Resolutions

It's that magical time of year again.  That time were we flit from party to party, gorging cookies and fudge and Christmas crack and Dutch babies and ham and potatoes and we eat more butter than Paula Deen and more sugar than Wilford Brimley.

Yeeeeeeeeee Haw!

 The spirit of the season, for me, is being with family and loved ones...which frequently seems to revolve around food.  We go to my in-laws house for lunch, my parents house for dinner, co-workers bring delicious treats to work, neighbors bake cookies.  

How in the world do we justify this?

Well, for some of us, this is how we eat all the time, so it's just another day/week/season.

For others, we somehow have the willpower to resist everything delicious and unhealthy that's put in front of is.

And yet others live a primarily healthy lifestyle but have a holiday free-for-all.  Why?

SWEET, GLORIOUS, NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS ARE COMING!

Yes!  That moment when you wake up on January 1st, the whole glorious year ahead of you, is amazing.  It feels like a clean slate!  Every mistake, silly thing, "cheat" day, skipped workout, foul remark, sin, whatever that you participated in over the last year seems like a distant memory...it might as well not exist any more.  You are perfect and your track record is unblemished.  New year, new start.

Remember that scene in Forrest Gump when Forrest and Lieutenant are celebrating New Years with Cunning Carla and Long Limbs Lenore?

You can almost smell the stale cigarette smoke and Dr.Pepper fumes, can't you?

Well, either Carla or Lenore (which one, I haven't the slightest) has a great line, even though she's only in the movie for like 2 minutes.  She says to Forrest:

 "Don't you just love New Years?  You get to start all over again.  Everybody gets a second chance."

And it's so true.  "New year, new me" is the motto of so many people I know.  New Year's Resolutions is one of my most and least favorite traditions.  I've never really gotten in to NY Resolutions - I've always been more of a birthday resolutions type of gal.  For me, turning another year older is a fitting time to try to make a positive change; especially one you've been thinking about for a loooooong time but haven't had the motivation/courage/gumption/ability to try to achieve.  But that's just me.  Lots of people are gung-ho about their NY Resolutions.  And really, ANY time is a fitting time to make a positive change in your life...but New Year's is a milestone date, and people take the opportunity to make promises to themselves.

Preach it, Morpheus.

Until about a month in.  Maybe more if they're REALLY dedicated.  And then a lot of people fall off the resolution wagon.

I looked up some statistics on New Year's Resolutions from the Journal of Clinical Psychology (and no, I will not cite it in APA format).  Apparently 75% of individuals last through one week of their new resolution.  Seventy-one percent last two weeks, 64% make it through an entire month, and only 46% are succeeding at their resolutions after six months or more.

Forty-six percent.  Less than half of us who make resolutions will be successful at six months, and my guess is, even less will be successful long-term.

Why?

THINGS GET IN THE WAY.

We have jobs.  We have wives or husbands or partners or girlfriends or boyfriends or significant others.  We have kids.  We have dogs or cats or parakeets or potbelly pigs or horses or lizards or hedgehogs.  We have houses to maintain.  We have bills to pay.  We have graduate school.  We like to marathon Netflix in our spare time.

In short: We have lives.  Busy, exhausting, stressful lives.  

Another way of putting this:  We do not make ourselves a priority.

Yet another way of putting this:  Some of us thrive on martyrdom and don't ask for help/support when we need it.

We ABSOLUTELY need to make ourselves a priority.  And we ABSOLUTELY need a support system.

I've had a huge mind frame shift this past year, where I'm treating myself like the "leading lady" of my life for the first time, and it's amazing.  

Don't get me wrong...sometimes my "wants" still come after others' "needs."  When my husband is sick and needs me to go to CVS for cough drops and Theraflu instead of getting a second workout in, I do it.  When my dog needs to be walked so I have to take a study break, I do it.  When a co-worker's child is in town from across the country for only a few days, I pick up her shift so she can spend time with him.  But it's all give and take.  When I'm sick, Jeff brings me pho and tea.  Taco rewards me in snuggles and by being adorable.  My co-workers are so flexible and help me out by picking up extra shifts when my sister is in town (and during finals week).  So I'm not saying be a selfish a-hole 100% of the time.  You have to make others your first priority at times.  That pretty much goes without saying.

