Tag Archive | truth

Saved

Lately I have been allowing myself to wallow in my sadness. I’ve kept warm with a side of self pity for good measure. I have come to a place where I have plateaued on my journey because of my actions. While I was busy contemplating my importance in the space time continuum, actually trying to decide if I wanted to keep trying or throw my hands up in faux despair and fail; I was saved. Yes, I said saved…by a set of bra hooks.

One of my best feel good moments is my sense of accomplishment. How wonderful to know the feeling of satisfaction over a job well done. Bras are the worst invention, torture for a gal with some fluff to her form. I have hated bras my whole breast laden adulthood. The other day as I was getting myself dressed for work it dawned on me. I LIKE my bras! Not for their supporting role in my life (pun intended) but because for the first time in my womanhood they fit. Not last set of hooks before I have to size up FIT but third set in I have to go be fitted for a smaller bra FIT. THAT FIT! They fit because I made a choice to start taking better care of myself. I felt a sense of pride in myself and a flash of happiness I haven’t experienced in quite some time. My journey is not over. I have accomplished a lot in a year. I feel more alive, more beautiful than I ever have. I have more work to do. I am willing to put in the work. I want to keep doing the right things for my health.

When I walked back into WWS last February my bras were stretched to their limit. You know what happens when you try to squeeze ten pounds of mud into a five pound sack? Back bulge, side ooze, unicleavage. All embarrassing, all uncomfortable but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make to keep the façade hidden. I didn’t want anyone to know how tight I felt in my own skin. So I lied to myself to keep the anger and depression from taking control of my life. I lost that battle over and over. Why do I keep making the same mistakes? Because I haven’t learned enough from them yet. Truth is a double edge weapon; it sets you free but leaves a wound that only time and love can cure.

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I have always been girl lost. I try everyday to become woman found. It is not an easy job. I am worth the best version of myself.  The sadness I am trying to work through is a temporary thing. The sun will shine another day. I will welcome its beauty again with open arms to enjoy the warmth on my soul. When I am struggling to make it to the end of a tough day I will remember that once upon a time a set of bra hooks set my efforts on a new path. I am worth the struggle.

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Never Give Up On The Person You Are Meant to Be  =  )

The Usual/Unusual

I have been called many things in my life ; weird, strange, odd, peculiar even unusual. Fine by me, I have rather enjoyed being a square peg in a round hole kind of world.  I have felt at odds with myself this past week. I have gone to extraordinary measures to punish myself for imagined shortcomings.  Guilt does not have an exclusive contract with anyone. It is a rotten emotion that is tough to shake.  This week I have been fighting a battle with myself over things beyond my control. I hate to admit this but guilt has been my steady companion.

I gave into the Dark Side. I am here to tell you that yes, they do have cookies. I ate them freely and willing but it is time now to put the emotional pain I am feeling in its proper place. I am not the same person who walks away from her own best success to eat her way through the tough times. Eating a path through your own suffering is like slapping yourself repeatedly to attain a glow to your complexion! Huh? What? I love to obsess. PERSONALITY QUIRK!!!! I love to worry over the smallest details just in case I missed something I can make better. Give it a rest already, Trish!  No one is perfect!

I had to sit myself down, have a heart to heart convo about righting my path. Sometimes the path of least resistance seems like the best idea but for me it always spins out of control somewhere between the cookie and chip aisle. I have no desire to wake up in the Lost and Found Department again wearing three day old pizza stains on my shirt and dried drool on my chin wondering when the party ended and why nobody made sure I got home safely. The older I get the easier it is to become lost and not found. For the first time in my recent history I have been right where I needed to be and I was enjoying how wonderful I was feeling; then Death came to sit with me awhile. While I am happily alive some of the people that were once in my life are now no longer of this life. No problem for them but for me, the gal who prides herself {insert lie} on not feeling {insert lie} the BIG FEELS,  I can’t seem to shake the leftover sadness.

Where am I supposed to spend all of this love that I have sitting around unused? Sadness CAN NOT be cured by eating your way to the bottom of a cookie jar. I will not give up on working to be the better version of myself. The people in my life that love me accept me as I am. It is me that makes the monsters. I chose to silence my emotions with poor food choices. Guess what? My home remedy didn’t work. The only things I accomplished? I made myself sick on junk food. I cried a lot. My anger only grew. The minute I owned what I was doing to myself I began to feel better. I am worth more than I give myself.

