You Say You Want a Resolution?

Happy New Year, one and all!

     As I sit here, four hours away from 2019, I gotta say, I will be so frickin glad to slam the forking door on 2018. Man, this year SUUUUCKED. Between the abysmal state of our nation and the shit show of the year that we have been handling in our household, I am done with 2018. Bring on 2019.

     Now, I realize that nothing really changes when the new year rolls in. It's simply hours later than sucky 2018 was, but I think all of us like to see it as a fresh start. And as a result, we make ridiculous resolutions, promising ourselves that we are going to be better, healthier, stronger, smarter, skinnier, whatever-er. This year we are going to reach all of our goals. This year we are going to be the best versions of ourselves. Except we are really just setting ourselves up to be let down by ourselves, again. We set unattainable, silly goals for ourselves because we are so disgusted with what's "wrong" with us. We can't even take a moment to find what is "right" with us, and THAT is wrong.

     Well, this year, I'm not having it! My resolution is to NOT have any insane resolutions. I am going to be reasonable with myself, accept my faults, and realize that I am only human and prone to mood swings, mistakes, and general fuck-ups. I'm going to stop pressuring myself to be the perfect parent, the perfect friend or the perfect anything. This is me, in 2019, accepting and loving me as I am. And I have a feeling that all the other stuff I want for myself... more money, less pounds, more happiness... will come as a result of that acceptance.

     I hope you will make the same promise to yourself. You're worth it. You deserve it. Now, get out there and GET 2019, Girl! (Or Guy!) Happy New Year!

Trauma Vs. The No-Good, Very-Bad Holiday Season

Hey there, guys! Happy Frickin Holidays.

     As you can see, I have taken a long hiatus from bestowing my snarky humor and witty musings on weight loss with you. (Don't worry, I'm coming back to that in a bit.) That's because it's fucking December and this month wreaks complete and total havoc on my household. If you are a "normal" adult, parenting "neuro-typical" children, you're probably thinking, "Right? Between the shopping, wrapping, baking, cleaning, getting ready for school vacation, etc.? I totally feel ya, girl." And while I appreciate your empathy and agree that that stuff is stressful, my fellow "Trauma Mammas" out there, (or parents raising kids that come from hard places), you get what I mean on a whole different level.

     When you are parenting a child who has been through trauma, the holiday season is a veritable shit-show. Think of it like this: When you think of the holidays, those thoughts probably rouse all of your senses, right? You can smell the fresh Christmas tree and the cookies baking in the oven. You hear jingle bells and holiday music. You see blinking lights, holiday decorations and presents. You taste peppermint, eggnog and gingerbread. You feel the warmth of the flames in the fireplace and the chill of the wintry air. (Well, ok, maybe not that last one for us Floridians, but you get the picture.) And all of that probably makes your heart happy because it's conjuring up memories of family, togetherness, giving and receiving and all around joy. That's how I always felt about Christmas. I just loved everything about it. Christmas has always been magical to me.

     Now think of it from the perspective of my daughter. The holidays make you think of family... sure. But which family? The family that you live with now, who love and adore you, but who don't look like you, don't share any of your DNA and will never quite be the same as a biological family? Or the family that cast you aside, hurt you and disappeared? (As far as you're concerned.) The season reminds you of your birthday, which unfortunately falls right before Christmas, but not in a fun 'yay-its-my-birthday' kind of way. More like a traumaversary of horrible memories kind of way. And all that stuff that was so fun before.... the candy canes, the holiday music, the snow, the gifts.... they all become triggers, reigniting that primal fear in you, that sense of loss and grief. But you can't get away from those triggers, because they are everywhere. So you just have to learn to cope. At the age of 3.

     That sensory immersion that comes with the holiday season, from the Christmas music at the gas station, to the red and green sprinkles on the cookie in your lunch, is constantly bombarding children of trauma with all of those memories... the good, the bad, the painful and the terrifying... constantly. So it's no wonder that this time of year our kiddos get crazy-pants. They are dysregulated, hyperactive, and often times have mood-swings that look like mania. My kids can go from having the time of their lives to complete messes of tears and screams in an eye-blink this time of year. My 6-year-old has been a rage machine for weeks now, going from being perfectly happy, loving and content to throwing anything he can get his hands on, knocking furniture over, and screaming angry words at me, within a moment's notice. For him, it's not just the holidays. He has a lot going on in general, but yes, a child who was removed from his birth family's care at just a few days old is still suffering the effects of trauma. The holidays still make him think of family dynamics and for a kid who's just learning to navigate the terrain of being adopted... figuring out how to field questions from classmates that he shouldn't have to answer about why he's black but has white parents, coming to terms with not knowing his biological parents, etc.... that's a LOT. Way more than I could frickin handle, and I'm supposed to be an adult. I totally get why he melts down. I would too. I do, sometimes, in fact.

     Then you have my daughter who makes it her job to get everyone to believe that she is happy and well-adjusted at all times. She went through a lifetime's worth of trauma in a few short years of life, yet she refuses to acknowledge a negative emotion. She's only ever "happy", "excited" and "good". Sounds nice, huh? Sounds easy to parent. Nope. Not at all. She spends so much time performing and putting on a happy face that when the negative stuff reaches its boiling point, man, does she lose it. And it'll never be over her true feelings. It will be over difficult homework, or over frustration with her brother taking her toys. She'll get so angry and so upset that she will hyperventilate, yank at her hair, and hit herself in the head. It's heartbreaking to see, and equally as hard to deal with because while there is so much pain behind it, it's hard not to take her nasty attitude and angry glares personally. And forget getting help! She does such an incredible job of not allowing anyone at school to see her true self, her true fears and emotions, that everyone sees her for the happy, well-adjusted person that she portrays. Why wouldn't they? Except I need them to, in order for us to work together to cultivate an environment in which she does feel safe to be herself. It feels like an impossible task most days.

