear Spanx as I did bitch about it but this still bears mentioning:

Revised rule: You are not obligated to smooth anything.  Real women have lumps and bumps and cellulite is not a defect but a perfectly normal part of the body, especially the female body.  If you feel confident in some shapewear, do it.  But don't you dare do it for someone else.

Ankle Straps:

For real?  I wrote about this?  I have talked about what I have perceived to be my "cankles" many times but I know I said this: "Your fat ankle does NOT need a belt."  Sigh.

Revised rule: First, I'm a moron.  Second, wear whatever the fuck shoes you like.  Third, I'm having a love affair with a man named Vince Camuto who made the first ever wide width strappy high heel shoe that makes me feel like I'm walking on air.  And guess what?  It has a fucking ankle strap.  And it even fits around my ankle.  Booyah.

Bras:

Ok, I'm not budging on this one.  If you want to wear a bra and I'm certainly not going to be the person who says you have to, you really should make sure it fits right.  You owe it to yourself.  The right size bra can make you feel like hot shit.

I recently had a woman from Nordstrom size me.  I had it done before but it seems the recent weight I've gained has landed on my chest.  She asked what I thought I was and I told her and she immediately said, "No you're not."  Um, ok.  She took me to a dressing room, measured my band and told me my band size and then said, "Now take off your bra and let me see your breasts."  I immediately followed her directions without her even giving me so much as a cocktail and she sized me by sight.  That's some damn good skills.  And she was right and the bras were amazing.

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I talked about not showing too much skin. I talked about not having words on your ass.  I talked about not wearing big, baggy clothes.  And not one damn person told me to shut the fuck up.  You all are on notice.

Here's what I want you to know.  What you wear is your business, no one else's.  How it makes you feel is the only thing that matters.  You don't owe it to anyone to hide from what you think are your imperfections or live up to other people's preconceived notions as to how you should dress based on your weight or your body or your interests.  Go on and wear your Minecraft shirt, damn-it!  That's how I'm going to make this different for my kid.  I have to be different first.

This right here, from my another of my favorite online self-love advocates, The Militant Baker, is from here on the only thing that matters when it comes to others judging what we wear.

And for the love of God, next time I'm talking out the side of my neck give a girl a heads up, ok?  Sheesh.

Oh, that reminds me.  You need this.  Just because I said so.

Too School for Cool

Two weeks ago was 'Back to School' for my children and most of the other kids in the state of Minnesota.  While it wasn't punctuated with the normal crisp Fall back to school weather there was still the smell of new folders and the sharp pencil leads and composition notebooks.  I love notebooks.  All kinds.  And if there is one thing people can count on to make it feel like back to school again it's my Facebook statuses and countdowns.  This year I had people filling in the meme blanks for me, tagging me in photos or posting on my timeline.  I didn't even have to Google for anything.

This year I got the impression from many people that they truly believe I don't want my children around.  It started to have a real negative connotation and frankly put a major buzzkill on my Back to School festivities.

And festivities there have been.  In the past we've celebrated with high fives at the bus stop.  I've had standing first day of school coffee dates with a friend every year.  I've had back to school cocktails and first week of school sushi lunch dates.  I've even threatened to make a man out of that bus driver a time or two. This year I had a long coffee date with an old coworker from the gym. There's always some way to celebrate.

The truth is, aside from my time as an employee at the gym, I have been self-employed for seventeen years.  I've run my own business at home since around my one year wedding anniversary, partly due to some changes that were taking place at the company that I worked at but mostly because I knew we would someday have children. I thought it was a good time to try for a career that I could have at home while caring for babies.

I did very well the first few years.  Work was abundant.  Setting my own hours was perfect and I had plenty of time to spend with my husband.  About three years later we decided to move to another home so that we'd have room for a family.  The work load was still great but I struggled with staying focused during this time.  I like to call these The eBay Years.  How else was a girl supposed to find everything she didn't know she needed for her new home?  It's not like Amazon was invented yet.

Not long after this I did manage to get pregnant with our first child.  Enter the Pregnancy Website Months, Motherhood Books Weeks and Babies'R'Us, the mecca of all things baby and time wasting.  My expanding uterus had no interest in getting any work done and I struggled with taking advantage of the busy season.  Dumb move since it was the last season I'd ever have with uninterrupted work.