One of my favorite quotes by Maya Angelou “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

Never Give Up On The Person You Are Meant To Be!

 

I Call Your Name

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I swear sometimes I can hear the granola whispering in the cupboard. I am an impulse snack buyer/try-er(which left unwatched becomes a dangerous game of cat and mouse) I write out a shopping list every week. Mine has all the usual and customary items: coffee, milk, yogurt,cookies,(can’t blame a girl for hoping) you know things you need; toilet paper, toothpaste, laundry soap,cookies, fruit, veggies, etc. I make a list before I leave to cut down on my cruise controlling while I am in the store. I look through weekly flyers for the grocery stores I am partial to going to. I try to set myself up to succeed in my efforts so that when I stroll through the doors in the early morning hours of Saturday to get weighed in I will feel confident knowing that I did my damned best to be a success.

Sometimes I swear the granola is whispering in the cupboard to the peanut butter about starting a revolt. I stopped buying smooth PB because he tempted me too much. Now I am dating his cousin PB2. He 2 is smooth but quieter and I am in a much better relationship with him than I ever was with his cousin. Amen for the quiet guys{wink}!

I was just thinking, ” you know it’s too bad someone couldn’t invent powdered chocolate…” and of course, dumbass! cocoa is powdered CHOCOLATE. I swear the granola is plotting, either that or I am sleep(cookie)deprived. It is way past my bedtime. Note to self: in the morning send the granola packing, things are not working out between us and the time has come for us to meet others who are healthier for our well being. Its been real but you have to go now.

Good night

 

 

New Weigh

I have always held the belief that OVER eating is more than just not knowing when you have had enough of a good thing. For me indulging in the dark arts ( cookies, cakes ) has always been about my fear and anger of handling/not handling my own pain or discomfort. Growing up feeling inadequate with no one to tell me life is a learning curve, that we grow as we grow was tough. When I needed to be comforted and no one was there, food always was. If I was busy stuffing food into my mouth I couldn’t cry about feeling unloved. Food was always on stand by for times when I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough or enough of whatever magical ingredient seemed to have not been shipped with my arrival into the world.

Food can not make you happy for long. Just like its calories, it is an empty friend. The only thing it ever truly gives me is heartache. Food can not hold my hand or help me to see that I am strong enough to work my way through the hard times. Food does not build character it tears down whatever small foundation I may have managed to put together. Food has proven to me that I have real weaknesses. It has taught me I can easily be swayed by an over processed smartly wrapped package of nutrient void glob whenever I am trying to avoid myself. Problems do not go away simply because I prefer them to.

I made the choice to get better. I am the only one who can guarantee my success by never giving up on trying to become the best version of myself. I decided to make peace with myself. The road is not always easy to travel but, what an amazing journey I am on.

Never Give UP On The Person You Are Meant To BE

 

Ebb and Flow

Life is about fluctuations. My weight fluctuates. My mood fluctuates. My interests. Think of something in your life and ask yourself if everything is the same as it has always been. I am betting not. I am on hiatus from my job until the very beginnings of the new year. I want to take this time to sit down, devote some serious time to writing and get back to my calm place. I missed WWs last Saturday. I have been struggling the last few weeks and while the scale has been kind to me; I have not been kind to myself. I have come to realize that I need to get to a meeting at least once a week. For myself to keep me on track, to keep my head in the game because it holds the best chance of success for me.

I find that when I am completely honest with myself and the people in my life I do better for myself. No more hiding my truth or going along to make someone else happy. It doesn’t mean that my truth needs to be your truth; it is mine and mine alone. I am unwilling to give up on myself. I have been donating the clothes that I no longer fit into. I would love to have a new wardrobe of pretty things. I have spent a good portion of my life dressed as a line backer. Someday my dream is to wear a dress without Spanks to smooth my line =  ).

I know that when I get on that scale tomorrow it will show that I have not lost. It will be right. I have not lost; I am winning! I am winning because this time I am not afraid to say I need help. This time I am not afraid of the “what ifs”. This time I want to be a better version of me. This time I am not willing to take less than my best effort. I am a survivor!

I am beautiful. I am strong. My ED will not run my life anymore! I am the boss!

Never Give Up On The Person You Are Meant To Be

HMmmm?