     So take the triggers of the holidays and throw into our household financial struggles, job changes, crazy schedules AND a dying, elderly dog who alternately makes me weep over how much I'll miss her when she's gone and then makes me curse at her leaky bladder and another stain on the rug, and I am about DONE with the holidays. The holidays can go fuck themselves.

     .....But realistically, what can I do? What do I do to make this better for my kids? Ok, so firstly, we let them take the lead when it comes to Christmas. They tell us if and when they want decorations up, if and when they want to listen to holiday music, if and when they want to bake cookies. My little guy is totally in love with Christmas lights and likes to spend just about every night in the backseat of the car, riding around from neighborhood to neighborhood, ooh-ing and aah-ing over elaborate holiday displays. He is heartbroken when January hits and people start taking them down.

     Also key, we lower our expectations. Yeah, maybe we always dreamed of having a big Christmas Eve open house and having friends gather in our home to celebrate the season. That's not realistic for our kids. That's not setting them up for success, so we don't do it.

     We are aware that new triggers can pop up anywhere, so we are on the lookout for them. Holiday memories are very strong because of all those sensory ties. A kid may be doing just fine, and then all of a sudden, that gift reminds them of something they had in foster care, or something they asked Santa for and never got, and we are off to the races. We are prepared for that and as understanding as we can be. And speaking of gifts...

     We try to keep it lowkey on presents. (Key word being "try".) Yes, the first year the kids lived with us we lost our minds and tried to spoil them with everything they asked for and more. You know what happened? The new stuff sat there, unopened, and they played with the older, more familiar stuff. We stick with a few things that they really want, some stuff that they need, and a couple of surprises. That way it's not overwhelming. And while we open presents, we let them set the pace. They often want to stop and play with each item they open. That's ok. We let them enjoy and wonder at each toy. Who cares that there's more to open? We'll get to it. Maybe not until tomorrow, but that's ok. No rush.

     It's also super important that we, as parents, set the expectations with friends and family. Our kids are NOT required to give hugs and kisses. They are also NOT required to open presents in front of the person who gave it to them, as they can find that embarrassing and uncomfortable. And when they do open presents in front of others, we forewarn that well-meaning family member that they shouldn't be hurt if our daughter acts disappointed in their present. She feels unworthy of any present to begin with and also doesn't know how to handle emotions properly. Prepping relatives with this info in advance helps ease a lot of burden for kiddos.

     Even more importantly, when it comes to dealing with family and friends, we don't allow anyone around who isn't a positive person for our kids. Friends who question parenting decisions? Nope. Family members who make vaguely racist or sexist remarks, or inappropriate comments (or ANY comments) about adopted kids? Not a chance. Family members who can't get onboard with what our kids need and end up triggering them? Lost your invite in the mail. It's not worth putting our kids, (OR OURSELVES), through dealing with any of that nonsense. Ever. Not just a Christmastime.

     When the meltdowns come, and they will, we do our very best to try and meet each one with love. We don't berate or name-call. We don't point out selfish or self-centered behavior, as the child is in "fight, flight or freeze" mode and therefore everything IS about them in that moment. The Hubs and I try to help give names to our kiddos emotions so they can better understand them, and we reassure them over and over again that there is no behavior, no word, no action that could make us love them any less, or cause them to leave our home. Trust me, I hate storming meltdowns. I hate having to stay calm and having to tolerate things that I would probably never tolerate from a neuro-typical child, but it's what my kids need, so I do it. Then, when they are regulated, I lock myself in the bathroom and scream into a towel. Or cry. Usually both.

     No matter what, though... no matter how out of control behavior becomes, Jay and I are careful to never, EVER threaten the kids with Christmas. I mean, we hear it all the time in public: "If you don't listen, Santa won't come!", "Santa is watching you right now." "You don't want to be on the naughty list.", "Have you been good or bad?" And don't even get me started with that fucking scary-ass big brother-esque always-watching elf! Our kids feel pretty unloveable and unworthy All. The. Time. They constantly feel like if they are "bad", someone is going to come take them away or that they will lose your love. It's awful that a kid would ever feel that way to begin with, so making them feel that even more at Christmas is just not fair. Neuro-typical or not, please don't let your kids think that the approval of Santa, or "God", or you, hinges on being "good", especially when a kid doesn't see themselves that way. Our two know that no matter what, Santa is going to come through for them, because they are kind-hearted, loving people, who make mistakes, just like everyone else.

     And lastly, we work to establish new traditions with our kids. Ones that they actively participate in, like visiting a favorite location, or attending a specific show that they enjoy. It doesn't even have to be holiday-themed! Who says my new Christmas Eve tradition can't be getting ice cream or going on a bike ride? We let the kids pick things that are special to them, and we include them in our holiday experience each year, so that they understand that they are making their imprint on this family too. (Ours usually turn out to be Disney-related but if you know us, there's nothing surprising about that!)

     So that's how I'm getting through. The Hubs and I are doing the best we can to navigate our amazing, brave, wonderful, hurt kiddos through this season, day by day. I'm getting through by reminding myself that it's only temporary and that even though this particular time of year makes me feel like we have taken a couple of steps back, overall my kids have taken enormous leaps forward this year. That gets me though. That and anxiety meds.

The Fat-Shaming Mile-High Club

     I work for an airline. The BEST airline. I love my job. I do NOT love phone calls like this:

Me: Greeting for the best airline, how can I help you tonight?

Customer: I just wanted you to know I had a great flight leaving Florida last week, but my flight back was awful.

Me: Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. What went wrong? What could we do better?

Customer: I got sat next to this lady and she was enormous. I mean, as she came down the aisle, everyone had to lean in to let her even walk by. It was ridiculous. I was praying she wasn't coming to sit next to me, and of course, she was. She was very polite and everything but she sat down and just lopped on over into my seat. Then she had to ask the stewardess for one of those extra seatbelts.

Me: (pretty disgusted, but staying matter-of-fact) A seatbelt extender.