My oldest son was born at the end of December in the year 2000.  My line of work is usually fairly slow from Thanksgiving till New Years as people are focusing on the holidays rather than new construction.  But come January, the impending Spring building season has everyone clamoring to get their blueprints ready.  I remember working two weeks after he was born, via c-section I might add, sneaking drafting time during naps when I should have been sleeping myself.  Rigging a musical toy over a Pack N Play next to my desk so I could get more work in.  Nights.  Weekends. Any possible moment I could steal away because we couldn't afford for me not to work and at that point daycare made no financial sense.

I got pregnant again when my son was 8 months old.  If I thought working at home was tough before it was nothing compared to having two babies.  The days that I got them both to nap at the same time I thought I was Anne Sullivan, the damn Miracle Worker.  When my toddler dropped a nap I was reduced to the ultimate shameful mom practice of letting him watch tv while I worked.  Still I wasn't making enough money.  I wasn't keeping the house clean.  I had my husband pick up take-out a little too often.  Mom of the Year I wasn't.

When you are going to have kids you are faced with a big decision as a mother.  Do I keep going to work or do I stay at home?  It's a tough one and there are pros and cons to both.  But there is a third species and it's called a WAHM.  Work at home mom - it seems like the answer.  What could be better than staying at home with your little bundle and still bringing in money?  Everything.  All the other options are better than working from home when you have young ones.  I would encourage you to please, please choose one of the other two options.  Trust.

There is never enough work done.  The house is never clean enough.  You never spend enough "quality time" with the kids.  Dinners are half-hazard things you can throw together, assuming you have groceries because no one wants to go to the store with two babies.  (Seriously, my first outing by myself with a 17 month old and a newborn resulted in the toddler puking all over himself and the baby shitting all the way up his back to his hair.  Both requiring car seats to be hosed down.  I went home, cleaned everyone up, wept and vowed never to leave my house again.  Ever.)  Showering was completely optional and being romantic with my husband?  Pffffffttt Whatever.  Pretty standard SAHM troubles but throw work deadlines in and it's a hot mess.

I was pretty much failing at ever aspect of every one of my jobs.  WAHM's are spread so thin all the time (not to say that SAHM mom's aren't.  It's tough all around.) that they pretty much suck at everything.  Or maybe it was just me.  Maybe I couldn't hack it.  This may come to a surprise to you and you may want to sit down but...  I'm not really the Earth mother type.

I did have a nanny two days a week for a year or so in the form of my niece and she helped immensely.  But I'll be honest and tell you that it's still tough to run a business from home with the sounds of tag and Play-doh in the house.  Not to mention the kids still knew I was there, hiding away in my office, and I would easily fall pray to my control issues and step in whenever I heard my niece struggling.

And then... School (cue angels singing)

School is the WAHM's wet dream.  School is the answer to all her prayers.  School means she can get work done during the day and still be a mom at night.  School means not having to choose who gets more of her attention during those work hours and not feeling the guilt that is bound to go with either decision.  School is my air.  By the time I had both kids in school I really thought I'd made it.  But I forgot about one thing.

Summer.

This Summer was particularly tough.  I had an enormous work load.  And with both boys and my husband (yeah, he works at home, too - how's that for fucking togetherness) with me 24/7 it was constant chaos.  I would like very much to plan all kinds of activities for my boys. I would love to take them on fantastical fieldtrips to museums and parks and playdates and waterparks and the zoo.  I would love to even send them to some camps so they could have fun with friends but they won't go anymore.  Unfortunately I can't do all these things.  I have a business and when you are self-employed and there's actually work to be had you just don't say no.  You never know when the next dry spell will be.

Working from home in the Summer makes me feel more inept as a mother than anything I do.  The mom guilt is overwhelming and the resulting shame of not being good enough tears me down daily.  I know I'm not the first mother to have mom guilt but we, and by we I mean all of mom-hood, don't really talk about it.  I promise you this, though.  Any mom who says she doesn't have mom guilt is lying through her box of wine.