Sometimes the beginning of a story happens at the end. Everyday that we get up and participate in our life we write more of our own story. We alone are responsible for its content and meter. My rhythm was recently interrupted by a ripple I never saw coming. One chapter ends and a new one begins. In a good read, chapters are often ways for an author to tie up loose ends or introduce a new plot twist or a dangerous and suspicious evil character. Who will I be for the next chapter in my story? Am I a damsel in distress? or a damsel in a dress? or am I damsel at all?

In my lifetime I have had numerous people tell me they “know” me. What I like, how I react, when my mood swings…You know the type of person I am talking about, right? Funny thing is some days I don’t know myself. So how in the world do smug pricks always think they have the plug-in for what I am feeling or what it is that I will be doing next, when I am not sure myself?

I am just getting home after work, from my Jeep I can tell the mailman has made his rounds blessing my homestead with the unwanted littering of ads. Maybe there will be some mail I might need. I never expected his death certificates to be amongst the upcoming grocery sales. The envelope is simply stamped city clerk’s office from the city where I live. Holding it in my hands I feel my soul begin to shrink in on itself. I feel nervous and anxious. I know he is gone. So why does this envelope make me feel so empty? and lost?

A new chapter begins where another ends. I make the rounds to the places that need confirmation from this envelope of finality. Social Security office,  the administration office that manages his pension, the IRS, the Registry of Motor Vehicles, the list is lengthy. My anxiety begins to mount and suddenly I am crying full steam ahead in the arms of a complete stranger. WTH? Cathartic and horrifying.  Healing, because for the first time I am feeling his loss, horrifying because now this stranger thinks I am a little crazy. Just wonderful! I call my hubby from my vehicle. I am hyperventilating. The sadness of my Dad’s passing finally slapping me so hard I am struggling to stay focused. No one wants to happen upon someone in the midst of hysterics. I want to run away from myself but I can’t. No matter which way I turn or run reality is still there patiently waiting for my acceptance. I am learning to adult better but I am afraid.

Thanksgiving is fast approaching. I don’t feel thankful. I am depressed and angry. It’s very hard for me to tell any one when I am feeling less than stellar. There is a long history in my immediate family associated with depression. Depression comes with stigma. A heavy necklace of doom you are tasked to wear. I hate it. I hate everything about it. Depression lies. Its voices penetrating my soul in places I DO NOT like to linger in for too long. We all struggle. No one is happy and well adjusted all the time.

Not knowing the answer to questions I have always had makes me more anxious. I am on the journey of my life. I no longer have a mother or a father that I can bounce questions off of. There is no one left who knows every little thing about me:   all of my secrets, my loves, my hates, my ambitions, my loneliness, how I got the scar in my eyebrow. There is no one left to reminisce with about the good ole days gone by. I lost so much more than my Dad. I lost the last link to my history.

Bleak Friday

I was awake before my alarm this morning. It is Black Friday. Looks like I didn’t make it through the looking glass and Alice  will have to carry on for another year without me while I try to figure out how to get back through the rabbit hole.  I am not the winning contestant on The Voice. I am not any wealthier. I am not married to a man twenty years younger than I am. My vacation is over. I take this week off every year, dreaming for a different outcome. An outcome that never comes to fruition.

Why do people feel the need to squeeze me so tightly with their needs? I feel cornered. I just want to turn tail and escape. I just wanted a week away from the noise. I wanted to bask in the freedom of letting people fend for themselves. I do not have the answers! I am not the FIXER! Why do people look to me for the calm that is missing in their lives?

You want the truth? Most days I am so anxious I want to throw up. I don’t want to get dressed let alone partake in living but I do it. Why? because I have wasted enough of my life waiting for a better day to rear its head. This is who I am. I have spent a good portion of my life running away from myself. Today I feel lonely. I feel like I wasted another week of vacation over trivial crap I will never care about.

What I really wanted for my vacation was to get away, from the job, co workers, from myself. I wanted some time alone to grieve. My hubby had to work so I needed to get up early everyday to take him to work. He doesn’t drive. No going anywhere to have fun unless I could be back for around 2 every afternoon. No time to get anything done. No time to cry, or write, or be alone.

What did I learn? Next time I will shut off my cellphone. Next time I will take a different vacation if my job denies my hubby’s vacation time again. Next time I will have a plan in place to have an adventure that I want to do. I need to remember to be true to myself. I am responsible for my own happiness. I forgot to ensure my own happiness. I foolishly  let down my radar. I got burned. My bad, won’t happen again.

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