Customer: I guess that's what you call it. To me, they shouldn't even offer those. If the seatbelt doesn't fit you, you shouldn't be able to fly.

Me: .... (Stunned silence. How do you respond to that? Especially when you've had to use one of those seatbelt extenders yourself, in the past.)

Customer: Anyway, she took up so much of my seat. I was just SO uncomfortable.

Me: (in my head) Imagine how she felt.

Me: (out loud) I am sorry to hear that your flight was less than enjoy-

Her: (interrupting) ... And THEN, get THIS.... she pulls out a bag of food from her backpack and starts eating pretzels and chips and all kinds of stuff!

Me: (knowing full well what she is implying): Yes, customers are welcome to bring aboard any food that they so choose.

Her: Yeah, well you'd think, given her size, she'd at least not eat like that in public.

Me: (in my head) Wait, what the FUCK, lady? Not only is her size offensive to you, but she's not supposed to EAT in front of you???? Like a goddamned human being???

Me: (out loud) ....... (There WAS no 'out loud'. More stunned silence.)

Now My Least Favorite Customer Ever: I was just disgusted. I mean, really, it's not right. If someone is that size, they should have to buy two seats, or buy first class or something. It's just not fair.

Me: (in my head) No, what's not fair is being told you have to pay double what everyone else does, when you're already in an uncomfortable and awkward situation, as it is. What's not fair is being judged by rude-ass bitches around you who think they know you, just by looking at you. THAT'S what's not fair, lady.

Me: (out loud) I am sorry you feel that way, but that would be discrimination, ma'am. We would never make someone pay more because they happen to weigh more, just like we wouldn't make my husband pay more because he's 6'5". I am certainly sorry to hear that you were uncomfortable, and I'd be happy to issue you-

Worst Customer Ever: (interrupting me again) I'm not looking for anything, but I really don't think I should have to have even been put in that situation. I mean, I ended up telling her that her belly was resting on my armrest and I couldn't get comfortable.

Me: ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!



     At this point, The Worst Customer Ever continues her tirade about fat people being the bain of her existence and how she understands because she once weighed almost 200 pounds, but she did something about it and got a nutritionist and dietician and lost weight because no one else should have to deal with someone else's weight issue. (She seriously said that! Seriously. AND how much more frickin privileged could you sound, lady? Like everyone has money laying around to pay a nutritionist and dietician.) Anyway, how the rest of the call went, you can just imagine. Needless to say, I was very glad to move on to another call, and my far more common, happy customer who just needed a receipt resent. He didn't even have a peep to make about his overweight fellow passengers! Go figure!

      I share this with you, not to bitch about my ugly, hateful customer, but to demonstrate to you how wildly open people feel about being judgemental and rude to overweight people. She TOLD the woman her belly was resting on her armrest. Like the woman was not painfully, and I bet shamefully, aware of this fact. Granted, hate seems to be growing stronger by the day lately on all fronts, but all along, fat-shaming has been a constant, acceptable way to communicate with overweight people.  Being overweight is looked at as a choice. One that a lazy, selfish person makes. I mean, obviously, because why would you NOT choose to not fit comfortably into a world that is literally not designed for you? Why would you NOT want to struggle to find affordable, stylish clothes that fit? Why would you NOT want to be stared at, laughed at and made fun of? Clearly, this is a choice that I have made, along with my fellow fatties. We like being like this. And we love being fat-shamed! Especially while on an uncomfortable, anxiety-raising airplane flight. Jesus, for all that lady knew, her overweight seatmate may have been flying to a parent's funeral, or to her own destination wedding, or to volunteer with hurricane relief in the Gulf. The point is, you don't know JACK about someone else's story. You know even less about their body. Keep your comments and judgments to yourself. I only wish I had a way to know who her seatmate was and how to contact her. Man would I love for her to know that I see her, and that I've got her back.

     Oh, and one more lesson, kids. Never put down a group of people over the phone to a total stranger, because you have no idea if the person you are speaking with fits neatly into the group you are marginalizing and hating on. You never know. Here's one thing that you can know for sure though: KINDNESS IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED. Use it, freely and plentifully. All the time. You'll never run out. I promise.

Seriously..... FUCK Halloween Candy.

     

Ok, it's not JUST Halloween candy. I have hit a wall. I have a giant elliptical machine looming behind me, calling my name, taunting me...... "Heeeeeey, Loser..... you gonna quit? Yeah, you are. You always quit. That's why you're a Fatty McFatterson." My elliptical can be a real dick sometimes.

     Halloween candy has indeed been rough on me, but so has laziness and stress. All the stress. All the time. Being a mom is really hard. Being a mom to two kids with special needs is wearing me the fuck out. Every day there's a new crisis.... Therapy appointment is changed, 9 year old's panic attack over homework is out of control and she needs help regulating, 6 year old is off his meds and off the wall, had to change 9 year old's teacher due to non-compliance with her 504, another appointment with the principal.... on and on. All you moms of kids from hard places out there feel me. Every day is a new emergency. And a new excuse, really.

     But here's the truth of it: I think I want to fuck this all up. Well, I don't, but my subconscious does. Remember when I first started on my quest to find the big-bright-shiny-Jenn-light-that-burns-so-bright, just a couple of months ago? Remember how I kept saying that it was freaking me out that it was so easy? That's because I am not comfortable with taking care of myself. I am not comfortable feeling sexy, healthy, worthy... any of that. The stress and the Halloween candy, they are just self-sabotage really. I can't lie... some part of me is relieved that I am starting to struggle. Some part of me thinks I deserve this fat, motionless, boring life. Screw her. Screw that part of me. Seriously, she's a waste of space. The healthier, energetic, happier me is SO much better.

