Weight Gain & Working On Body Positivity

I keep seeing a lot of posts with phrases like “A new month means a fresh start!” Or “A new month is just another chance to set some goals and smash them!” And man do I wish I had that kind of enthusiasm. Instead, I’m over here like, “Okay, Susan, we get it. You wake up before the sun to work out, and you look fabulous. MOVE ALONG.” Currently I’m sitting in my living room eating a chocolate chunk cookie not really wanting to do much of anything. So, do with that what you will. Still, as I sit here I kind of wish I were one of “those people”. You know, the ones who have all of their shit together? The ones who wake up at 4 am to work out, have breakfast ready by 6 am, and look so perfect you’d think they were photoshopped as they drive through early morning drop off at 7:45 am. With kids who look just as equally put together. A coffee cup in hand, and a smile beaming as they wave at you. Ugh, that hurt my face just thinking about it. Alas, I am NOT one of those people. Instead, you get this:

That’s right. Take it all in. You’re welcome.

It seems like ages, but just two years ago I was down 45 lbs. My clothes fit well, and even though I wasn’t at my goal weight I felt good about myself. I liked the way that I looked which I thought was important, because I can honestly say that I hadn't felt that way about my body in a long ass time. However, that weight loss was just a by product of not eating and dealing with a lot of anxiety as well as depression. So, mentally, I was not in a good place. I had lost the majority of my weight in about three months, and any healthcare professional will tell you that losing weight that quickly isn’t the healthiest thing for anyone. But I maintained this weight for a good year with those unhealthy habits not really seeing anything wrong with it. Then at the beginning of 2017, as things began to slowly even out, I became pretty complacent with where I was at. Life was back to normal, and I was good with that. Fast forward to the end of last year when I was completely off all medications, going through some rough times yet again, and instead of suffering from anxiety I was dealing with stress. And unlike some people who use stress to push themselves, and motivate them to do better I tend to eat. Correction: I tend to eat a lot. And even though I was still working out 4x a week the number on the scale kept climbing. 

Which brings us to today. We’re six months into 2018 and I’m back up to my heaviest weight. I struggle with food on the daily, and with working out consistently. Even after a month of eating nothing but salad, and grilled chicken the weight kept piling on. I struggle with getting up in the mornings, and getting a full night's sleep. Though that’s been an issue since becoming a mom so I’m not sure I can blame it on this? I don’t feel like putting on makeup or really making any kind of effort when it comes to my appearance anymore either. The weird part is that I know this, but do nothing about it. I’ve started to feel really uncomfortable in my own skin, and I feel like that has a lot to do with me not wanting to leave my house. From the moment I wake up, everything feels tight and I really hate it. I’m not just talking about my clothes either. Lately my body constantly feels bloated, and stretched to maximum capacity. Right down to my toes, y'all, and it’s miserable! Because of this I’ve resorted to only wearing jeans, and an oversized t-shirt in public because they’re the only things I feel comfortable wearing. Even in 102 degree weather. At home the “go-to” outfit is stretchy yoga pants, and an oversized t-shirt. Do you guys see a pattern here? I feel like I constantly look like I just rolled out of bed. And not in the cute sexy way all of those movies and authors portray the female leads as. More like in the “What the fuck happened to you? Are you okay?” kind of way.

And it’s not just my appearance that has suffered. Recently my shin splints flared up. Mine are permanent as I’ve had them since I was a teenager & they never went away. Yes, it's weird. Most of the time they’re fine, and I have no issues. They're just a small little squishy bump on each of my shins that would make my legs feel sore from time to time. But back in March I went for a run, and after about half a mile I started to have shooting pain going up both of my legs. The next day I found that I could barely walk, much less run, without it feeling like someone was taking a hot poker to my legs. So, after talking to some seasoned runners as well as a nurse in training I was told to stop running for at least six weeks. I needed to ice my legs at night, and take Tylenol until they "went away". Which I did. But now, as I’ve started to get back into it, I find it really hard to finish a single mile. And that’s after a month of consistently running 3x a week. It has nothing to do with leg pain either, as my shin splints are back to normal. But I’m not making any progress in mileage like I should be. It doesn’t matter how much I try I still can’t push passed 1.75 miles. It’s like a mental wall goes up, my lungs start to burn, and then my legs give out. This has never been an issue for me before. Even when I took a year off from running, when I got back to it, I was doing 2 miles pretty easily after two weeks. At a much faster pace than what I’m at now too. So, I'm not sure what's going on, but it's definitely putting a funk in my running motivation. And needless to say, but I'm gunna anyway, it's been a bit of a set back for me.

