Beautiful You, Showing Up

Day 24 – Beautiful You – Describe Yourself

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From the book “Inward” by: Yung Pueblo

Today: In your Beautiful You journal, describe yourself as completely as you can.

I have put off writing this post for a week now because I’ve spent a lot of time wondering who I really am vs. who I think I am supposed to be in my too-high regard for what others think of me and how they perceive me. 

I’ve also spent a bit too much romanticizing some of my past and trying to recover who I’ve been at previous times, forgetting also what I’ve worked through since then.

Who am I now, at nearly 37 years old, married, and once again unemployed? Definitely more than just those things even if I allow just those labels to identify me all too often these days. 

I guess the answer is, who I am right now is fluid and forever transforming. Ugh, that sounds too vague. Even if the walls are constantly being repainted and the furniture changed out, the foundation of who I am is still pretty much the same.

So who I am right now? What is the foundation of me?

Last week, when I got a much-needed pedicure, the woman who did it and I got to talking about children and she asked me if I have any. I said, “No, but at nearly 37, I guess my window is starting to close and I need to decide soon, huh?” She said she would’ve guessed I was years younger and said, “It must be because you are a really happy person, I can see it in your face.” I joked back, “Having such chubby cheeks helps.”

Later, when I texted my mom and told her about it, she said, “I know you’ve had a rough year, but deep down, you are a joyful person. You laugh and smile a lot and that shows in your face and makes you look younger.”

I do find a lot to laugh about. I love to play around with my two dogs, Missy and Chewy. I find funny memes to share with John and my brothers. I think I’m pretty funny personally and laugh at my own jokes even when everyone else thinks my jokes aren’t that funny. My sense of humor varies from silly/goofy to sarcastic to dirty. 

As critically as I talk and think at times, I am also deeply optimistic. I’m currently in the midst of one of many deconstructing/sometimes self-destructive periods in my life, but I am still hopeful. I know it is temporary. I still know how to find something to smile and laugh about.

I love to read and learn and always have. I will read the book before I watch the movie, and though the book is better most of the time, I can think of several movie interpretations that turned out better, like The HelpThe Secret Life of BeesP.S., I Love You, A Time to Kill, and a few others. I read constantly, whether it is books, articles posted on social media, or stuff I google or see on Reddit. 

I’m on a lifelong path of continuous self-growth and self-evolving. I try to keep an open mind about most things and find the middle ground. I’m starting to learn it is okay to question the things I was once so sure about, like the Christian faith I was raised to believe in. 

In this process of continuous self-growth, my acute self-awareness flourishes. When I get angry with how others act or how I feel they’re treating me, I stop and think, Why does this bother me so much? What unhealed and hurting part of me is reacting to this? I am trying to become a more thoughtful and less reactive person.

I love to write. Author Jon Acuff wrote in his book Start that a passion is something you can do without ever being paid for it and something you lose track of time while doing. Writing is both of those for me.

I miss writing fiction. I miss writing songs. While I am getting better at verbally communicating my thoughts and emotions, which is especially important because tone can be hard to read in written communication and I can come across as a huge bitch sometimes, writing still helps me process my thoughts best. 

I’m an outgoing introvert. I can go between talking to people at 90 mph for hours to basically taking a vow of silence for 2 days. Like others in my family, I have rarely met a stranger. Being a southerner, this is especially true when I meet other college football fans because SEC football is its own language and religion. I have a very thick southern accent that refuses to subside despite John not having much of a southern accent. Not even living in Chicago for two years dampened it. Sometimes, I think it is charming; other times, I think it is annoying. Maybe those are the times I take the vow of silence, haha. 

I love to sing in the shower or alone in my car. I love singing along to Disney songs and musicals and often love movie soundtracks better than the movies. I also love to make up and sing silly songs about my dogs, mostly changing the words to songs already recorded. 

I love to dance and am not as shy about doing that in front of others if I’m at club or wedding. I mostly dance in the shower, while I’m getting dressed, baking, and/or waiting on my food to cook in the microwave. My dog Missy seems to love when I hold her and dance too, as she runs up to me whenever I start and waits for me to pick her up. It’s so cute.

I also love to bake, though I don’t do it as much as I used to because my body doesn’t react well to sweets anymore (yay, IBS, gastritis, and insulin resistance). Baking is one of the few things I connect with my dad on, and it is one of the few things that clears my head and helps me relax.

The other thing about me that connects my dad and me is that I’m a huge weather geek. I tell John every day I am ready to move closer to the beach because summer doesn’t feel right without afternoon thunderstorms and they seem to evade us here in Atlanta. I get mad when it storms down the road but not here. Thunder and lightning make me feel so alive.

I’m a night owl, something that I’ve been my whole life and probably always will be. Every time my schedule is interrupted when I’ve quit a job, I wind up sliding into my natural rhythm which puts me at staying up often until 3a or later and sleeping late. I’m most awake in the late afternoon and then again just after midnight. 

I wish I was more gentle, but I tend to be, as my great-grandmother Lib used to say, “a bull in a china shop.” I am strong and have strong enough hands to open my own jar, but often John has to take things from me before I destroy them. I also wish I was more patient, but I get frustrated and flustered easily. John says I have “Hulk hands,” strong and ferocious, so when I accidentally break something, the term is that I “Hulk-handed” it. 

I am sensitive and empathetic, no matter how I came about acquiring these traits. I can’t watch painfully awkward, violent, or sad parts of TV shows or movies. I cry easily. Get my feelings hurt easily. 