      Today I totally gave in. Today I ate pretty much whatever I wanted, and guess how I felt after? Awful. Not sick-to-my-stomach awful, (I didn't actually eat that much, just stuff I haven't been eating), just gross. I felt heavier, slower, tired, depressed. Yucky enough to realize that I am being dumb. Time to lace the sneakers back up, and tell the elliptical 'Enough sassin' me, I'm back.' Time to make my weight loss tracker stop looking like rolling hills and more like a steep dive off a cliff. Here's hoping my sanity doesn't go with it!

Puttering Along... Oh and FUCK Halloween Candy.

Hey, ya'll!

     I'm just doing a quick check-in. I'm still doing well, but I gotta admit, I've had my first couple of days of backsliding. Nothing major, just overindulging a bite here and a bite there. Oh, and there's goddamn Halloween candy in the house. We took the kids to an early trick-or-treating event at Disney Springs and they got a pretty good haul, goddamnit.

     In case you can't tell, my mood hasn't been great lately. We are struggling financially and that always stresses me out to no end. We've had a crazy schedule as The Hubs starts his new job and my kiddos are struggling with new meds, new therapies, etc. I'm stressed, and feeling yucky about myself. The funny thing is, when I attacked the Halloween candy and found myself looking down at 4 mini-Twix wrappers in the trash, I felt relieved. Like, 'Oh, there I am! There's the girl that doesn't matter much and is ok with being a slob.' I know, I know... it's a horrible thing to think and feel, but I'm just being truthful here. Don't worry... I delivered a swift kick to that chick's butt and pointed out that we DO matter, and told her to get the hell back on board or get out.

     I am now down 28 pounds, so I'm not doing terribly... just slowed down some. I have made the commitment to myself to get back to tracking my intake in the Lose It app more carefully, (which I have admittedly gotten sloppy about), and have told The Hubs that I really, really need to get that damn elliptical in the house so that when the mood strikes me to get off my ass, I have a way to do so, while still staying within arms reach of my sometimes destructive 6-year-old.

     I guess my lesson from this week is that I'm human, and I can forgive myself for being one, withOUT self-destructing. This is a new concept for me. I'm learning. I'm growing. I'm locating that missing big-bright-shiny-Jenn-light, one ray at a time, even when I sometimes try to cover it back up.

A Brush With Sexual Harassment... Just Like Any Other Woman, Any Day of the Week

Photo credit: CBS News

     So this may be a good time to make it known to anyone who may be reading this and doesn't know me personally, that I am proudly, a bleeding-heart liberal. I believe in science. I believe that love is love is love is love, and I am no more worthy of it based on the fact that I am a straight female than any of my LGBTQ friends. I KNOW that Black Lives Matter. I believe in kindness, acceptance, love and compassion for others. I miss the Obamas like they are my own family, (come back, Barack!),  and I am completely and totally disgusted by the state of affairs in this country, thanks to our current administration. There. I'll give you a moment to leave, if you need to.

     Ok, still here? Cool. All of that being said, I need to relate it back to something that I encountered the other day. I had a brush with sexual harassment that I really should NOT be downplaying. I should NOT feel like it doesn't matter. I should NOT have been apologetic for it, but I was, because that's the world we live in. That's rape culture. Alive and well, and about to be voted into the highest court in all the land, in just a few hours time.

     It wasn't a huge deal, (see, there I go again), but it is bothering me so much. I had just pulled into my driveway after picking the Littles up from school, and a neighbor called out to me, asking for a lawn care contact. He was fixing up the house that he owns, after renters had moved out, and he needed the yard taken care of. When he approached the driveway, he realized that I was struggling with my little guy, who was refusing to leave the car. Trauma creates these fun-filled meltdowns at random times that are often seemingly impossible to deal with. The neighbor tried to help out, and trick my little dude into leaving the car to come show him how tall he is, or how fast he could run, but he wasn't biting. Eventually, the neighbor offered to show him how the house repairs were going, and that struck my son as interesting enough to abandon his automotive fortress. The two kids and I walked over to the house, and toured the inside, briefly saying hello to a gentleman who was tinkering with the locks. As we checked out the pool, and the kitchen, I felt the repairman's eyes on me in a super uncomfortable way. I was in a thrown-on sundress, with my hair tossed in a top knot, makeup-less, and sweating from dealing with my kid's meltdown in the 95 degree driveway. Usually when people are looking at me in those scenarios, I can tell it's either out of pity, or wondering if I'm about to keel over. This felt totally different. (Yes, eye contact can feel different. Ask any woman.) It felt predatory. I was happy to leave the house and head back home after a few minutes.

     As we got to the end of the neighbor's driveway, I heard the repairman yelling out, "Hey, hey-hey, hey!" Assuming he was talking to the home owner, I ignored him and kept heading to my house. The next thing I knew, he aggressively was patting my shoulder, still saying, "Hey, hey, hey!" Polite, gentle-mannered female that I am trained to be, I turned and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, did you need something?" He stepped WAY too close, into my personal space and leaned into me. He said, "I like the way you look very much. What is your name?" (English was not his first language, but he certainly spoke it well enough to understand what he was saying to me was NOT appropriate to be saying to a clearly married woman, with her wedding ring intact.) I was totally skeeved out, but as I am 'supposed to', I told him my name and listened to his. When he aggressively, and without having been invited to do so, took my hand and was holding it near his chest, I tried pulling back gently, not wanting to offend, (Lucky me, this man was interested in me!), but he squeezed tighter. He continued, "You look very beautiful. I like you very much. Let's get together." Blushing, I said, "Oh, thank you, but I am married. These are my kids." (Oh yeah, my friggin' KIDS were still standing at my feet, right next to this man, who was pawing at my hand, against my will.) He said, "That's ok. We can be close, close friends. Give me your number. We will get together." Now I was starting to freak out a bit. The neighbor was still standing at the top of his driveway, within earshot. Why wasn't he stepping in? I tried pulling away more forcefully, still saying, "Aw, thank you so much, but no thanks. I don't do that," but he held my hand and now wrist, tighter. "Come on," he continued to insist. I caught a glimpse of my daughter's eyes, and my stomach turned at the balls of this man, acting this way in front of my kids, let alone me. "NO,", I said, and finally pulled away. I walked quickly back to the house, and locked the door behind me, never looking back.