So, now comes the real question: What do I plan to do about all of this? Well, fuck if I know. In May I had started doing intermittent fasting. I’d do this during the week, and eat normal on weekends. I stuck with it for three weeks, and I felt better. I was sleeping a bit more. I wasn’t feeling as hungry, or having cravings. And in those three weeks I lost 8 pounds. But then, on our three day weekend, I sabotaged like a motherfucker. I’m not even going to sugar coat it. I had pizza, cheeseburgers, chocolate, french fries, soda, and coffee WITH cream AND sugar. On all three days. And that’s when it all went down hill for the next two weeks. Since then, it’s been a bit of a struggle to get back on the wagon. I’m still running, but there’s no real progress in that. I’ve started to make a few plans in regards to a workout schedule, but I haven’t had a lot of motivation to move forward with them. Partially because I feel like I have no energy, and another part because I just feel flat out lazy. Even right now I feel like I could really go for a nap. I’ve been told to have my thyroid checked, but I’ve already done that. In fact, I do it every year at my yearly doctor appointment. Everything always comes back fine. And recently, I’ve been thinking about being put back on my anti-anxiety medication as well as antidepressants. But that will be a discussion for another time. I’ve also considered going to a weight loss doctor that several people have sworn by that’s here locally. Just to explore my options, and to see if there isn’t something else I can do to help kick start my weight loss. Because I know I can get back to a healthy weight again. I know it's possible. I just have to figure out what to do about it. I have to figure out a way to find that drive again.

This one is hard for me to look at...

However, until that happens, the main thing I’m trying to work on is having a better relationship with food, and exercise. Because in all honesty, I look at food as punishment. “Well shit, I ate the cookie now I have to go run two miles AND do a weight session.”  On the other end of the spectrum I’d tell myself “If you eat that it’s going straight to your muffin top, and then you’ll have to work out an extra thirty minutes.” I view food as something bad rather than as a source of fuel for my body. And I guess this attitude comes from being constantly told as I was growing up that if I ate too much I'd end up being fat forever. Which led to self esteem issues. I never felt like I was the "right size". There was always someone else that was skinnier, and that led to my eating issues. So, I guess you could say I’m trying to work on self love too. I’m trying to be okay with how I look in whatever state that I may be in. Whether it’s at my heaviest, or at my lightest. Though it’s been a rough go so far. But what's important is that I’m trying. Because I’ve noticed that I only have this particularly harsh outlook on weight when it comes to myself. I can see other women, in various shapes/sizes, and be in total awe of how they look. Whatever their journey is I applaud them. I’m all about celebrating the differences, and instilling body positivity in others. But when it comes to my own body, well, it’s true when they say, “You’re your own worst critic.”  And I am a prime example of this. So, I feel like these are some things that I need to work on changing. I have to get my mind right before anything else can fall into place. And quite frankly, I don’t want to have that negativity swirling around in my mind as I’m trying to better myself. So here's to, hopefully, making some progress this year.

The Sting of Humiliation

Today, my post will be highly embarrassing. For me. I’m about to expose myself in a way that I’ve NEVER done before. You see, recently I found myself to be highly unmotivated when it came to working out and eating right. I would put it off for “tomorrow”, and then conveniently not be able to do it. Then, I started to just eat whatever I wanted. Chicken Express, Taco Bell, and Jack in the Box. I stopped watching portions, and as I stated before, my weight rose back up. Out of the 12 lbs that I had lost, I gained all but 3 back.

My clothes started to feel tight again. My energy levels started giving out around 10 am. And not only did I feel fat, but I looked fat. Flab everywhere! I can’t ever look at myself without being critical of everything. From the stretch marks, to the big nose, and the jelly-like thighs. It’s just something I’ve always done. But, I also remember a time when even though I was critical, I had a good self image of myself. I was content with how I looked. Today, I find that I’m completely disgusted with myself. And slowly, the person looking back at me in the mirror has become such a disappointment. And all in less than two months time! That’s how quickly it took me to fall back down. To gain most of the weight back, and to go back to feeling awful.

So now I’m pissed. I‘m mad at myself for letting this happen. For stalling my own progress. I’m angry with myself for being lazy. I’m ashamed at how weak I am when it comes to junk food. How I would just reach for junk without thinking. And I know that I can plan all I want but it’s what I do, and what I allow myself to put into my body that really matters. No one else is responsible for my weight gain other than me. And self discipline is the only thing that will get me back on track right now. I have to want this. I have to be strong enough to say NO. Because if I’m not, I’ll look like this (or worse) for the rest of my life. 