With all the guilt of being a shitty mom, a shitty money earner and a shitty wife it's really hard to spread myself any thinner.  So instead I got fatter.  I know I when I wrote in June I said I hadn't gained any weight over the last year since leaving my job at the gym.  Yeah, that's no longer true.  I've gained weight like it's my job the last couple of months and apparently that's the one job I can do even with all the distractions.  I haven't had a gym membership and I've literally had no time to take care of myself fitness-wise.

But you know what?  I did my best.  Could I get up and go for a run at 5am to make sure I got my workout in before I started my day as super mom / wife / drafter?  Bwahahahahhahaa  No.  I can't.  And I know that about myself.  What I couldn't do after feeling like I already was the worst mom ever for an entire Summer was go and leave them in the evening to get my workout in.  I did the best I possibly could to take care of my work obligations and my family and it came at a little expense to myself but that's the way it is.  And I'm at peace with that.   It's a small sacrifice to make to be able to work at home with no pants on.

I have a new gym membership that I started attending during the first week of school.  I had my shiny new padlock and my shiny new gym shoes.  It was my own "first day of school" where I knew no one and couldn't figure out where to go.  But I've got 9 months of homework to do as I take advantage of having the time and freedom to take care of myself and relieve a little stress before it starts all over again.  It's a fair trade.

So I survived.  And I celebrated.  And it doesn't mean that I don't love my kids or that I don't want them around, regardless of what my Facebook friends may think. I've more than paid my mom dues over the years.  I just can't be everything to everyone at the same time without the guilt.   And if that means I have to let taking care of myself fall to the wayside a little during the Summer then so be it.   Back to School is, I think, the Universe saying "You did well.  You survived, you are a great mom and you shall be rewarded greatly for your efforts."

Of course then I got knocked-on-my-ass sick for more than week immediately after school started.  I'm still sick. Well played, Karma.  Well played.  I see what you did there.

Liar Liar, Pants on Fire

So...um... it seems we need to talk.  I haven't been completely honest.  I know since I've started this blog we've talked a lot about the F (fat) word and I've lead you to believe a few things about myself.  I'm here to confess today even if it means losing a little credibility in that department.  So here goes.

I'm a liar. 

I've told you that I have battled my weight my entire life.  That I was a fat kid and that I have always struggled.  I've told clients that I don't really remember ever being a normal weight.  And then my aunt decided to text me, probably in a drug induced pain medication stupor, an old picture a few days ago.  "You weren't fat, Cass.  Here's the proof."

See that girl on the right with the purple terry cloth tank top, skinny legs and massively thick hair that looks like a brown football helmet?  Yeah, that's me.  Normal sized.

The picture has to be before 5th grade so at most I'm 9 here.  Other than the obvious lack of puberty I can tell the timeline because we are on my grandmother's driveway.  Two of my uncles, an aunt and my future uncle-in-law are visible.  I can't be sure if it's before or after the time I fancied myself a skate boarder and took that skate board to the top of the hill in our neighborhood, though given the amount of skin I still have on my arms I'm guessing it's before.  I also see my grandmother's future step-daughter in the picture which means it won't be long before my entire family moves away and I go to another school where I know no one.  Also, I think I see a thumb-war going on but that's neither here nor there.  The entire point is that for at least 9 years in my life I was of a normal weight.

My aunt has made me the Milli Vanilli of bloggers.  Girl, you know it's true.

My first reaction to the picture was, "Wow, I actually was skinny at one point."  My next reaction was tears.  Keep in mind that I had just been through an excruciating work week of probably 65-70 hours at my computer.  I had a bit of a breakdown last week while feeling overwhelmed with my job, kids and my general lack of caring for myself properly.  I haven't been eating the greatest.  I've certainly had no time to workout in forever. (Or, more accurately, I should say I haven't taken the time away from my other obligations.) This breakdown happened the night before I was to have my 5 month follow up appointment with my surgeon and knowing how little I've cared for myself lately and how abhorrent the idea of taking off my clothes for "after" pictures was for me I broke down and said some horrible things to myself in front of my husband.  One of these things was calling myself a "fat fuck" which makes me a double liar now because I promised to not talk that way to myself anymore.