     What the HELL??? I immediately texted the neighbor: "How well do you know that gentleman", (Yes, I was still referring to him as a 'gentleman'!!!), "in your house? He just made me super uncomfortable." The guy texted back, "Sorry about that. He said he wanted to ask you for water, but then got taken by your beauty." What the serious FUCK? You buy that, dude? Oh no, wait... you are living up to YOUR part of our shitty-ass culture that thinks women should be flattered by any sort of attention, so you will defend his gross behavior in front of my kids. Yes, it could have been WAY worse, but that does not make anything about what happened ok. And if you're sitting here thinking, 'Well, that wasn't bad. He thought you were pretty. That's what you want with this whole weight loss thing, isn't it?' No. Fucking NO. I don't want men thinking they have the right to touch me in ANY way, make me uncomfortable, or treat me disrespectfully EVER. But you know why this was ok with the man who harassed me, (yes, that's HARASSMENT), and his employer? Because we, as a society, tell them it is. Just turn on the friggin TV and look at what we are perpetuating. It's disgusting. And it's just getting worse. I am so fearful for my daughter. She has already experienced abuse and mistreatment in her life at the age of 9. She doesn't deserve to ever have to worry about this again. And she certainly didn't deserve to have to see her mother treated like her own voice didn't matter.

     So what am I doing about it? Firstly, I warned the neighbor not to DARE give that man my contact information. I sat my daughter down and had a conversation about consent and apologized to her that I didn't set a great example for her. I should have been more firm even sooner. And I'm making sure I lock my front door, as soon as I get inside, every time I come home. And that suuuuuucks. It sucks to be concerned that maybe that dude won't take the hint, and will come over uninvited, but it would suck even more NOT to be concerned about it and to have it happen. And I am completely and totally done being polite about stuff like this. Yes, I want to be seen as a kind, friendly person, but I cannot let any man cross any lines again, and allow them to think I'll stand for it. My daughter is watching and since our political system can't protect her or show her her value, I will, X 1000, even if it makes me a "bitch".

     I encourage you to watch this clip of the incomparable Lady Gaga on the Colbert show the other night. At the 2:20 mark, they start talking about politics and Gaga brings up Dr. Ford's testimony. Then she explains, in a very eloquent and simple way, what trauma is and what the brain does with it. She absolutely nails it. Yes, men, women remember every freaking disgusting detail of their sexual misconduct, harassment and attack stories, even if they can't remember jack shit before or after it. It gets seared into out brains. Notice I am saying ALL women. That's because I don't think I know a female in this world who does not have their own #metoo moment, or several of them, or even too many to separate them. It's part of day to day life for most of us. For your wife, your girlfriend, your mother, your sister, your friends. What are YOU doing to do to make sure it's not your daughter, too? Why not start with using your vote to change the tide? The women in your life will love you even more for it. Promise.

One Month In.

Hey, you're back!

     Thanks for continuing to care how I'm doing. Maybe you're here out of support, (thanks so much!), maybe for support, (you GOT this, girl!), and maybe out of morbid curiosity to see when the fat girl will give up and get on with being fat, (I admire your honesty). No matter why you're here, I welcome you.

     So I am officially 4 weeks in and this is still so freakin' bizarre, but it's going great! Guys, I even managed to go away to Boston for a couple of nights on a mini-vacay and NOT tank myself. In the past, vacations have TOTALLY been my excuse to completely quit dieting of any kind and basically eat whatever I can get my hands on. Not this time. I mean, I did indulge a bit more than I have been while in Boston, having a few forkfuls of Chinese food, and a rich pesto flatbread pizza. Even a half of a black and white cookie! (If you're from the Northeast, or have been there, and you now live in Florida, I am certain you do not fault me for any of this, as decent Chinese food does not even exist in Orlando, nor does anything resembling an Italian pastry.) But other than my indulgences, I mostly ate the stuff I have been eating.... veggies, fruit, eggs, yogurt, etc., and stayed on track. In fact, when I came back, I was pleased to see that I had stayed the same weight. And since then? Crushin it!

Down over 25 pounds! (Over by a sneeze, but I'll take it!) I'm officially seeing a difference in clothes and stuff. The only problem is the stuff that now fits nicely that did not fit before, that I REALLY want to wear is all long sleeves and pants and Orlando weather has decided to NOT participate in Fall. 

Yuck. 

     So how am I keeping motivated? Seriously, my Spotify playlist is helping a TON. (Check it out! Get It Girl, on Spotify) I have always known that music is a super powerful tool. It helps amplify and give voice to feelings, and that is exactly what many of these songs are doing for me right now. Have you ever listened to Sarah Bareillies's "She Used To Be Mine", from the musical, "Waitress"? It's amazing. Hauntingly sad, but also so incredibly real and relatable. Here's the link, and the lyrics:

It's not simple to say

That most days I don't recognize me

That these shoes and this apron

That place and its patrons

Have taken more than I gave them

It's not easy to know

I'm not anything like I used be, although it's true

I was never attention's sweet center

I still remember that girl

She's imperfect, but she tries

She is good, but she lies

She is hard on herself

She is broken and won't ask for help

She is messy, but she's kind

She is lonely most of the time

She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie

She is gone, but she used to be mine

It's not what I asked for

Sometimes life just slips in through a back door

And carves out a person and makes you believe it's all true

And now I've got you

And you're not what I asked for

If I'm honest, I know I would give it all back

For a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two

For the girl that I knew

Who'll be reckless, just enough

Who'll get hurt, but who learns how to toughen up

When she's bruised and gets used by a man who can't love

And then she'll get stuck

And be scared of the life that's inside her

Growing stronger each day 'til it finally reminds her

To fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes

That's been gone, but used to be mine

Used to be mine

She is messy, but she's kind

She is lonely most of the time

She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie

She is gone, but she used to be mine. 