Which brings me right back around to motivation, and embarrassment. I hardly ever post pictures of myself from the boobs down. Even then you can still tell by my face that I’m on the chubby side. So on Wednesday, I thought about a post I once wrote about taking pictures throughout my progress. But, I was way too embarrassed, and I never did. So today, I’m posting pictures, unedited, of myself in all my glory. No, not naked. I'm giving you the gross, flabby, stretch mark covered me.  Because I need this. I need to know that I put these out there, knowing that I don’t want them out there. Because it’s embarrassing. It's humiliating. And because I don’t want people to see me like this. So in order to get these images out of your (and my) head, I need to change it. I need to be able to post pictures of progress, so that I can say:

“That was me then."

February 8, 2012 CW: 167lbs

$#%^&*!@#%$&^

This is depressing. But if I don’t post it, I won’t look at it.

Recently, I’ve been going through old photographs, which in turn get me all down and depressed. Then I eat, and then I get mad at myself for eating so much junk! It’s a vicious cycle, my friends. VICIOUS! As you all know by now, weight is a huge issue for me. It’s one I struggle with constantly, and right now I’m on the losing end of the battle.

Things have been pretty busy, and I find myself not having time, or being too sick. Sometimes I get home late and all I want to do is crawl into bed. Then the weekend gets here and I’m trying to clean up the “house”, and catch up on all of the other chores left behind from the previous week. It seems like before I can even blink, Monday has already come around again! Finding time to work out or even prepare meals in advance has not been happening for me. It’s also been easier for me to go and get fast food for our meals, then plan ahead. And this really brings me down. I want to be healthy again, and I really really want my old body back! It depresses me so bad to see how much I’ve let myself go. But it’s so hard.

I miss not having to do anything besides run two miles a day to keep my figure. I miss being able to fit into a size small shirts, and my size 8 jeans. I’m so tired of seeing my rolls go over my jeans. I am so tired of my arm fat dangling. And I am so tired of seeing the person I swore to never become staring back at me in the mirror.

A pudgy, crabby, mess.

Because being overweight affects me in more than one way than my looks. 

Then

2006- Me and a friend at a party/130lbs (size 8 jeans)

Now

2011- Me with my friends at a party/ 185lbs (size 15 jeans)

See what I mean? 

Body Image & Why I Can’t Help But Hate Mine

Body Image. Man, I really hate those two words. I have such a negative view of my own body, that any time someone says “you must love your body”, I hold back the urge to gag and slap whoever it is that’s telling me this across the face. How dare they?! They have NO idea what I am going through! They have no idea how my thoughts work! And maybe sometimes they do, and then I get mad because they aren’t as disgusted with their own bodies, as I am with mine. Yes, I know this is awful, negative, and unhealthy but I can’t help it!

When I was younger, all I WANTED was to be this skinny girl with perfect hair and perfect clothes, and for Pete’s sake would it kill a BOY to find interest in me!? As I got older, I was a bit more rebellious, I had bigger boobs than most girls in my class so I started “covering” up. And by that, I mean I started dressing more like a boy. LOL! T-shirts, jeans, chucks. I still didn’t find myself pretty or skinny, but I worked out CONSTANTLY! I may not have been skinny, but I sure as hell was NOT going to get bigger. Looking back on those days now, and I have no idea WHAT I was thinking?? Anywho, California happened and I screwed up. I stopped exercising as much because I was working two jobs. I got high, so I was EATING a good amount more (and with all those fast food places RIGHT around the corner, my toughest decision was “Where do I go eat tonight?” Not good.

Fast forward to moving back to Texas, then getting married, and finally pregnancy. My weight went up and down CONSTANTLY throughout those three years!! Now, I love my daughter and I wouldn’t trade her for the world! To be honest, I’d do it all over again if I could. But, those nasty stretch marks left behind...I DO NOT CARE FOR. That gross flap of FLAB that dangles from my midsection is repulsive. And because of all of this, I just can’t love my body. I hate it. Those stretch marks on my thighs, buttocks, and midsection are awful, huge, and DEEP! I used “Palmer’s Cocoa Butter, and TUMMY balm” the ENTIRE time I was pregnant. And at first, I only gained three marks on my belly from losing weight so fast than the last three months of pregnancy totally did me in. My entire stomach and sides were covered. It will take LASER REMOVAL to get rid of them! And that’s money, I don’t have! That’s money that I could never spend on myself because I have a CHILD or DEBT that need it more.