So anyway, it's been a shitty couple of weeks.  But the reason I teared up when I saw the picture is that I saw my battle with weight as a betrayal to my body that started as a normal, healthy size.  I did this to me.  I wasn't always like this.

It's funny how skewed our own views can become of our bodies.  Being overweight has become such a prominent part of my life, such a huge element in how I think and feel and remember things that I have actually created a prequel to my fat in my own head that never existed.  For the most part I can tell you my weight from almost every year of my life.  Except for the ones where I wasn't overweight.  Huh.  I wonder why that is?

I can tell you that when my extended family moved away and my mom and I moved to another home that this is where my weight gain started.  I'm guessing I felt the absence of the only family I had ever known, my equivalent to brothers and sisters, and the pressure of starting at a new school.  I stayed inside with my great-grandmother after school and watched game shows with her and I must have snacked a lot though I don't remember doing so.  I do remember being weighed in school a year later in 6th grade and being horrified and embarrassed of my weight , I think for the first time, when it was read aloud and charted. 103.5 lbs, 5'-0".  I was over one hundred pounds?  None of the other girls were.

No wait.  I do remember the first time I was ever aware of my weight being a problem.  It was the summer before 6th grade so a full year after everyone moved.  My mom sent me out to visit my family in South Dakota for several weeks.  It was a trip full of fun and new adventures and some terrifying things for this suburban girl suddenly living out in the woods of the Black Hills.  But one of the things I remember most (other than falling about 12 feet out of a tree house, camping out in a lean-to on a hill and seeing my first and only Sturgis motorcycle rally) was playing "spy" with my uncle, Dereck, who is 12 days younger than me and was like my brother. He had rigged up some walkie-talkies so that one was in the "talk" position and hid it in his mother's (my grandmother's) room.  What he didn't know is that she was in there talking to a friend about me.  I listened to her say, "Well, I'm glad Cassidy finally grew in to her head but I didn't expect her to get THAT big so fast."  That's my first real memory of being ashamed of my size.  I don't know why, in later years, I've assumed my shame about my weight went farther back than that.  And, yes, I did have a large head. Still do.  These brains take up a lot of space and this hair wouldn't fit on a tiny head.

I don't think I ever have a really clear idea of what I really look like.  I'm always skewing it somehow.  Sometimes I think I'm looking like hot shit and then I'll see a picture of what I really looked like that night and scare the crap out of myself.  Is this like a reverse body dysmorphia?  Most of the time I think I look worse than I do and that I look much bigger than I do.  I'm kind of ashamed to admit this but as I was losing weight I would make my husband play a game with me whenever we went out.  It was kind of a "Is she bigger or smaller than me?" game except no one really wins.  I wasn't asking to put other women down.  I was truly trying to change the picture in my head because to me I was and always would be 308 lbs.  My brain had so much catching up to do to match my shrinking body and sometimes this game helped.  Sometimes it didn't (see previous "hot shit" days).  The one who consistently lost the game was probably my husband.  Poor guy.

Now you don't even need to play the game with someone else.  If you really want to see a plethora of body shapes and sizes at your weight you can go to My Body Gallery, type in your stats and see women from all over the world.  The idea is that seeing all the variety that there is in the world will help women see their own bodies more clearly and I think it could be useful as long as you don't get down on yourself for not looking like some of the women there.  Interesting note: when I put all my information in I got "No Results Returned".  We aren't going to talk about that right now.

There is a name for this skewing and it's called "Normative Discontent" or body image dissatisfaction.  It's the little sister to Body Dysmorphic Disorder and it's often fueled by unrealistic expectancies, pressure in the media to look a certain way and eating disorder-type thinking.  I think it's just a fancy name given to what almost all women and a lot of men struggle with regarding their own self-image.

About an hour after my aunt sent me the "skinny" picture an old Weight Watcher friend of mine posted the only "full body" picture of herself.  She posted it because it was taken with a dear friend of hers and she wanted to share it, albeit with reservation.  She said "after a grievous refatting a few years ago" she had a "lot invested in not letting anyone see how bad I really look."  She also spoke of shame and you know that's a hot button for me.  She said, "This is me and my gorgeous friend. I'm the fat one."  But you know what?  She looked normal to me.  Skinny?  No.  Normal?  Healthy?  Happy?  Beautiful?  Yes.  My favorite part was when one of her friends said, "your body doesn't match how you often portray yourself as some freaking linebacker with the body dimensions of a refridgerator."  She totally nailed her on that one.  That's exactly how she speaks about herself.