Beautiful, huh? I may not be a waitress, and I may not be stuck with a man who can't love.... and I don't even want any redo's, but I can relate so well to losing yourself and not knowing who you've become. That's how I started on this journey, afterall. Call it a mid-life crisis, if you want, but I think most 30 or 40 somethings can relate to this feeling of loss. You do have to give yourself a human moment to mourn the things that you did not become, that you thought you would, but you also have to take that minute to realize there's still time. Life may be a whirlwind right now, but there's still time to seek out those parts of your life that you wanted and perhaps gave up on. I'm trying to use that idea as my rocket fuel to keep moving forward. It's working for the moment, so I'm gonna go with it. 

    What kind of dreams and hopes have you given up on? Is there a way to still reach for it? I bet there is. And I believe in you. Get it, girl. (Or Guy.)

The No-Good-Very-Bad-Suck-Ass Day... That Totally ISN'T.

     I am having a suck-ass day. It shouldn't be a suck-ass day. Today I can say I am down 20, yes 20!, pounds. I feel physically better and can see slight differences in the way I look. I finally got around to dying my hair again, which desperately needed it, since the summer sun and chlorine had stripped my previously purple hair down to some vaguely purple strands, dark roots, bleached blonde ends and lots of gray at the temples. (Thanks, kids!) My hair is now indigo blue at the roots, and denim blue on the ends and I love it. (And yes, that is a giant trampoline in my living room, because when you have kiddos with trauma histories and severe ADHD, AND sensory processing disorders, sometimes things are a little different in your house.)

     Oh, and tomorrow, the four of us are headed to Boston because The Hubs got me tickets to Hamilton for my birthday back in April and it's finally time for the show. I'm super excited to see Hamilton, of course, since I am obsessed and a total theater nerd. Plus, a couple of days away from home might be good for all of us.

     So what makes today so suck-ass? Ugh. Just life. I just have that familiar feeling of depression and doom washing over me. Not for any real reason. Just feeling overwhelmed by life. We are having car issues for like the 45th time this year. A car that we are borrowing from a super generous friend broke down yesterday while I was driving with the kids and I had to get it towed at 1 o'clock in the morning last night, after I got off work, so that will require time and money to get handled. It seems like no matter what we do, we just can NOT get ahead of the game. Don't get me wrong, we know how lucky we are in many, many ways, but it seems like every time we take a financial step forward, we get the crap knocked out of us, and knocked back twelve steps. I hate, hate, hate worrying about money. I know money doesn't solve all problems, or bring happiness, but holy shit, NOT having it ain't helping either.

     Why else is it suck-ass? Not really any other reason. We have multiple awesome people who helped us when we needed it, one giving me a ride and another fixing the car. We are healthy, relatively sane, and I'm going to frickin' Hamilton! Now that I write out my whiny complaints, I realize that it's really not so bad. I'm assuming my depressive slump is just a hormonal emotional swing of some kind. Nothing a little Beyonce, Tay-Tay and Gaga can't get me through. (And let's be honest, some Paxil too.) Thanks for listening. Go about your business now.

Two Weeks Later...

     So, be honest.... were you thinking that I probably gave up by now? Were you thinking that I maybe kicked ass on my self-improvement mission for like a day or two, and now I could be found on my couch, sucking down some Ben and Jerry's and considering deleting my original blog post? Cuz I was thinking those things for sure. I was NOT thinking this.....

     Whaaaatttt? Right???? Two weeks in and I have lost almost 17 pounds and I am pretty friggin amazed at myself. I'm telling you, something is different. That light... the big, bright, shiny Jenn-light that shines so bright... it's coming back. A little at a time. Now, no, I am not seeing any big differences yet, but I do see little things here and there. My ring is loose and actually spinning around my finger at times, which it never does. It's basically been melded onto my finger for the past few years. Clothes fit ever so slightly different. The bigger differences though, are in the way I feel. I feel healthier. I have more energy. I feel... powerful. I feel like I can so totally do this. 

     So what have I been doing? I started tracking what I eat on the Lose It app, which I love. It gives me a clear view of what I am eating, how much nutrition I am getting, and what I can do better. I am trying to be more active, which isn't hard to do, since my previous activity level was stationary, with occasional child-chasing. I do have a challenge in that I ruptured a disc in my back a few years ago, and that, plus carrying around a toddler for a couple of years, have made life pretty painful for me at times. But, I have done what I can, in small doses. I have been swimming laps at the pool, instead of just lazing while my kids try and drown one another. (Don't worry, I'm still watching them!) I have been walking where and when I can. I have also been listening to a kick ass, self-motivating soundtrack that I created for myself on Spotify. It's very "girl power"-y and every song makes me feel happy, energized and ready for anything. I mean, how can you feel bad listening to Kesha sing, "I'm a mother fuckin' woman!"? I am more than happy to share my playlist here, but I will forewarn you, this is not a playlist for those who blush at swear words.... then again, neither is this blog, I guess. Screw it, here it is... Get It Girl on Spotify. (Oh, and you will find a couple of Aaron Tveit tracks thrown in there, since he was the one who told me to "get it girl" in the first place. Thanks again, Aaron.)

     Here's the craziest thing ever though... I have not cheated, at ALL. I mean, technically, I am not dieting, just being healthier, so there isn't really anything to cheat on, but what I mean is that I have not done any middle of the night Oreo assaults or grabbing a bite here and there of my kid's mac and cheese. I haven't wanted to, and THAT is a weird feeling for me. I have never once met a diet or weight-loss plan that I didn't want to cheat on, heavily. All I can figure is that I'm starting to remember that I am actually worth it. I'm worth being faithful to. How's that for some self-love mush for ya?