However, we need to set goals for ourselves and make them a high priority in our lives.  And we need to surround ourselves with people who support our goals and ideally, share our goals.

When I told my husband I wanted to go back to school, we both went about making my success in school a high priority in our lives.  My husband got a new job so we could move to Appleton, I got a job in Appleton, we found a place to live in the area.  We decided to put the quest for a human baby on hold, but decided to get a dog so we'd still have something cuddly to come home to (that's slightly lower-maintenance than a human child.  Slightly).  I made sure my work hours would work around school, he made sure his work hours would allow him to occasionally see his wife.  My success in school is a high priority for both of us because it affects both of our lives.

The same thing happened with getting healthy.  When I was given my ATF membership (thanks Jen, my queen!) and we started seeing a nutritionist, we both started eating better and calling the other one out on unhealthy habits.  When we inadvertently sabotage ourselves or each other, we talk about it.  Eventually, Jeff saw how freakishly strong I was getting and decided to join the gym, too, before I could beat him at arm wrestling (kidding...this may or may not be why he joined.  Also, I will never beat that monster at arm wrestling).

I consider my friends and family a big part of why I've been so successful at last year's birthday resolution.  They support my goals and several of them are either trying to get healthier or living insanely healthy lifestyles already.  It really does help!  

And no, I'm not saying to give up your friends and get new ones.  If your resolution is to quit smoking, by no means do you have to stop hanging out with your smoker friends.  But you do need at least one person in your corner who doesn't smoke or who has successfully quit smoking, to cheer you on and back you up.  They will be your sounding board and motivator.  They'll put you in check if/when you mess up.  They are an integral part of your success.

I'm lucky, I have a LOT of people around to keep me accountable.  The gift-giver, Jen.  Do I want to let her money and time go to waste?  HELL to the no.  Likewise for my nutritionist and trainer...if I don't follow their instructions and do what they tell me to do at home and at the gym, I'm essentially wasting their time and straight up disrespecting them.  I frequently ask myself "What would Amanda/Donovan do?"  I want to be alive, mobile, and healthy for as long as possible to keep being ridiculous with my husband, besties, sibs, and parents, so they're motivating, also.  Even my dog keeps me in check...he needs daily walks and I need to find the time and energy to do it.  And despite his teeny little legs, that fool is FAST.

The moral of the story is this.  Set a resolution if you want.  Or change today.  Whatever works for you to set and achieve your goals!  Any time is a fantastic time to make positive changes in your life.  Whether that includes fitness or not, strive to be even more awesome in 2015!  Find yourself a support system that will help you meet your goals.  You are worth the time and energy and I hope you can find a way to prioritize your goal this year!  

One last comment: Fellow gym-goers, I know January can be frustrating.  The gym is flooded with newbies.  The squat rack is always taken (usually by somebody curling).  Your trainer is booked out for weeks and there's even a wait for cardio machines.  

Welcome, resolution gym-goers!  I hope you stick around so I'm not the new kid any more :)

Two things to keep in mind: 

1) As stated above, 54% of the resolution gym-goers will be gone in 6 months (which may make you happy but actually is pretty depressing when you think about it).  So hang in there, you'll have the gym to yourself all too soon.

2) You were new once, too.  Be patient and don't be a butthead.  Hope they stick with it so in a few months, they'll know what they're doing and can spot you.

Done and done.

Coping Mechanisms

***Trigger warning: self injury, alcohol, drugs, food addiction***

I posted this blog about a week ago, then chickened out and promptly took it down after a few hours.  It's hard to talk about "demons," addictions, coping, and the horrible things I used to do to myself.  It's actually really triggering and weirdly isolating for me...it reminds me of how secretly messed up I was (am?) and that makes me feel like a weird-o.  But I've set out on a mission to be totally truthful about this entire ugly, amazing, rewarding, challenging, sweaty process, warts and all.  

I am fascinated by coping mechanisms.  The way that we, as individuals and/or entire groups or societies, handle problems and stress in different ways is so interesting to me.

No longer true, but this graphic did strike me as funny, given the topic of today's blog post.

And my coping mechanisms have always been...well...let's call them "flawed."  (Diplomatic code for "completely messed up").