I am determined to have a vibrant, fulfilling life, so you can imagine how impatient and anxious I get when I don’t have the extra money to do things like travel. I’m also an all-or-nothing person so it is hard for me to see that even if I can’t fly across the country or world, there’s still plenty to see right where I live that doesn’t cost a lot of money or any, beyond maybe gas in my car.

I think I have this vision deep down of what I want my life to be like, but I can’t quite fully grasp it yet or I just see it in flashes. The flashes I see are things like living near the ocean, riding my bike in the sunshine, and having a small cottage style house with windows all around to let the sunlight in and a big kitchen, and baking for John, me, and friends. Lots of books to read, storms to watch roll in over the ocean, room to dance, songs to sing, conversations to have, and stories to listen to and write. This feels too easy at times or I don’t know how to get there so I ignore it, but I’m slowly learning it is okay to find joy in life, enjoy my life, and to stop rushing through the good to plan and brace for the inevitable pain and loss. To stop thinking I can’t just have good things, I have to earn or deserve them through lots of pain and suffering. That way of living and thinking is draining me though. I’m ready to experience and be enveloped in the good whether I deserve it or not. 

I could probably go on a bit more, but one thing is clear: I have a pretty good grasp of who I am. There are a lot of shifting parts going on inside of me and a lot I am moving through and healing from. I could’ve written about my struggles with my anxiety and depression, but even though these feel so big so often, they are really a mix of wonky brain chemicals, impatience, and the high expectations I hold for my life. I’m restless and antsy and so ready for more, but I also need to not neglect the present so often. It’s all just me trying to find balance, gratitude, compassion, forgiveness, and healing in my life. 

Even in the darkest depths of my sadness and worry, I’m excited about life and my potential to experience it. That’s a light that I don’t ever see going out because I’ve been through some shit and it’s yet to extinguish. It is a light that is with me for life.

 

Beautiful You, Showing Up

Day 23 – Beautiful You – Realize That You Are What You Pay Attention to

Today: In your Beautiful You journal, reflect on what you pay attention to, what you give priority, and what you put your energy into on any given day. If we are what we pay attention to, are you comfortable with this reflection of you? If not, how can you adjust to more accurately reflect who you are at your core?

Eight years ago today, John and I met when he joined his sister and I on a trip to Tybee Island, Georgia for the day, and our relationship immediately began. Tomorrow is our fourth wedding anniversary.

Eight years feels both like a long time and barely a blip. Our relationship is as old as a third grader, and we both can act like third graders at times. And man, year 8 has been a fucking doozy.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I struggle a lot with codependency that stemmed from my dysfunctional family and dysfunctional relationship with my mom growing up. I am a fixer. I equate being able to help with being lovable. I feel like if I can’t do something, I am worthless. This has really reared its ugly head in the past 3 years with my bouts of unemployment while John works full-time.

I also struggle with boundaries because I was not allowed to have them growing up or they were completely disregarded and stepped over, and this has caused me to stew inwardly on a lot of ways I’ve allowed John to treat me without saying anything and then blowing up at him during a minor disagreement over something unrelated or that is barely related.

I’ve spent a long time giving my energy to making others happy in the hopes that they will love me and won’t reject or abandon me. Making myself responsible for every conflict, telling myself my needs, desires, boundaries, and emotions are all too much. Living in fear of my own voice and the light inside of me that threaten to burn me up from the inside out if I choose to continue to ignore them. Feeling inadequate and useless. Feeling stuck in all of my struggles with my body image, debt, jobs, and oftentimes, my marriage.

John is very different from me in a lot of ways, but he is also a mirror for me, and it’s often a mirror that highlights everything I either hate myself for or do everything I can to ignore. Things like settling for whatever I can get, being afraid of criticism, my anger, shame, fear, and unwillingness to really face my emotions and not just push through them with the power of logic and rationalization.

I also spend a lot of time projecting my own perfectionistic tendencies on him, and compare our marriage to others that I only get glimpses into here and there but still convince myself they’re better.

I expend too much energy worrying about what others think. I tend to tell my friends only the bad stuff after a fight and then when they ask if I’m sure I want to stay married to him and I say yes, I feel like they’re disappointed in me or feel like how I felt towards my mom when she wouldn’t leave my dad or her second ex, even though those marriages were extremely dysfunctional and abusive. And then I feel like I have to rationalize and justify and honestly, it is exhausting worrying about what others think of my marriage, especially when I spend more time worrying about that than the marriage itself.

When I’m angry at John, when I feel like he throws all of the responsibility on me in our relationship, when I feel like he doesn’t give a shit about me, when I feel like I’m just a warm body to sleep next to, I am consumed with fear and darkness. The fear is that I married my dad. I’m repeating my mom’s mistakes. I’m repeating their marriage. I feel like I’m suffocating and I need to escape as fast as I can. I convince myself he is the one responsible for when our marriage feels shitty. Everything becomes cloudy and dark, and I can’t focus or concentrate. I shut myself off to everything and everyone and wish I could just cease to exist because being alive hurts too much.

It’s been a dark and stormy past few months, let me tell you.

But…

But thinking that way shuts out all of the light. The laughing together in bed at night on the weekends when he’s off. Him thanking me for keeping the dishes washed and taking the dogs out. How good it feels when we get in bed and he pulls me to him and I rest my chin in the crook of his neck and he feels so warm, soft, and safe. That he kisses me goodbye and tells me he loves me every time he leaves and I do the same, and this is very important to both of us. When he and I talk in bed, in the dark, in the middle of the night about stuff going through our heads. How he’s taking on paying for our living expenses so that I have the money to pay towards my debt and car payment while I try to find another job. That he listens to me even if he doesn’t always know how to respond. Our walks together where we talk about a lot of random stuff but also try to work out our future. That he is willing to work on things with me even when they are out of his comfort zone.