     This week, the plan is to move my gym-quality, super expensive elliptical trainer back into the house from the garage. The Hubs bought it for me when I went on another "I'm gonna get healthy" crusade a few years back. That quest ended before the elliptical got delivered, and the old gal's pretty much been in the garage since. We will see if this time I use it for something other than drying clothes on it.

The Day (Well, Night, Really..) That Broadway Heartthrob Aaron Tveit Convinced Me To Finally Lose Weight

    Well, guys. It happened. Something seems to have finally motivated me to lose some goddamned weight. It was dreamy star of stage and screen, Aaron Tveit. No, I did not meet him somewhere and he was randomly mean to me, nor was he motivational in convincing me to drop some lbs. And no, I'm not some crazed psycho fan lady, (sadly, no longer qualified to be a fan girl), convinced that if I lose some weight, Aaron will magically show up in my home town and whisk me off my feet. I'm far too sensible for that, not to mention, happily married. Maybe I should back up just a bit...

     I have always, always been fat. I was teased and called the "f" word when I was in elementary
school, often by my own, asshole of an uncle, just for being chubbier than the other kids. In middle school, I was awkward as hell, (not unlike anyone else), but lucky me, I was also overweight too, so again, I was a slow moving target for my peers. I couldn't climb the rope in gym. They found it soooo funny. I didn't look good in the ever popular pegged jeans and body suit tops of the 90's. Friggin hysterical. My dumbass gym shorts were always riding up and exposing my meaty thighs. Comedy gold. High school wasn't too much better, but I did slowly start having less and less fucks to give. This was mostly because my dad died after a 7 year long battle with cancer, when I was only 15. That at least made people back off of me for a bit, since they didn't know what to say, and it gave me a chance to find my own place in the weird world of high school. I started looking at the bigger picture, being able to laugh at myself more, and care what everyone else thought less. Well, a little less.

My awkward self, my senior year of high school. 

     Now don't get me wrong... I wasn't a kid who was always being picked on. I wasn't teased relentlessly or humiliated in front of the whole school the way kids are today. (Thank Christ that social media didn't exist then, other than the very beginnings of AOL chat rooms and instant messenger. And even with that, all people cared about was finding the perfect lame song lyrics to leave as their "away message".) It's just that my weight was often the subject of the teasing that I did get, and that sucked. It wasn't something I had much control over, (Thanks, genetics.), nor was it how I wanted to be, but it just was. I wasn't without friends. I might even have been considered mildly popul.. nope. Not popular. Too strong of a word. I was medium. I was right in the middle. I was far from the lowest rung of the social ladder, but never in with the "in" crowd either. I was liked by members of all Breakfast Club groupings... the brains, the athletes, the basket cases, the princesses and I even had a criminal friend or two. But because I was heavier than most of the other girls, I would never earn a spot on anyone's popularity lists. I was ok with that though. I didn't really want to be like anyone else. I mean, I wasn't happy that I was chubby. Of course I wanted to be thin and attractive like the popular girls, but I didn't want to act like them or be mean like them. That wasn't who I was. I just didn't want people to look at me and decide I had less value, based on the size of my boot cut jeans.

    The period of my life after high school was kind of amazing. At 19, I fulfilled what had been my lifelong dream to move to Orlando and work for Disney. I was on my own, with not a person I knew living in the entire state, but I was thrilled to be doing what I loved. That happiness must have shown through into what I projected out to the world, because I made friends everywhere I went. I was in the middle of several social circles and I was even (gasp!) attracting guys! The confidence and happiness that I had found worked their magic on my outward appearance too. I slimmed down to a size 14... the smallest I had been in a LONG time. I wasn't even really trying to lose weight. I was just busy and active and things seemed to happen on their own. I dated here and there and eventually met that guy. You know the one from every decent rom-com that just seems like "the one". First we became friends and then we fell madly in love. Like, crazy, silly movie love, where the sky is bluer and the little animated birds land on your finger. Everything seemed perfect all the time, as long as he was around. And here's the craziest part... he reciprocated all of my feelings. In fact, he was the first one to say 'I love you'. He was the one to start calling me his girlfriend. He introduced me to his family. Could it have all been fake? Maybe, but somehow I just knew it wasn't. I couldn't figure out how I got this lucky, but there it was. We talked about a life together... dreams, goals, kids.... the whole thing. I existed in this love-filled bubble of bliss for just about a year. Then the fucking bubble popped, and I crashed to the ground, hard. Out of NO WHERE, the dude broke my heart and ended everything. I had ZERO warning signs that the end was near. One day he loved me and the next day, he was done. (At least, that's how it felt.) I was destroyed. I never got any sort of explanation. One time, about a year later, I did run into his old roommate. He told me that my ex had started dating someone else right before he broke up with me, someone skinny, and talented, and beautiful. Now, it may be my own self-doubt and sense of self-worth, but I have always thought that maybe he started to feel really serious about me, and realized that I wasn't enough for him. I didn't graduate college. I didn't have any ambitions that reached beyond working for Disney forever. I was still awkward at times, and I had emotional baggage from my past. And oh yeah, I was still fat. At least, in my eyes I was. A 14 was still a long way from a 4 and my ex was attractive, tall and slim. He caught every girl's eye. I kept wondering when it was he'd realize that he could do better. Maybe my own negative self-worth is what took me down in the end. Part of me still really wishes I knew what made him walk away, but the smart part of me knows it really doesn't matter.

Me at my thinnest. Holy cow, I was young. 

     So.... after my first real heartbreak, I did what most girls do. I went for the revenge body. I lost even more weight, worked out a lot, bought nicer clothes, changed my hair... the whole nine. It didn't bring my ex back, but it did re-up my confidence. It helped me stop thinking that I deserved to be broken up with, and brought back that (to quote Meg Ryan in "French Kiss") big, bright, shiny Jenn-light that burned so bright. I started making my way up the ranks at Disney and I had a guy or two who had shown interested in me. I was flirted with when I was out in public, and I could stand looking at my own reflection in store windows. I felt great. That was about the time when my now husband came into my life, and that was incredible. I started realizing that everything happens for a reason and that only I had control over how people saw me. Only I could decide what my value was. (It should be noted that even though I was more confident and I was feelin' the way I looked a lot more, I STILL saw myself as fat, because I was a size 12, not a 2. Man, would I kill to be that "fat" again!)