And then I realized that's exactly how I speak about myself, too.  And her posting that full-body picture really put my own little picture freak out in perspective.  

I've been actively trying to change the way I think about my body.  I really have - I'm not lying about that.  I work on my inner dialogue.  I am careful of what information ends up in my inbox and I'm following some fantastic women online that are in synch with my current goals of body acceptance. I've worn a two-piece swimsuit *gasp* to a public water park.  I wore a dress that I believed was too short for me and that I had no business wearing because I don't have nice legs.  I've worn heels with god damned ankle straps, people!  I'm trying to step out of the box I've put myself in because of my weight.  I plan to do things and wear things and say things that I never thought I was entitled to because of my size.  But I'm baby stepping it.  My 39th birthday is next month and I'm working on a bucket list of sorts for my 40th year that includes things I never thought I could do or should do because of how I looked.  I've got a big project planned for myself in August that's really scaring the shit out of me but that's a surprise for later.  But now I see I also have to stop attaching this imaginary fat to every aspect of my life and history as if it is the one thing that defines me and all my experiences and pain.  Because it doesn't, you know.  I am not my weight.  I promise you I will not remember this blog post according to what I weighed today.

So... what have I learned from this picture of my youth?  First, I need to realize that my normal size back then is a good thing.  It means that even though I have compromised my body because of my emotional needs that it still has the ability to maintain a normal, healthy weight if allowed to do so.  It also validates my suspicion that one of my trigger issues has to do with people abandoning or rejecting me, which I just wrote about, and knowing that gets me closer to healing.  I've learned that I don't have to take all my painful experiences and stuff them in a box labeled "fat" as if that's the worst thing I could be.  And lastly, as I look at that picture in my purple tank and lavender track shorts I know this for sure.  I have always had and hopefully will continue to have a "voluptuous backside", as my aunt so loving pointed out.  Vanilla In The Front indeed.

The More You Know...

I haven't blogged in awhile and it's been intentional.  Aside from the last couple of posts I wasn't happy with the direction it was going and I was at a loss on how to get it back on track.  It was whiny and pissy and not at all helpful to anyone and that's not what I want it to be about. In many ways my surgery set me back for a bit but I'm feeling pretty good now and ready to move on and get back to the work at hand.  What were we talking about again?

Oh, yeah.  Retired personal trainer.  Body image.  Vulnerability.  Shame.  Spanx.  Blah. Blah. Blah.

It just so happens that tomorrow is the one year anniversary of me leaving my job as a personal trainer, group fitness instructor and manager at the gym I worked at.  I was a hot mess a year ago - anyone close to me (and some not even so close) can attest to that.  Even four months later when I wrote my first blog I was still in rough shape.

So where am I at one year later?  What have I learned? I've come up with a list, in no particular order.