When I am so overwhelmed with fear, I forget that I have a person who wants to listen to me, wants me to talk to him, wants to know me, has told me many times that I am not too much or a burden for him. That is the past chattering so loudly in my ear that it drowns out the present.

I am not happy with this reflection of me that is so consumed with fear and the feeling that I’m lost and have no direction and no control. Trying to control everything has gotten me nowhere but more cynical and more closed off. It has not lead to a happy, fulfilling life, and it is not allowing me to accept myself or John and relax and enjoy our marriage and take the bumps as they come. It is not allowing me to use my voice or talents to contribute to a better world or happier me.

It is mercilessly killing me and turning my marriage and me into everything I’ve been so afraid of them becoming.

This is such a hard ship to veer off its current course, but there’s an iceberg dead ahead and the ship will sink. I’ve always been good at acknowledging my emotions – or at least that I am having them – but I’ve never been good at sitting with them. Figuring out where I feel them. Validating them. You know, feeling them. Learning how to soothe myself.

Instead, I’ve tried to chase them off by berating myself for having them in the first place, blaming them on someone else, or numbing them with food, social media, self-improvement books, sleep, or spending money I don’t have. This has led to me being dull, broke, and feeling even more like shit about myself and my body.

I have spent the past couple of weeks really acknowledging my codependency issues, behaviors I adapted into years ago to endure trauma that I no longer need to protect myself from, and understanding my deep need for boundaries. I’ve been following The Holistic Psychologist on Instagram and YouTube and finally, after weeks of procrastinating, I started her Future Self Journaling.

I found the Emotional Needs Questionnaire that our marriage counselor gave us three years ago to complete at the end of our time with her, gave John his copy today, told him to fill it out, filled mine out, and once he’s done with his, we will switch and go over what we both need in our marriage.

I don’t want the house John and I live in to be a broken one like I grew up in, very cold and tense, where the only emotion expressed is anger. I don’t want the house I live in – in my mind, body, and spirit – to be so closed off, distrusting, fearful, and cynical either. (Basically, I don’t want to be my dad.) I can’t control everything, I know, but I can choose how to handle life as it comes to me.

And I want to see the good. I want to feel okay with seeing the good as it comes and stop worrying when it will be over and the bad will return. To live in the present. To understand I am good and loved – things I was not taught in the version of Christianity I was raised in – just as I am. And that John is too. That we are both doing the best we can with what we have. That that is enough, it is okay.

I came from a very negative environment growing up, and I am done allowing it to define my thoughts and define me now. It was what I knew and I know better now. This is what I will be paying more attention to from now on.

Beautiful You

Day 21 – Beautiful You – Consider When You Have Been Championed

Today: Consider these questions in your Beautiful You journal: Were there moments in your life where you have felt championed? What were those experiences like and what did you learn from them?

I spend a lot of time writing about the trauma I’ve experienced in my life and the people who have hurt me. I spend probably too much time thinking about it when I’m not writing about it. It is so easy to villainize those who have hurt me as well and lump them all into a category of terrible people and to also categorize myself as a victim. Some of those who have hurt me deeply have also stepped up to the plate in major ways to champion me, their only safe and trusted way to express their love for me. Some of those people are no longer in my life, but they are a big part of why I am who I am today.

And then there are the superstars in my life who constantly encourage me, check in on me, and remind me to consider myself, my feelings, and my happiness in everything I do.

Let me start with highlighting some of the good of the people I tend to only write negatively about on here.

I wrote about this on Father’s Day on Instagram: Where my dad has never been emotionally available for me (and never will be), he has shown up in other ways in my life.

While he worked on his feet 40-55 exhausting hours a week, he still came to the majority of my Saturday morning softball games growing up. He couldn’t understand my nervousness and why I could hit the ball to the fence during practice and barely make contact with the ball during games, but he was there when I cried during softball tournaments because I felt like my failure to hit the ball let down the whole team. (I’m a very competitive person and hate to lose.) Going to my softball games was the one thing we really did together, and that was his expression of his love language of doing things for me that I didn’t really understand until recently.

My mom has championed me more in the past several years. She tells me how strong she thinks I am, how I was always stronger growing up because I was in touch with the emotions she’d been shaming into avoiding. She says she wishes she could be as outgoing, friendly, and warm as I am even in a room full of people I don’t know, and how I light up the room with my sense of humor and smile. When we watched Inside Out and I commented that I feel like I am a combination of Anger and Sadness, she said no, “you are Joy, with a little bit of Anger when it’s necessary.” She has stood up for me through the horrible bosses I’ve had over the past several years and in my marital conflicts with John. We don’t have a perfect relationship and we still fight like sisters at times, but she’s been one of my best friends.

Another person, who has been out of my life for three years now and who played a huge role in pushing me towards my potential, was my college best friend Nina. I was very shy, had a horrible fashion sense, and spent most of my time before we met sitting up all night long on my computer in my dorm room writing Backstreet Boys fan fiction, specifically a story where Nick Carter fell in love with me and we wrote songs together for his solo albums (I wrote my own song lyrics in the story too). She was very outgoing and friendly, saw a lot of potential in me, and pushed me towards it.