     Ok, I'm not quite to Aaron Tveit yet, but we're getting there. You still with me? Alright, moving on. Fast forward fifteen years, to the present. I sit here, heavier than I have ever been in my life. Fatter than I ever thought I would be. I'd tell you what I weigh, but it doesn't really matter beyond the fact that it's enough to be unhealthy and unhappy. (Not enough to be removed from my house via crane, but you get the picture.) The past 13 years that I have been married to my husband have been amazing. I've felt valued, loved and (mostly) worthy of love. We have elements of movie love, genuine love and admiration, and so much more. We have grown this incredible family, and we have finally settled down in the place we want to be, but those 13 years have also been filled with stress, family problems, many, many inter-state moves, financial struggles and add to all of that, parenting two kiddos from hard places. I wouldn't change any of it for the world, but over the years, I have lost who I am. That great big, bright, shiny Jenn light has dimmed to the point of almost being extinguished. I have no self-confidence, (even though I fake it pretty well), and don't place much value on myself. I give myself excuse after excuse for gaining all this weight, but the truth is, I think I've stopped feeling like I'm worth anything else. My main role in life is Mom. It's an awesome role, but it's a role that doesn't require sex appeal, personal attention or really much self-worth. In fact, it's probably a pretty self-deprecating role. I always feel like things are my fault, like I could be doing more, and like I should be better at this than I am. I feel pretty miserable about myself on an almost daily basis. This is not my husband's fault. He does everything I need him to do to show me I am loved and lovable. We have something real, and magical. He's my best friend, my confidant, my partner in crime, my comedic partner and an incredible father and all around man. My dimmed light is my own deal.

Me with my wonderful Hubs

     Ok, finally, cue Aaron Tveit. Well, ok, cue my dream, starring Aaron Tveit. Last night I fell asleep to Aaron's spine-tingling version of the song "Come What May". Just a few weeks ago, I saw the stage version of "Moulin Rouge", in which Aaron plays a love-sick, passionate composer and man, did I enjoy hearing his incredible voice belt out romantic lyrics like, "I want to vanish inside your kiss." And, let's be honest, he's pretty easy on the eyes. I may have become a bit smitten. Well, the elixir of a hot guy singing romantic words in my ear, plus some Advil PM, created a pretty fantastic dream. In my dream I was in my "revenge body" phase, and I was out somewhere and met Mr. Tveit. We started talking and he immediately said that he wanted to take me out. He kept begging to date me and saying how beautiful and funny I was and how much he wanted to get to know me and of course, eventually, live happily ever after... just me and the hot singer dude with the great arms. Siiigggghhhh.......

The subject of my dream, strictly for reference
purposes, of course. 

     For some stupid reason, my alarm went off and I had to get up to take my dumb kids, (sorry, my truly amazing and marvelous children), to school. I was legit angry and seriously depressed that my dream was not real. But here's where the magic happened. Here's where I realized what I have been missing for quite sometime now.... I wasn't sad because I'm not actually dating Aaron Tveit. (I mean, I wouldn't be mad if I was, and no offense to The Hubs, but I wouldn't rule it out as an option, should the opportunity present itself. Just sayin'.) I was sad because in my dream, I had that feeling again. The big, bright, shiny Jenn-light was blazing brightly in that dream, if only for a brief moment. I was confident and happy and I was wanted by someone other than my husband and kids. No, this is not where I disclose that I want to cheat on my husband and be with a man that is obsessed with me. As I said, my husband is awesome and I know how much he loves me. He's never seen me as less than or made me feel worthless. It's not that. It's that I miss feeling attractive. I miss feeling desirable. I miss thinking that the guy at the cash register just gave me a free upgrade to a large because he wants me, not because he feels bad for me. I want to want to make an effort again. I'm sick of being a lump of a person, sitting back watching life happen around me. I'm ready to be an active participant. I'm ready to like me again.

     Let me stop you before you start commenting about how I should love myself at any size and how I am no less attractive because I am overweight, etc. Even if I can love myself at any size, I can't be proud of myself at any size. I just can't. It sucks that our vision of beauty in this world is as narrow as it is, but thinking that doesn't make it any easier to enjoy looking at my rolls or my pudgy face. It doesn't make clothes fit me better or make it possible for me to shop in just any store I feel like walking into. And it certainly doesn't make me any healthier, mentally or physically.

     After I got the kids off to school, I gave myself time to fully come to this realization that what I am missing in my life is my big, bright, shiny Jenn-light, which finally burned so bright again for a tiny moment in my dream, and I cried. I cried out of pain for the person I have let myself become. I cried out of sadness that I have allowed myself to live light-less for this long. I cried out of happiness from that feeling of being fully desirable and loving myself in that dream. But I think I mostly cried out of relief that maybe I have finally found what I have been looking for: the motivation to change. I started my day with a healthy breakfast and a walk, and with so much ease, I spent my day making healthy choices, and feeling like I was taking care of me, because I deserved better. Yes, I hear you. It was one day, hold your friggin applause for yourself. It just felt different this time. Maybe tomorrow it'll feel sucky again and like losing weight is too hard, and maybe I won't want to try. But maybe, just maybe, I'll then think about that feeling from my delicious dream, and I'll pick myself right on up again and keep moving toward the big, bright, shiny Jenn-light that burns so bright.

     So, thanks, Aaron Tveit, for allowing my brain to use your image to remind myself what it feels like to have that light on. Maybe someday, I'll thank you in person and we can run away together. Just kidding. Kind of. Call me.