Through this process, I've come to appreciate the power of honesty and transparency.  I hid parts of myself for such a long time from everyone, including friends, family, and even my husband (often unsuccessfully, but I sure did try!).  Keeping things to myself made me feel like I had something to be ashamed of, when I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of (except my secret love of Taylor Swift).

So let's talk about my coping mechanisms, shall we?

First...the old.

Things I've given up doing.  

Some I'm glad are gone.  

Some I miss daily.  

They were as comforting as a snuggly afghan crocheted by my sassy and adorably mean grandma Lois, and when you wrap up in it you can still smell her...a faint whiff of homemade marinara, vanilla extract, and Virginia Slims.  (If that's not comforting to you, sub in your own happy memory and you'll get the idea).

Oh Lordy, here we go.

Former coping mechanisms that I have given up (for the most part) in no particular order:

1) Food.  Obviously.  I did not eat my way to 363 pounds (my heaviest weight ever, displayed here on the interwebs for all of you to read) by being mindful and paying attention to how I treated my body and what I put in it.  I would "numb" myself with food when I felt anxious, or ashamed, or scared, or angry, or even just bored.  I'm Italian...and we also celebrate with food.  Yikes.

2) Alcohol.  Ugh, I'm getting a headache just thinking of the epically terrible two-day hangovers I used to get from railing cheap vodka and Boone's Farm.  *barf*  My freshman year of college is a hazy blur of basements at party houses and Southern Comfort/Mountain Dew cocktails in random dorm rooms.  I was once called "a female Jim Morrison" because I would seriously drink anything you put in front of me.  Not proud of that nickname, let me tell you.  

3) Drugs.  This was also an excellent way to forget about things.  Hazy and comfortable, exactly the way I wanted to be.  You don't have to feel ANYTHING when you're stoned all the time (again, I feel the need to reiterate, this habit is donezo...just in case anyone at the Wisconsin DRL or the nursing board secretly follows my blog).

4) Literally pulling my hair out.  Sweet mother of crap, I can't believe I'm writing this.  I have the glorious combination of self-injuring and OCD-like symptoms, officially called trichotillomania. This means I literally pulled my hair out.  For years.  In fact, I still have a bald spot that is coming back in.  It's both a reflex you do without thinking about and somehow also a direct command that you must obey.  And it's not easy to stop.  Imagine this:  There is a mosquito on your arm.  You feel his little mosquito feet walking around, looking for the perfect place to bite you.  It feels weird and it's itchy.  EVERY SINGLE FIBER OF YOUR BEING is telling you to swat him away.  For people with trichotillomania, pulling is/was exactly the same way...it makes absolutely no sense but every single molecule in my body wanted me to pull out my hair.  It was like an uncontrollable drive within myself and it had to be done or I wouldn't feel right, or wouldn't feel in control.  And it hurt but it felt good to hurt myself...for some reason I thought I deserved it and it was gratifying to punish myself (straight effed, I know).  Interesting factoid: Olivia Munn (aka actress and Aaron Rodgers' girlfriend) has trichotillomania also.  Also, this is really embarrassing to share but I'm on a quest for transparency here... so the next time you see me, if you could pretend you never read this and NOT bring it up, I'd really appreciate it.  Also, try not to stare at my hair or I'll be on to you.

Coping mechanisms I have kept from the olden days:

1) Swearing.  Again, obviously.  Swearing is an amazing defense mechanism.  Many types of people are less likely to get too close when you have a filthy pirate mouth.  Swearing is viewed by many as unfeminine and unattractive...and when, subconsciously, that's how you want to appear, it's an amazing tool to have.  I have a love/hate relationship with swearing.  Mostly because I am not offended by it at all.  I'm offended by name-calling, but the f-bomb doesn't raise my hackles in the least.  Ho hum.

Brand-spanking new coping mechanisms:

1) Sweating like a pig (even though apparently, pigs don't sweat.  The more you know).  This is my favorite one.  The gym is my therapy.  Did I ever, EVER, in a billion years, think I would say that?  Ever?  Um...no.  It's an amazing outlet for frustration and anger, even sadness (although working through sadness at the gym sometimes results in crying at the gym which can be AWKWARD...just ask my trainer).  Good AND bad days are improved by gym time. It's amazing, when you feel great, to leave the gym feeling even better.  It's even more amazing, when you feel like crap, to leave the gym feeling great.  Half dead and sore, but great.  Lifting heavy things is unbelievably empowering and uplifting.  It's hard to be sad when you know you get to deadlift.