That takes me to one time someone I didn’t even know championed for me in a way no one ever had before. My sophomore year of college, I tried out for a talent show and sang Shania Twain’s “The Woman in Me” a cappella in a dark-ish room with several other girls and a couple of judges. Some of the other girls in the room said, “Man, she’s good,” but one of the judges, whose name I’m not sure I ever got, told me, “You are a really talented singer. I think you can win this contest.” And I was sent on to participate in the talent show.

I didn’t win, but I got a lot of applause, and after the show, that judge came up to me and said, “You were amazing. Don’t feel bad that you didn’t win. Did you hear that crowd? They loved your singing and so did I.”

No one had ever told me that before, not like that. And Nina was the one who pushed me to get on that stage in the godawful rainbow-striped sweater I wore. While I don’t think she is someone I ever want to be friends with again, her adventurous, free-spirited, creative personality burst me out of my shy, soft-spoken, southern girl shell and into the loud, vibrant, determined, outgoing woman I am today, and I am thankful for her.

And as for the rockstars who championed me and those who continue to do so today:

I’ve never had a bigger fan or a stronger advocate than my maternal grandmother June. My college degree was really her degree because she paid for it and she stayed on my ass every day until I finally walked across the stage to receive it. She encouraged my writing (but told me not to write so much sex in my stories even though those books were all she read), told me she loved listening to me sing, enabled my Backstreet Boys obsession, and told me how proud she was to have such a beautiful granddaughter like me.

She fought for me even when she knew I hadn’t told her the entire story, and she fought harder when she knew I had and she saw how broken and hurt I was by it. And when she died and I read the letters about the sassy, fun, outgoing, wild child she was as a teenager and in her twenties, I saw myself in her. She gave me such high expectations for how I should be treated by others, which is probably part of my struggles because no one else revolves their life around me like she did, haha.

Ten years ago this month, I came to Atlanta to spend the weekend visiting my friend Sia who had just moved here from Montgomery with her then-fiancé Zach. On the way home, I felt God/the Universe/something tell me to move to Atlanta too. I was in a boring, drama-filled office job, living in a boring city, still getting caught up in my parents’ post-divorce drama, not feeling great about myself, and I needed a huge change. Sia and Zach offered to let me stay with them, and I moved in November 2009 with no job, about $3K saved up from working two jobs and selling everything but what would fit in my 2005 Toyota Corolla, and what was left of my belongings in that car. For about 3 months, I slept on a mattress on their dining room floor while I looked for a full-time job.

I always call Sia my “Greek Mama” because she is half-Greek, a mom, and she always looks out for me. She’s incredibly resourceful, smart, optimistic, and bossy, and she lovingly calls me out on my bullshit because she cares about me and thinks I’m smart, talented, and deserve more than I allow myself to have.

Christina is another dear friend of mine I met through my sister-in-law Sara about 5 or 6 years ago who is also brilliant, resourceful, empathetic, funny, and who also calls me out on my shit and pushes and encourages me to be better and also not be so hard on myself. She and I have talked nearly every day since the day we met, and I would be lost without her support.

And while our marriage has really struggled for the greater part of this year, I can’t forget to mention John. While he’s not outspoken in his support of me like my mom and close friends are, he has tried to clear the path for me several times in the past years to allow me to figure out what I want to do and do it. After I supported us with an incredibly toxic job while he was in school, he told me he would support us when we moved to Chicago, which allowed me to try a few new things like work in concessions at Wrigley Field and watch the Cubs win the World Series for the first time in 108 years and work as a barista at Starbucks, two jobs where I finally got to let loose, have fun, and make friends. This support, though not always without some criticism, has continued since we’ve returned to Georgia. He has been a shoulder to cry on and to talk about what I want out of life with in the middle of the night. He doesn’t always respond to me like I wish he would, but he listens to me. He continues to tell me to figure out what I want to do and he will pay our bills (minus my car payment and credit card debt).

I really appreciate this entry from Beautiful You because it reminded me I’m not alone, to not be so hard on myself, that I am doing okay in life (sometimes even great), and the wonderful people in my life are quick to encourage me when I feel lost, hopeless, dull, and useless. I am thankful for their support and especially for them listening to me because I feel often like I talk a big game then go back to doing the same bullshit or nothing at all. Because of them, I am still here and still trying.

Beautiful You, Showing Up

Day 17 – Beautiful You – Replace What You Heard

I have spent nearly all of my life apologizing for who I am.

For being fat.

Being emotional.

Not making perfect grades.

Not making enough money.

Not being enough, whether that’s pretty, smart, funny, patient, or faithful to my Christian upbringing.

Not speaking up for myself. Not putting my needs first. Not doing the things I want to do but am afraid to do.

In response to being told I’m egocentric, selfish, or a cold-hearted bitch when I stand up for myself.

Being blamed for another person’s emotions when I speak up for myself.

Being blamed for the conflict in the relationship because I speak up for myself.

Where do those voices come from?

From my childhood – my parents, siblings, grandmother, great-grandparents – and from friends, both current and former, and my husband. 

But they all sound like my voice in my head after all of these years of hearing them. And they all tell me I’m not enough, doing enough, or being enough. That I’m not living up to my potential or focusing on myself (or I’m focusing too much on myself) and I am wasting my life. And those are the voices I hear when I am hit with the panicked thought, What if I die in my sleep tonight? at 3a.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ve said over and over and over again from about the time I could talk. I’m sorry, Mama, I don’t know why it is so hard for me to behave myself, I wrote in a letter at about 7 or 8 years old, a letter my mom still has to this day but does not have any of the short stories I wrote and gave to her as gifts. 