1. How I speak about myself, especially when I'm alone, is the key to just about everything when it comes to body confidence and recovering from shame.  Actively trying to find things about myself to be grateful for is absolutely necessary.  And I know I am not alone based on the feedback I got from people during my Body Gratitude project.
2. I do not miss working nearly every night outside the home.  But at the same time I can hear a song while driving and miss teaching so much it makes me cry.  I don't know when/if that will go away.  But I'm 99.9% sure I am not going to teach or train again.
3. I think that people that have battled weight issues and body image problems are so very necessary in the fitness world.  They have a perspective when teaching and training that people that have never battled these things do not have and the connection they can make with people because of this is amazing.
4. That being said, based on my own experience if you have a serious issue with weight and food and body image I would think long and hard before I recommended getting into the business.  It's a slippery slope and a difficult image to uphold even if you never have these issues.  If you struggle it can backfire on you.  If anyone is seriously considering a job in fitness and wants me to explain further, feel free to contact me.  Bottom line - if you can't balance taking care of yourself while you bust your ass to care for others - it's not the place for you.
5. Jeans.  They still suck.  Surgery or no, I still can't find a pair of jeans to save my life.  I think my issues are worse than they were before.  Not a damn designer assumes that if you have ass and thighs like mine you will have a flat stomach.  So as far as I can tell this is the truth: Jeans shopping sucks no matter what your size.
6. So have I lost weight in the last year?  I did for a little and now I haven't.  I'm about the same as where I started, aside from what was removed during the surgery.  Some may view this as a failure but I don't. I had a helluva year that seriously broke me emotionally.  Any time this has happened in the past I have gained a considerable amount of weight. To maintain for a year while struggling so much is a big deal for me.  I'm going to chalk that one up as a win.
7. When I left the gym I thought to myself, "I'll show them.  When they see me next I'm gonna be thinner and stronger and ripped and hot...", etc.  Yeah, that didn't happen.  Do you want to know why?  Other than the fact that none of the people that hurt me would have even given a shit nor have they stayed in touch anyway, my desire for "revenge skinny" was impossible.  It can't happen.  Approaching health and weight loss out of anger and frustration and retaliation will never, ever work.  Your body knows better than you when it comes to knowing what motivates you.  I had healing to do before I could even think about changing my body.
8. Can you still change your body while loving it?  I think you can though if I'm being honest I still struggle with it.  I try to focus on stopping the negative thoughts when I think about how I would like to change and focus more on the health aspects.  And I really do miss feeling and looking strong.  The recovery from surgery (and the lack of a routine since then) has really taken it's toll.  I'm ready to get back to it and lift some heavy shit.
9. This:
   
   
10.  I'm not meant to completely avoid any particular food group.  I've tried and I've played with it all year.  It's just not for me.  Whatever you do to lose weight you have to be willing to do forever.  Am I going to have some bread?  Yeah, I am.  *shrugs*  What else will I put my favorite cheese on?  Moral of the story - balance, moderation, focusing on whole foods.  This is what works for me. It worked before and it's what I can maintain. I will no longer vilify any particular food group.  Except cucumbers.  I hate those things.
11. Moisturizer.  Get some.  I've been horrible at skin care for 38 years and I finally got on board.  What a dumbass I've been.  Get thee to the mall.
12. Weight loss or surgery - neither of these will fix you on the inside.  Whatever problems you had before you will have them after.  You'll just look different on the outside.  God, I wish I had a dollar for every time I've had to relearn this.
13. I seriously hate Fitspiration pics.  You know - the Nike-esque pictures with motivational sayings that also happen to include a picture of a woman so graciously sprayed down with fake sweat so as to enhance her nearly perfect, body fat free physique?  Google Fitspo and you'll see what I mean. 
    
    I like most of the messages and I give the people credit for their hard work but I'd venture to guess that 95% of these people are fitness models who have never really battled weight and have a natural ability to build muscle (not everyone can look like that no matter how hard they work and that's the damn truth - a lot of it's genetic).  I am not motivated by pictures of women that I will never in my life look like, no matter how much lifting I do.  And don't get me started on the air brushing.  It's worse than the fashion industry.  Show me real pictures of real people busting their ass and getting REAL sweaty and I'll be inspired.  And who the fuck works out in those outfits? 
14. I'm not always a nice person.  There.  I said it. Recently I found out that my former boss was fired from his current job and for a brief moment I was ecstatic.  I was triumphant.  It was one giant "I told you so"/middle finger and I had won.  But deep down I know this does not really make me feel better.  And I do worry about the financial situation that his family must face.  I need to be better than this because his pain will never truly make me feel better.  My problems are my problems.
15. Sometimes it takes a real asshole to push you to make the decisions you need to make. (see above) (Yes, I know it's not nice to call names.) (I already told you I wasn't a nice person.) (see above) Fact: It was time for me to leave my job.  I wasn't taking care of myself.  I was burned out.  My family was suffering.  I was miserable.  But my sense of obligation to that place, my manager and my friends/clients/class regulars kept me from making the decision I had to make.  I owe the owner a debt of gratitude for pushing me that last little bit that made me gather up the pride and strength I had left and say "peace out".  Thank you.
16. Obagi Pore Therapy Toner.  Get some.
17. Sexy panties really do work wonders.  Even if no one else can see them you know they are there.  Again, get thee to the mall.
18. This one is a doozy and just came to me in the last couple of weeks.  It will take some explaining.  You know how some people can pinpoint what started their weight gain?  Abuse, rape, broken hearts - no wonder people are self-medicating.  I actually think food is the safest way to ease that pain.  It could be so much worse.  I could never figure out what my "thing" was.  I've had some inklings.  I know of some pivotal moments for me but there is no concrete reason.
    