2) This lovely blog.  Again, an amazing outlet for frustration, anger, sadness, JOY, etc.  Sharing what's happening, my struggles and setbacks and accomplishments, has brought me so much peace through this process!

Who else remembers this from middle school guidance?

3) Actually feeling my feelings.  This is EXHAUSTING and was really hard to begin doing.  But if I'm mad, I just let myself be mad.  If I'm sad, I cry.  If I'm happy, I do an embarrassing happy dance or make out with my husband (you're welcome, Jeff).  I don't numb myself with anything anymore, which is so tiring.  How have you all gone through your entire lives feeling everything all the time??  Why didn't anybody tell me it was so tiring but so awesome? Seriously.  I've never taken so many dang naps in my life, yo.  But I've also never felt more in tune with myself and the world around me.  Things are glorious and awful, hideous and lovely.  It's amazeballs.

Now, how did I stop doing all that old unhealthy crap and start doing the new stuff?  

I wish I could tell you.  I wish I could say, "here, world, it's the magic pill that made me stop doing horrible things to my body to cope with my problems and deal with things in a constructive way instead!  You're welcome and goodnight!"

But the truth is this: I have absolutely no idea.  Seriously, I think voodoo magic or baby gypsy tears were involved.  I've made conscious efforts to let go of my coping with food and ripping my hair out before...many many many many times before, in fact.  And I've never been able to do it.  The intoxicants were easy to stop...somehow I never got addicted to them (which given my personality is a frickin Christmas miracle), I just liked them a lot.  

I can only say, the motivation from my health gurus and my amazing family and besties finally made me look at my coping mechanisms and realize that they are less than awesome...and to run full tilt boogie towards my new addictions.

So I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about the direction my life has taken.

I am unbelievably happy.

Yes, I get stressed.  Yes, I get cranky.  Yes, I occasionally fight with my husband.  Yes, I feel overwhelmed sometimes.  Yes, my dog sometimes pees where I don't want him to.

My life's not perfect.  But it is pretty damn good.

As I think about this, I can't help but wonder how/if my life would be different if things had gone the way I imagined they would.

In an effort to be transparent and not to "vague-blog," let me share a little background information.

After a brief courtship, Jeffer and I got engaged in March of 2009 and hitched in May of 2010.  He's a liiiiiiiittle bit older than me, so we pretty much started trying to have kids right away.  Actually, like 6 months before we even got married (see you in hell!).  After a couple years of this, we went to the doctor to figure out why we hadn't gotten pregnant yet.

Turns out, we can't have kids.

A legitimate medical condition, and people will act like if you just "relax," it'll go away.

Words can never describe the devastation we felt at hearing this news.  It was soul-crushing, isolating, and unbelievably painful.  Every pregnancy announcement felt like a knife in my heart.  Every baby shower invitation got thrown away, ignored, or lit on fire (seriously, this was really therapeutic for me and was a tiny joy in my pit of infertile despair).  I cried ALL the time.  I took ten tons of crazy vitamins.  Jeff had surgery.  We tried some more, trying to be hopeful.

Still, no baby.  All in all, we tried for over 3 years and spent a ridiculous amount of money to do something that drunk high schoolers on prom night somehow achieve with puzzling regularity.

The good news is, we're at a point now where we're actually really happy we couldn't have kids.  Except for feeling invalidated as a woman by many people (honestly, if you have kids you can't possibly understand this part, but people - even "enlightened" people - view you as incomplete until you've pushed a human out of your body.  It's insulting, demeaning, and infuriating), we have no complaints.  Our only regret is not figuring this out BEFORE we spent so much time, money, and energy on trying to produce an heir.

Now, what in the eff does this have to do with the rest of the blog?

EVERYTHING.  Also, nothing.  But really, EVERYTHING.

If we'd had a child, I can pretty much guarantee our lives would be worse, and that includes our health (not trying to insinuate that kids ruin lives, 99% of my friends who have kids are very happy with their decision to procreate...just saying our lives are spectacular right now and I can't imagine a tiny human improving matters at this point).  When you're a parent, you come last.  Your kids and usually your spouse come first, all the time, no questions asked.  It's not a bad thing, it's just the way it is.