I’ve blamed it on the trauma and dysfunction I experienced growing up. I’m sorry I’m so broken, I’ve cried. I’m sorry I’m such a burden. I’m sorry I’m too much and too emotional. I’m sorry you don’t want me.

I’ve mentally destroyed my body a million times, taking on others’ voices who called me disgusting, gross, and fat like it’s the most vile thing a person can be. I’m sorry my belly is so big. I’m sorry I don’t look like other women. I’m sorry I don’t have big boobs and a big butt and itty bitty waist. I’m sorry this is what you have to look at during sex or anytime I’m naked. You deserve a better body to touch and view. My stupid body and fucked up hormones, stupid PCOS, stupid hypothyroidism, stupid endometriosis. My body is ruined and it’s my fault, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I can’t find a job I love that pays well and that I can stay at, I’ve said to John several times over the past 3 years. I keep winding up with these hostile bosses who make an easy, sometimes even enjoyable job, torturous. Maybe it’s my fault, maybe I’m doing something wrong, I am the common denominator here. I’m sorry I don’t have the fortitude to withstand their behavior towards me and continue working so I’m not a financial burden on you. I’m sorry my expectations for a job I want to stay at are too high. I’m sorry that staying at a job I hate for the majority of the rest of my life feels like a long, slow, brutal death. 

I’m sorry I’m so overdramatic and need so much, I’ve said. I’m sorry I can’t seem to let some things go. I’m sorry I want affection and affirmation so much. It’s because I didn’t get either growing up. I’m sorry I lean on you for validation. I should know better. I’m sorry I want you to tell me you think I am beautiful and you are so lucky to have me and that I keep telling you that my needs aren’t being met. I’m sorry, once again, things were going so well, and I fucked them up with my feelings.

Last night, in discussion with John after a horrible fight, I asked him if he ever feels like he’s repeating his mistakes from his previous marriage. After a pause, he said no. I asked, kind of incredulously, “Do you even know what your mistakes were then?”

He responded, “I won’t apologize for being myself.”

I still can’t decide if that is the arrogance, egocentricity, and selfishness I’ve always been afraid of being accused of possessing or if it’s self-assuredness. I am always apologizing for myself because I never want to see like I’m beyond empathy or thoughtfulness of those around me, all at the expense of the lack of empathy and thoughtfulness towards myself.

I don’t think the opposite of constantly apologizing for myself is a cold-hearted “I refuse to acknowledge how my behavior affects others,” but an acceptance that this is who I am, I cannot nor need to be perfect, my voice, feelings, and needs matter, and I can have compassion, love, empathy, and kindness towards myself while also having those characteristics for others. The key part is having them for myself first so that I have a larger capacity for them with others.

Those voices from my childhood through now that I’ve adopted as my own came and come from hurt people, people who have tried to stop their own pain through their treatment of me (but who only inflicted more pain on me), people who see a reflection of their insecurities and pain in me and react to that instead of me personally. The words that came from those voices were about them, not me.

To re-parent myself is to observe my thoughts, which seem to flutter in a roaring cacaphony of billions of butterflies inside of my head. To catch them as they come and ask myself, Where did this come from? Maybe it’s even like a mental version of Marie Kondo’s Tidying Up: “Does this thought serve me?” If not, thank it and let it go; if so, hold on to it, listen to it, and see where it takes me.

In re-parenting myself, it is time to stop apologizing for being a human being with needs, emotions, and desires. To stop apologizing for “falling short,” whatever standards I’ve been held against or that I’ve held myself against.

The only apology needed is to myself, Amy, I am so sorry I’ve taken others’ hurts and made them my own.

To replace those words those hurt voices said and say to myself:

I am enough. My body is good as it is, no matter what. My dreams are worth aspiring to. My needs are worth being met. My voice is worth being heard. I am not too emotional – I am attuned with my emotions and they are valid. It is okay for me to keep searching and exploring and pushing through my fears and discomfort. 

I don’t know who said it, maybe Anne Lamott or Elizabeth Gilbert, but I don’t want to end my life looking like it was barely lived. I want to end it completely used up, my hair on fire, heart completely worn out, ready for whatever is next. 

I will apologize when my hurts hurt someone else, but I will stop apologizing for who I am and what I do when it pertains to becoming and being the person I was put on the Earth to be.


Today: Consider the negative messages about yourself that are in your head and ask yourself, “Is this my voice or someone else’s?”

Says [Dr. Amy Combs, clinical psychologist and the director of the Charlotte Center for Balanced Living], “…One of the first things we can do is to ask these questions of ourselves: Whose voice is it? Where did it come from? Why does it make sense for me to talk to myself like that?

If this negative message was shared with you at a younger age, how would you re-parent yourself? What do you think your friend was missing in her life that made her say that? Do you think this is really what your brother thought, or was it how he thought he could get you the most upset? What was the goal?”

Whatever you may have been told, replace it right now with what you wish you had heard.

Showing Up

There Is Only “Now”

A few weeks ago, as we were eating breakfast, I went to get a second piece of the quiche I made right as I finished the first, and John said, “Maybe you should wait before you eat anymore. It takes at least 20 minutes for our brains to register that our stomachs are full.” I both felt enraged that he was spitting that diet mentality bullshit back at me and like I’d been stabbed in the heart. The look I gave him was enough to motivate him to get up and cut that second piece for me.

I didn’t know what to say. I knew I needed to say something to let him know that I cannot have him commenting on my eating habits like everyone else has my whole life. All I got out at the time was, “You sound just like my mom right now.”