I see loss in these marks. I know it’s stupid but, I fear that if they don’t eventually go away that I will no longer be “appealing” to my husband. Not to mention my sex drive has gone WAY down too. My husband is nice about it, but I can tell that it bothers him a bit more than he lets on. I used to be adventurous, and I was always ready to fool around. Now, I can’t even really do anything unless my shirt stays on and that’s even IF I allow myself to get that far. And this change in me, due to the marks, the lack of self-esteem has me a bit annoyed. I’m bothered that I let this get to me so bad. I should be proud. I should wear these marks with pride! They mean that I gave birth. That I brought a soul into this world. They stand for motherhood and all the joys that come with it. So why, do those things still not bring me comfort? Why am I still so upset about them? 

This is one of those things I have to overcome. I have to accept myself, how I am. But who knows when that will be…

Wishes & Reality Are Two Very Different Things..

I'm in a weird mood today. So this post WILL be, a bit confusing, and probably a bit of a downer. Fill free to skip it.

Wish

I wish I were skinny. I wish that I could look fabulous when I woke up. I wish I recycled, grew my own vegetables, and fed Emery nothing but organic food. I wish we had our own house in a place that we both love. I wish my husband had his license. I wish I had a husband I didn't have to worry about. I wish I had money to take a vacation. I wish my stomach were smooth and flat. I wish I could afford another child. I wish I had time and mental capability to meditate. I wish I could be absolutely happy. I wish I could be somewhat beautiful. I wish beer were illegal and weed was legal. I wish people wouldn't judge so much. I wish I could be more tolerant; more accepting. I wish I weren't so paranoid. I wish my ideas hadn't changed. I wish that I could be more trusting of people (especially my spouse).

Am

I am fat. I don't look fabulous, ever. I think about recycling. I don't grow my own vegetables. Emery eats Earth's best and Beechnut, out of a JAR. I live next door/pretty much with my parents. I need $500 for my husband's license. My husband's had thoughts of someone else before. My money is gone before I get it. My entire stomach is covered in dark, deep stretch mark, and I HATE THEM! I have about five handfuls of excess skin and flab around my waist. I don't know if I could handle or have time to give the right amount of attention to another baby right now. I think way too much to ever be able to meditate. I 'm happy, but there's always something that sneaks up. I am not beautiful (don't care what you say, I look at myself every day). I think beer is more harmful and dangerous than alcohol/beer (speaking from experience). I judge too much. I am tolerant, but only to an extent. I am paranoid about everything, 95% of the time. My views in life have been put into a blender and thrown back out into pieces. I don't trust anyone. After our problems, documented here, it's been hard to forgive, forget, and move on. I still check his phone every now and then.      

Thoughts

I am trying to make this a good first Christmas for Emery. Even though, I know she won't remember it. I'm trying to throw myself into something; ANYTHING in order to not remember. I'm trying to be OK. But every second that I'm not focused on something else, I focus on that. I focus on those last days. The weeks right before Emery was born. I remember last Christmas, and how everything seemed ok. I had no warning, of things being wrong. We had fought, but it was over things that could be FIXED. At least, I thought so. Then, January 29, 2010, my HUSBAND, walked out on me. Those four weeks of emotional HELL and utter physical pain have still left me marked. THREE weeks before I gave birth. THREE weeks before the happiest day of my life. And I was put through that. Yes, things changed, and we are now back together. But do you know, how bad that screwed with me? Do you know how much those days influence my life now?? I changed. I closed myself off, and I don't know if I've even opened back up yet. A year later. I am always scared, and yet always expecting to have my husband walk through the door, tell me he doesn't love me anymore, and that he's leaving. It's like I'm preparing myself for that day to come. Waiting. I'm waiting to find him with another girl (skinnier, prettier). I'm waiting for him to just pick up and leave (back to California w/out us). I'm waiting for that letdown. That same speech "It's not you, it's me." Every day. I don't know how to change that?? Even right now, I read into his behavior. Every word, every move.

Does it mean this? Does it mean that? Does he not love me? Is he going through the motions? Is he just with me because of Emery? Does he secretly want someone else?

And I can't seem to stop.

Fuck you, January 29th.

Let It Go, For Changes Always Come...‏

Part One

Ok, so lately I've been trying to figure myself out. Waaaay easier said, than done. I am a 22-year-old mother and wife that is trying so hard to find out who she is. It's leaving me more confused than secure in who I am...

At seventeen, I used to go to rock (hardcore, "emo", screamo, love metal) concerts. Music was EVERYTHING to me and the lyrics MEANT something to me. I wore band T-Shirts, pants, and my chucks EVERY day. My hair changed colors, and black eyeliner was the only make-up I needed.