I already work in a profession where I put my needs after everyone else's.  It's the very nature of nursing!  I don't need that kind of environment in my home, also.  

As I said, I've been doing a lot of thinking about the direction my life has taken, and I'm so thankful things turned out the way they did.  It was impossible to see at the time, but I think the universe (or God, Jesus, Allah, Tom Cruise, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Ganesh, the Goddess, Bigfoot...whoever you think runs things) was steering us in another direction and we were too focused on babies to see it until that option was completely taken off the table.

Since then, our lives have changed a LOT.  We have made amazing strides and improvements in our health.  Our marriage has never been better.  We are boring and spend most of our time at home, snuggling with the dog.  But we make each other laugh every day.  I've gone back to school, yet again, to achieve a long-time professional goal of mine (and am kicking ass at it, so far).  I volunteer with Big Brothers/Big Sisters and have an awesome little brother.  We adopted a dog who otherwise would have been put down.  We save tons of money by not needing birth control.

Here's the moral of the story:

God, the universe, Allah, Jesus, Tom Cruise, Bigfoot, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Ganesh, the Goddess...whoever or whatever you think is in charge.

If things aren't going your way right now, don't freak out.

Something better is coming.

Can we just take a minute to talk about my parents?

Can we just take a minute to talk about my parents?  It's not really health and fitness related, but it has to be said.

BEHOLD, MY WORLD-TRAVELLING MOM AND DAD.

Aren't they the cutest?????  Look at my mom's hat and my dad's walking stick.  I mean, come ON...they're the CUTEST.

Let me tell you a few things about them:

1) My pops is a marathoner.  Even though I hate running with a fiery passion, I feel like my newfound obsession with fitness may be partially genetic (so I guess this is sort of health and fitness related).

2) They grew up in two little northern Minnesota towns, about 15 miles apart, but didn't meet until graduate school.

3) My mom is a champion for justice.  She always fights for what's right, even if it's the wildly unpopular thing to do.  I remember when I was in grade school, we always had a Christmas concert.  My mom didn't think it was fair that some students couldn't participate in this huge school event because of religious or other reasons, and fought to get it moved to a spring concert that everyone could participate in.  People were PISSED.  She is amazing.

4) My dad is a cancer survivor.  He retired shortly after his diagnosis and has spent his retirement travelling the world with my mom, and writing books about fishing and his life, the proceeds of which are donated to the American Cancer Society.

5) They volunteer for the American Red Cross.  Whether this means they are woken up by a 2am phone call to help out at a local house fire, given two days notice to be in Louisiana after a hurricane or Missouri after a tornado, or, like this week, asked to go to Buffalo, NY to help out after the massive snowstorm, they donate a lot of time and energy to helping others.  Sometimes they go solo, if they're not both available, and sometimes they are able to go together.

6) They always, ALWAYS support my sister and I.  If criticism is given, it's constructive.  I had no idea when I was growing up that there are people out there with shitty parents.  Parents who don't support them, who disown them, who say or do hateful, abusive things to them.  I'm so, so thankful I don't know what that's like...it's a completely foreign concept to me.  Though we don't agree on everything, they're constantly able to help me see things clearly and from a different point of view.

7) They're wicked smart.  Any time I don't know something and can't find a reliable answer on Google, I call my parents.  They will almost invariably know.  If not, I know I can count on a wise-ass, bullshit, hilarious answer from my dad.

8) They have "adopted" my sister's and my spouses like two extra children.  I know a lot of people who have strained relationships with their in-laws and I'm happy to say, that's not the case at casa Senarighi.

9) I inherited my mom's beautiful face and my dad's amazing sense of humor.

10) Their marriage is a shining example of equality.  There were times when my mom worked more, times when my dad worked more, times when mom would cook dinner, times when dad would cook dinner, etc.  Gender roles are largely absent at their house.

11) They took my sister and I on so many adventures growing up.  If there was a conference they had to go to, we went along.  We saw so much of the country and even foreign countries as kids, and I feel really fortunate for all of those experiences.

Circa 1984

Thanks for everything, mom and pops.  We're lucky to have you.