While sitting there, barely acknowledging the piece of quiche I’d wanted just moments before while I ate it, I thought about my baby book. My mom gave it to me a couple of months ago. I remembered all of the notes about my weight she’d gotten from doctors and decided to hold onto as keepsakes. After breakfast, I grabbed that book and sat down on the couch opposite of John and started flipping through it.

I knew there were a lot of notes from my pediatrician about my weight in the book, but I was appalled to find out how far they went back.

The first one was dated September 28, 1984. My brother Adam wasn’t even a month old yet. I was about 2 weeks shy of my 2nd birthday. I first remembered being conscious of my body and weight around 5 years old, but it turns out the seeds were planted much earlier on. In the notes, my then pediatrician told my mom to carefully watch my weight. She, with her own lifelong history of disordered thinking around her body and weight, took that shit seriously and never stopped until just recently.

When I finished reading note after note about watching my weight, I looked at John and said, “I have never been able to have any peace with my body or with food. I never got to learn how to intuitively eat. I’ve never been allowed to trust my body. My weight and what I eat has been a topic of great concern and commentary my entire goddamn life.”

I have been thinking about this ever since, and unpacking the trauma behind it all. I have a lot of internalized fatphobia around it that I am continuously unpacking as well.

I have been obsessed with my weight and body my whole life because I thought I had to be, to seem like I was paying attention to it and working on it to make other people happy. I’ve been blogging about it since October 1, 2001. I’m beyond exhausted over it all and just want to stop.

I told John today that I don’t give a shit what people think of my body when I’m out in a swimsuit at the pool or beach, but that was a lie. Today, I almost didn’t go to the pool when I heard a couple of teenagers talking and playing in it. Then I turned away from them, like I turn away from John even though he knows what my body looks like from all angles, to take my pants off, took a deep breath before I turned around, walked to the edge, and jumped into the pool.

I worry about people thinking I’m pregnant because my belly sticks out a lot in comparison to my proportionate chest, hips, thighs, and shoulders.

I worry about John telling me, “Okay, this is about as fat as I can stand you. You need to lose weight.”

My brain continues to remind me that it doesn’t believe that I can take care of myself without the strictness of weighing myself and counting calories.

I talk about others never allowing me any peace or trust in my body, but I don’t have it for myself either. I instead run a continuous loop of all of these scenarios in my head to prepare myself for the comments of others that never come and if they did, do not define me.

I decided to take the above pics tonight to make a statement to myself to stop looking at myself as some project to fix and a body I can’t fully inhabit until it is societally acceptable. There is nothing wrong with it, nothing that deems me unlovable, but yet…

I have stopped dancing because I don’t like seeing my belly and thighs flopping all around when I shake my hips.

I have stopped wearing some of my favorite dresses because they still fit but more snugly around my belly.

I always wear leggings under my dresses because I don’t like how lumpy my legs are and because my thighs merge into one large mass when there is no fabric between them.

I am always making jokes about how fat I am in front of John.

Last week, I listened to @the.holistic.psychologist’s (Instagram) inner child meditation on YouTube. In it, you envision walking up to your childhood home (in my case, my grandmother June’s house since my parents moved every 2 years until they divorced), seeing the little child version of yourself, taking them by the hand, walking through the house and seeing every room, walking back outside, kneeling down to the child’s level, holding them, and telling them, “You are safe, you are loved, you are wanted, you are enough.”

I felt a wall of resistance at the beginning of the meditation. I thought, No, this is dumb. This is stupid. I can’t do this. I can’t meditate. I can’t get the breathing right. I don’t want to do this, but I persisted. Just at the point of holding my little child version’s hand and going into the house sent sobs wracking through my body. I could see every room in that house, and I heard June and Lib in the kitchen, but I didn’t see anyone. I could feel all of the pain, trauma, shame, and tension that I lived in at that time and for years to come. Coming back out and kneeling to about 5 or 6-year-old me, hugging her, and saying those words, more sobs came out instead of the words.

I never felt safe in that house. It was impossible to with all of the fighting and dysfunction and two uncles who made me feel very aware and very protective of my body while also very ashamed of it.

I never felt loved or wanted by parents. I only felt in the way. Hearing my mom say years later that I was too emotional, a burden, and that neither her nor my dad wanted me when they got divorced felt like a confirmation of that lack of love I felt from them and that it was my fault.

I never felt secure then and I don’t now. I know that’s why I go so all-or-nothing and fantasize that if I could just lose weight/get out of debt/find a husband/find a job I love/etc. as fast as possible, I can finally relax and enjoy my life. And life doesn’t work like that.

The peace I want isn’t just about being able to eat without diet advice or commentary. The trust isn’t about just preventing myself from binge and emotional eating so I don’t get any fatter.

This is all about grounding myself in who I am so that I don’t base my identity on how others see, think, or feel about me.

It is like those poles you see at the beach that tell you how high the storm surge of each category of hurricanes can get that actually survive the hurricane with the marks to show disaster assessors how high the waves got during the peak of the storm. I want to be firmly planted but able to bend and sway in the wind without snapping in two.

A friend of mine recently said my “color” (fire) seems to dim more and more every year, and she questioned if my marriage has played a role in that.

I don’t believe it is my marriage itself, but my expectations of myself in our marriage and my issues with codependency and people-pleasing. (This is not about the conflicts in my marriage that relate to both of us, and I’m not bearing all of the responsibilities and blame in them either.)

This is about me always putting myself and my desires on the back burner, something I have done my entire life. Spending more time wanting to be a different person, or at least have a different person’s body because I’ve been convinced my whole life that mine is wrong and flawed. About me still believing I am too much and being afraid of shining too brightly. About me being so intent on developing relationships with others that I don’t have the time or energy to develop the lifelong one with myself.