I moved to California and everyone wore HEELS!! So, I started wearing heels. Of course, there's the flip-flop staple, so I wore those a lot too. A bathing suit was a must! We were constantly at the beach, the lake, the river, or the pool. My boyfriend (now husband), and I loved going out to the local "club", and so getting all dressed up was a must. OUT went the band T-Shirts. In came all the make-up, and cleavage-baring shirts. 

I moved back to Texas and gained A LOT of weight. I started working at Vet Outlet and so I started wearing just plain shirts. We'd go out on weekends and I'd dress up, but not as much as I used to.  Then we got married, and I kind of put my weight on the back burner. I SHOULD NOT HAVE DONE THAT!!!! I got pregnant, and I LET MYSELF GO. I didn't even wear make-up!! Which was something you didn't see me without. I started wearing bigger pants, bigger shirts. I never messed with my hair, it stayed in a bun. How sexy could I possibly look, with a big baby bump?? It doesn't exactly scream "Take my clothes off!!" I felt fat and my belly was uncomfortable. The last thing I wanted to TRY and slide into was a pair of skinny jeans.

I had Emery, and I was back into sweatpants. I went back to work, and my jeans and capris came back, along with plain shirts and a little bit of make-up. It has now been six months since February 17th, and I have found myself in comfy shirts, capris, flats, minimal make-up, and what my husband calls "mommy shorts". I have huge, deep stretch marks so bathing suits are COMPLETELY out of the question. None of this is screaming “Undress me, with your teeth!” either.

I miss my younger years. I miss the black eyeliner, and my chucks. I miss the random concerts, and I miss my TIGHT skinny jeans!!! I miss being a size 8, with my perky, round, B cup boobs!! I miss my flat, unmarked stomach. I miss looking young. I miss manicures and black nail polish. I miss listening to music really loud, with the windows rolled down in my old truck. I miss being sure that my husband loved me. I miss having friends that actually cared. I miss having late nights and no worries. I miss not having to think about the future. I miss being seventeen.

When did I lose myself? I work at a place that I don’t like, with people I have NOTHING in common with. I look more and more like my mother every day (size and style). I hardly ever listen to new music. My band shirts are in a big plastic tote, because they're all too small for me, and I'm too broke to buy new ones. I had my lip pierced, but recently took it out because I was having an identity crisis. My tattoos are pretty much the only things that give any indication of me being "young" once.

Today, I received an email titled, Letting Go. It left me feeling sad and even more confused with what I want out of my life. Growing up is such a hard thing to do, but do you have to leave EVERYTHING behind? I know I am a mother now, but does that mean I need to go out and buy everything that makes me LOOK like a "mommy"? Do, I need to keep my hair just one color, and my band shirts stuffed in a box?  And what exactly is ok to keep and let go of in my life? Growing up, is such a pain. Letting go of things to make room for change is just as painful, if not much worse.

Rollercoasters!! Or Maybe Not…

I love when people change plans, less than 24 hours beforehand.... NOT!

The past two weeks, everything had been set that we'd go to Six Flags on the 13th with some of Beau's family. I was beyond excited! I love roller coasters, and I haven't been since I was 17! I had to wait to make sure we'd have the money for it before saying yes. My check came in, and we were good to go! My mother even offered to babysit Emery so we wouldn't have to have her out in that 102-degree heat. I had clothes and a little "essentials" bag prepared. I could almost feel the wind hitting me from going really fast, on the Batman! I could feel the heat and the misters!! Ah, the thrills!

 I got a text message today at 3 pm telling me that they had changed their minds, they were going to the water park instead. I think I almost cried.

NO ONE (and I do mean NOOOOO OOOONNNNEEEE!) wants/needs to see me in a bathing suit of any kind. First, I have huge, UGLY stretch marks. I am not even exaggerating (pictures). Second, I am fat. Parts of me jiggle that SHOULD NEVER jiggle. NO ONE needs to see that. I, myself, get grossed out by looking at it. And last, even if I were to get talked into going, I have no bathing suit that FITS, and those are not cheap. So I'd end up spending just as much if not more to go to a water park then I would Six Flags. Did I mention that water parks have never been fun for me either? So even if I did go, I'd have a pretty lousy time because I'd just be standing around watching everyone else. What a waste of 30 bucks, huh?

Nope, not doing it. And with that, my hopes of a day of fun with no worries went out the window...

My husband is still going, so it looks like I will be spending the day with my little one. So in the end, I guess I still win.