This post was going to be about compulsive weighing but then I got pissed at a stock photo and the theme changed

Does anybody else feel chained to their scale?  Or weigh yourself frequently?  Like...daily?  Or even multiple times a day?  Just to see how things change throughout the day?  Or find out how much your clothes weigh?  Or how much that burrito sitting in your stomach weighs?

I can't decide if it's out of sheer, morbid curiosity, or if I am legitimately addicted to my scale.


**But now, a rant.**

I had a lengthy blog post planned regarding frequent weighing, and how I'm ridiculous and step on my scale out of habit like 5 times a day, because I'm weird and I love to weigh myself.

Instead, I bring you this:

I hate this graphic SO MUCH.

I found this image while searching for suitable stock photos or memes to use for this blog entry.

For some reason, it made me irrationally angry.

Does the number on the scale immediately make you feel the need to exercise?  If it does, exercise is your punishment for being "fat," and that is seriously messed up.  First of all, being "fat" is NOT SOMETHING THAT DESERVES PUNISHMENT.  It is a state of being.  Lots of people on this wonderful earth are fat, and they do not deserve punishment simply for being fat, or eating bad food, or gaining a pound.  

STOP USING EXERCISE AS A PUNISHMENT FOR "BAD" BEHAVIOR!  Exercise, while not always fun, shouldn't be used that way.  How do you expect to enjoy an activity when you feel like you have to do it because you were "bad?"  Exercise is an amazing privilege.  Even when I am silently cursing my trainer for making me do those Roman chair ab thingies that make my shoulders scream and I look like a moron, at least a teeny, tiny part of me is glad I can use my limbs (however feebly) to do them (like 4 of them at a time, on a good day...but still).  Every time I am forced to run, I hate it so fucking much.  My shins hurt, my hip hurts, I get out of breath.  It's awful.  But guess what, I can move one leg in front of the other.  Tons of people probably wish they could run, and can't.  So I'm going to suffer through it and then appreciate that I did it.  Even though it's the worst thing ever.

Gah.  I hate that frickin image so much I could spit.

This is more like it.  Enjoy your body and USE IT!

This, I love.  Don't take it for granted, indeed.

My apologies if this entry makes no sense...I was absolutely hell-bent on writing about frequent weighing and why I think it's the devil but I love it so much...but that image just struck a chord with me and I couldn't stop myself.

Getting compliments and insults at the same time is so very unpleasant and awkward

So.  I am starting to feel weirdly naked.  Even when fully dressed.  I feel exposed and vulnerable and it's bizarre.  Eventually, I think it will be liberating and freeing, but I'm not quite there yet.

I've shed a small portion of my fat suit of armor and I feel like a naked little baby animal, all new and awkward and exposed.

"Hey everybody!  Come see how naked I am!"

I'm not deluded.  I know that I have a lot of "armor" to go before it's completely shed.  Trust me, my eyesight is fine.

It's challenging, however, make this transformation.  It's bizarre to go from being viewed negatively to viewed negatively AND positively simultaneously.  When you're fat, people view you as one of a few things:

1) Invisible

2) Disgusting

3) Someone to be pitied

4) Asexual

5) Lazy/Slovenly

Think I'm kidding?  Do a google search for the phrase "fat people are."  It will auto-fill with some horrible things.  Even worse is if you just search for the phrase "fat people."  You don't even need to hit "enter," the auto-fill suggestions are bad enough.  Go ahead.  I'll wait.

After awhile, you get used to being seen this way.  That doesn't make it okay, but it does make it routine.  The people who shout horrible things at you still hurt, but they no longer surprise you.  In fact, it surprises you when you can walk down the street without getting judgemental looks or words hurled at you.

During the weight loss process, you are in limbo.

Strangers still play Judgey-McJudgerson; staring at you, peering into your grocery cart (and being shocked that a fat girl is buying organic chicken, almond milk, and veggies instead of Cheetos and two-liter bottles of Coca-Cola), laughing, taking pictures of you on their phones (we see you, by the way), shouting things at you from their cars or porches, offering unsolicited weight loss advice, telling you that you could be pretty if you lost a few pounds, etc.  It's the same old crap.  Because to them, you're still a slovenly, disgusting fatty.  Because they can't see your beautiful heart and whip-smart mind and loyalty and revolting sense of humor.  You're just an anonymous fat girl, and must therefore be harassed and verbally abused and "helped" immediately. It's their duty!