I’ve wanted to felt seen, known, and heard my whole life, yet I procrastinate and do everything I can to avoid allowing the person to see, know, and hear me to be me. I ache to be encouraged, celebrated, and affirmed, but withhold those things from being done by me. I thought the other night that I keep looking back at the me John found more attractive nearly eight years ago that I don’t stop to acknowledge how much I’ve been through in those eight years and that maybe, quite possibly, I’m a completely different, but stronger and better, person now. And that being in this relationship was the catalyst that made me face a lot of the trauma and associated emotions that only being with someone else, no matter who it was, could help me face and heal from.

Last Friday, I quit my second job in the past year and a half because it wasn’t right for me. I went against my gut yet again and wound up with a boss I had doubts about from the get-go. Again, settling and selling myself short. However, in this one, I began to find my voice and speak up for myself. I also decided to trust that my debt will get paid off, but that it is better that it is not at the expense of my mental or physical health. I am very fortunate as well that John is a supportive husband and has the means to cover the majority of our living expenses while I figure out what to do next.

First step is that it is time to get to know myself. To spend my free time alone and start not only hearing myself, but actually listening. To live fully in and enjoy my body as it currently is because no matter what, it will change numerous times throughout the remainder of my life. To write and maybe learn to meditate or at least figure out how to slow the swirling thoughts down in my head. To find things that scare me and do them.

To enter into a peace treaty with myself and decide okay, I am going to trust myself.

My goal this summer is to take life as it comes each day and take myself just as I am in those days because “now” is all I really have.

Beautiful You, Showing Up

Day 16 – Beautiful You – Realize Everything is Just Information

Have you ever thought about how the way we describe ourselves, even to ourselves, affects how we feel about and perceive ourselves?

One way I’ve been thinking about this lately is when we use “I am…” versus “I feel…” and “I have…”

One way attaches a feeling, judgment, and even a diagnosis to encompass our identity which almost sets up a permanence in our self-perception and maybe how others perceive us. For example, saying, “I’m so dumb” when we make a mistake or “I’m a worrier” when we struggle with anxiety.

Another way is a description and observation. It could describe a chronic, permanent condition in your life, but if you say, for example, “I feel depressed” or “I have diabetes,” it feels more like we are describing just a small part of the wholeness of ourselves, like, “I have blue eyes and brown hair.” It solely describes us without trying to tell our whole story. In regards to chronic health issues or disabilities, it can put a responsibility on us that we don’t deserve and don’t need to bear beyond managing them with self-care.

This isn’t a “you aren’t fat, you have fat” type of thing or me trying to politicize how we describe ourselves. I AM tall. I AM fat. I AM white. I AM a cis-het woman. But that’s not my whole story. I have chronic physical and mental health issues, but they don’t identify me, just name how my body responds to my DNA and environment. I have privileges, but they don’t define me and they aren’t something to feel ashamed of. My identity is not wholly wrapped up in nature or nurture. You get what I’m saying, I hope.

It is about expanding, not diminishing, ourselves. Not narrowing ourselves down to a few words. Seeing what happens to us and how we perceive it is important. Attaching our identities to temporary experiences like making a mistake or permanent conditions like chronic mental or physical health or something traumatic that happened to us growing up limits us and can invoke unnecessary shame. Narrows our story.

It is totally okay to acknowledge the experiences we’ve had. To share what we feel and experience. I’m not trying to diminish that or silence anyone. Telling others what we feel, have, deal with, and are healing from is part of the human experience. All of our feelings and perceptions are valid and happen for a reason.

A few weeks ago, on my way home from a weekend at my mom’s, I decided to skip the 30 seconds it would take for my apartment complex’s entrance gate to open and go through the exit gate. Chewy, my dog, had to pee and had whined about it for 50 miles, it was 12:30a, and I was tired. All I could think about was “I hope no one tries to come out as I go in.” It was as I pulled over the tire strips that I realized what I’d done and why you don’t enter that exit gate.

“Oh, fuuuuck” came out of my mouth as air began gushing out of my front left tire. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten, the first time in the nearly two years we’ve lived here. How could I be so stupid? I chastised myself.

But I had been thinking about the topic Rosie wrote about in the prompt at the. Bottom of this post, so when I walked into the house with Chewy, I looked at John and said, “I did something really stupid and I need your help.”

Calling running over the spike “stupid” is still a little shame-inducing, but separating my actions and my identity in the moment helped me realize it was a temporary experience, a mistake and lesson learned. I was tired and ready to get Chewy and me out of the car and I made a mistake. Shit happens, ya know? And thankfully John is a kind and compassionate husband. He and I immediately started making jokes about what happened while he put the spare on, and the next day, he took my car to Walmart and bought me a new tire. Crisis averted, gratefulness and relief felt, lesson learned.

It is so easy to allow shame, trauma, health issues, and abuse to reduce who we are and cloud our judgment and perception of ourselves. We can’t control a whole lot in life (but I struggle with control issues; I’m not a “control freak”), but we can decide how to perceive ourselves and how to live our lives.

One exception (but not the only one) in this I am vs. I have/feel/do idea I’m writing about here is when we want to label ourselves by things we do but feel like we can’t because we haven’t won public accolade for it. If you write, you’re a writer even if you never get your words published. If you sing, you’re a singer even if you never sing outside of your shower. Dancer, if you dance. Hiker, if you hike. Runner, if you run. This is where participation awards totally count. If you want it and do it – or sometimes not do it because creativity is vulnerable even with us as our only audience – you are it.