    Then the tornadoes hit Oklahoma, my birth state.  My grandfather still lives there and no one could reach him to find out if he was ok.  In the end I decided to email one of my aunts that hasn't spoken to me in years.  To describe everything that happened between me, her and her younger sister that ended our relationship would take way too long.  Just know that it changed me forever.  I grieved no differently than if they had died.  Maybe worse because I knew they completely rejected me.  Two people that I felt as close to as if they were my sisters.  I promptly slipped into a major depression back then and gained a shit ton of weight.  My highest weight even.
    
    I prepared an email for her to find out what she knew.  They often know more about family goings-on than the rest of us "black sheep" and neglect to tell us anything.  I didn't even know if her email was the same.  It took all I had to hit the send button.  My heart was racing, my stomach sick, tears running down my face.  What if she got my email and didn't respond?  What if she didn't get it and I just assumed she was ignoring me?  What if she actually responded and I had to take down the wall I had so meticulously built up around that part of my heart so I couldn't be hurt again by her?  This was a no win situation and it scared the shit out of me.  But I hit send anyway.  Seconds later I got a text saying Granddad was ok.  Mother fucker!!!  (Not Granddad.  Just the fact that I opened that can of worms when I didn't have to.)
    
    This is my "thing".  And I would venture to guess it's a lot of people's "things".  Rejection. Abandonment. Being ignored. Loss of love and affection.  And it all leads to one place - "I'm not good enough."
    
    A lot of people have wondered why I was still hung up on this gym or the people there.  Why did it still affect me so much?  Why I was still hurt by the loss of a friendship that I thought would last a very long while but virtually disappeared the second I was no longer there to bust my ass?  Why can't I just get over it?
    
    I can tell you it goes back farther than that.  It involves rejection from my father by absence. It includes my grandmother moving away and taking some of the people I cared most about with her. Attending seven different schools between kindergarten and senior year and having to lose friends and make new ones all over again each time. It includes being abandoned by every single one of my friends when I chose to marry the person I'm still with today.  It involves a group of online friends that I love dearly and were pivotal in my weight loss that I lost for reasons I can't exactly explain but I'm sure I'm responsible for at least half of, if not more, for I have developed a nasty habit of pushing people away before they hurt me.  And it includes losing two aunts who were there for me at some of my darkest moments when I lost a pregnancy and battled post-partum depression so severe it almost ended my life.  They just left me.
    
    Leaving the gym scared the shit out of me because I knew it would mean I would lose people again and I didn't know if I was strong enough for it.  And the one person I thought I wouldn't lose I did lose.  And in the defense of everyone from the gym that I felt had hurt me, they didn't know they would have the burden of fending off all my baggage on this issue.  This is my load to carry.  Not theirs.  I have to forgive them for they didn't have the whole picture or know what their actions would do to me.
    
    In the end this is still a success for me on this one year anniversary mark.  It hurt me and it was so hard to lose people again, but I made it through.  Just like I did before.  I'm still here.  Annoying the hell out of you people now.  Maybe I'm starting to get stronger than my "thing".
19. Love first.  Change second. (I ought to trademark the hell out of that)
20. And last but hopefully not least - this:

I'm ready to let it go.  Trainer and instructor - that's all in the past.  I'm just me now.  No one to answer to but myself when it comes to my own body.  It will continue to be a life long battle I'm sure and I'll do my best to write more often and share my experiences for as long as anyone finds it useful or relevant.  And maybe for a while past that as long as it's useful to me.

Oh!  I just thought of one more!

21. I'm kind of a big fucking deal.  And so are you.