This is all just a little newborn idea in my head so I’d love to hear what others think. I like the idea of holding thoughts at an arm’s length and observing them, not immediately absorbing them. Being curious about them. Curiosity is how we keep ourselves open to what life has to offer and helps us expand and grow. Shame and judgment are the opposites of curiosity, creativity, and vulnerability.

Like Brené Brown says, while paraphrasing Teddy Roosevelt’s grand speech, if you are brave with your life, if you live in the arena, you are going to get your ass kicked.

Don’t be an extra foot in your ribs and face in that arena. Use those feelings instead to pull yourself back up to persevere. There’s a lot of beautiful life to be lived in between those ass kickings.


Today: I want you to continue to shift your energy away from judgment to curiosity. When you feel inclined to judge yourself, shift your words. No longer condemn your choices or reality. Instead, I want you to gently ask, what information is this experience giving me? And prepare yourself to powerfully move forward with that information as a guide.

Showing Up

Self-Care and Exercise

Source: @therdnutritionist – Instagram

These days, it is so hard to separate the connection between exercise and weight loss. Fitbits, apps like Runkeeper, and workout equipment all tell you not just the distance and time you’ve covered but the estimated calories burned.

Though they are few and far between, I can remember being active as a kid without knowing or caring how many calories I burned.

I am the oldest and only girl in my family with three younger brothers. My brother Adam and I are 22 months apart in age so we were playmates as kids.

We played freeze tag, hide and seek, basketball, football (I was the QB and had to play two hand touch while the boys could tackle me because they said I hit them too hard, haha), and kickball.

When I was 10 years old, my mom signed me up for softball and Adam up for baseball. He played 2 seasons; I played 4. I loved playing softball because I was good at it. I’m super competitive which led to some emotional meltdowns when we lost, but I could hit the ball nearly out of the park and throw harder and further than any other girl on the team. (And people were always surprised that a chubby kid and teenager like me was such a great softball player, which spurred a love of defying others’ expectations and stereotypes of me as a fat person for the rest of my life.)

When I think back on all of this, even though I’ve been conscious of my weight and body since I was 5 years old, I don’t remember wondering how many calories I burned. I don’t think I was of the mindset yet of bargaining with myself over how long I had to work out to eat whatever I wanted to eat.

That came along with the Jane Fonda workout tapes and aerobics classes I did at the gym with my mom.

Even back then, exercise did not help me lose much weight, but it made me leaner, but I still equated the two.

They are still so deeply intertwined in my brain, exercise and weight loss, and trying to exercise because I enjoy it (I actually really do) has felt impossible because it keeps triggering thoughts and hopes for weight loss. Being unable to separate them has actually kept me from working out altogether even though I really want to.

So in some ways, I’m not sure if it is all me grieving or feeling fearful in my heavier body over where I am physically now versus then or if that nagging desire to lose weight is behind it all. Either way, I’m not doing anything. And I’m tired all the time and feel weaker and it is mortifying for me when John and I walk somewhere hilly and he’s ahead of me and asks me if I’m going to make it because I am breathing so hard and unable to keep up with him. It just reminds me of all the other times I was the one in the back of the pack gasping for air and feeling like I was a burden to the group.

Maybe it is all of those things, but how do I proceed from here?

I think I need to start thinking of exercise the way I think of other important parts of my life, like my job, marriage, friendships, finances, and etc. I do actually love to exercise, like I love my husband, making money, spending time with friends, and etc. even if I don’t always want to get out of bed to do any of those things. Moving my body is as vital as brushing my teeth. I can tell the difference in my body when I’m not moving it regularly and not in a weight loss/weight gain sort of way. My legs, back, and hips are so tight and inflexible from not stretching and moving them enough and that contributes to the pain I feel when my endometriosis flares up.

I decided to re-join LA Fitness back in February because there are gyms by my job and apartment and I want to get back into Zumba and have a place to do the Couch to 5K training when it is raining or cold outside.

I think I have been maybe four times since then.

I’ve “graduated” from the C25K program several times, the last time outside where I was able to run four miles without stopping and it was glorious, but now I can barely run for more than 90 seconds. I am so awkward and uncoordinated in Zumba because I am so out of practice with dancing because I struggle with how I look now while dancing in my bigger body. I haven’t dared to hike the mountains around here like I used to because it feels so uncomfortable trying to move and breathe with my lost endurance. I haven’t cycled either even though I now have a bike for similar reasons.

I also want to work on letting go of the all-or-nothing mentality that is the dying breaths of the diet mentality and perfectionism. To stop feeling like everything has to be structured and organized or it won’t work. I’ll never have a clean desk at work, for instance, but I don’t stop going to work for that reason and I still go home when it’s time to go home even if I’m not “finished” with everything.

Self-care in re-learning exercise outside of the diet mentality means letting go of the rules that diet mentality brought to exercise. Moving my body in ways I want to for however long I want to. Not forcing myself to stick to a schedule, but still finding time for myself to move my body so it stays strong and flexible like I find time to brush my teeth so they don’t rot and fall out and time to shower so I don’t become the “smelly coworker” and I don’t slip out of John’s arms when he hugs me because I’m so greasy, haha.

This is easier said than done, but I don’t have to get it right. It’s an experience and an education and there are no right or wrong answers.

How do you dissociate exercise from weight loss and the diet mentality? What do you enjoy doing? Tell me about your experiences with exercise and moving your body out of self-care.