On the other hand, people who know you tell you that you're motivating them.  They tell you you're an inspiration, they're proud of you, and that they look up to you.  This is really flattering and nice and SO AWKWARD AND UNCOMFORTABLE because you have no idea how to process people saying nice things about your appearance other than your parents (obligated by blood or adoption paperwork to think you're beautiful), sibs (obligated by years of torment as children to think you're beautiful), and spouse (who you somehow duped into thinking that you're beautiful - probably with sex and amazing cooking skills.  Sucker).  

And you want to say thank you but it feels awkward to accept compliments because you're not that used to them.  Then you feel like a giant tool for awkwardly smiling and saying "uh...thanks" because you have no idea how to process this without turning it around and finding a way to focus the attention elsewhere.  

And it's so goddamn nice to hear nice things about the way you look that it makes you mad at yourself and feel a little less like a feminist for being so happy that somebody praised your appearance (even though the people who know you are praising not only that, but your dedication and hard work as well).  And it's so nice to hear that you kind of want to cry, and that makes you feel even MORE awkward because you cry all the time as it is and that makes other people feel uncomfortable which makes you feel EVEN MORE FRICKIN AWKWARD, if that's possible.

Have I mentioned how awkward I am?

It kind of makes you want to make business cards with pictures of your formerly fatter self on them that say "FUCK YOU, I AM IN THE PROCESS OF BETTERING MYSELF, ASSHATS.  What have you done to improve yourself today?  NOTHING." to hand out to mean strangers.

But that would be mean, and it's not polite to call people names.

Even if they are asshats.

It's challenging to have this evolving vision of yourself while being viewed in two completely different ways based on your physical appearance by those who know you and those who don't.  Also, you are used to having a fat suit of armor on to keep observations and judgement away from your fragile little heart.  And as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, the armor is melting away and you feel naked and weird.

And awkward.

If I didn't say that already.

Comfort Zone

I like my comfort zone.  A lot.

It's comfy (hence the name).  I know everybody in it.  I can wear my sweatpants there and there's usually chocolate.

Here's the thing though.

Nothing new or exciting happens there.

Sometimes, that's ok.  Comfort and stability aren't necessarily bad!  In fact, they're two of the things my marriage is built on (along with ridiculous goofiness, fiery debates, trust, and gin cocktails).

But if you stay in it all the time, things will get stagnant.

To make a change, you need to get the hell out of your comfort zone.  Whether the change is in your health, your education, your career, your family, or whatever it is that needs alteration in your life...it's not going to happen if you're sitting in your comfort zone wearing sweatpants and eat chocolate.

Believe me, I know.

It's not easy, and it's not always fun.  I may well be the most awkward human to ever grace the earth.  I make people feel less weird about themselves just by being naturally awkward and bizarre.  )It's ok, I own it.  And you're welcome, everyone).  I've made a complete ass of myself stepping out of my comfort zone more times than I care to count or recall.

Take it from me, the queen of awkward.

There are a shit ton of memes about leaving your comfort zone.  As you may have noticed by reading previous blog posts, I am a big fan of memes.  I find some of them hilarious and perfect for my purposes.  (See above.)

Also, I find some of them corny as hell and not entirely accurate.  This, for example:

100% FALSE.

LIES.  Life does not begin at the end of your comfort zone.  A good portion of your life can be lived successfully in your happy little comfort bubble.  Part of your life SHOULD be lived in your comfort zone, or you will probably die of a stroke by age 30.  Too much stress is not good, and stepping out of your comfort zone is stressful as shit (at least for me...but again, I'm anxious and awkward).  

This one, however cheesy, I find to be partially true:

Only partially true...I'll get to that.

I do like that slice of cheesy goodness above, but like I said, It's only partially true.  Why?

THERE IS NOTHING MAGICAL ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS OUTSIDE OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE.  

It's not magic, it's hard fucking work.  

It's blood, sweat, tears, tears, more tears, hard work, more sweat, unfortunate facial expressions, that dream where you show up to school on the first day naked, anxiety, falling on your face, more sweat, and possibly some more blood.

It's also not 100% unicorns and rainbows.  If it was, nobody would be in their comfort zone, ever, because being out of it would be too spectacular and amazing...and then "out of the comfort zone" would become "the comfort zone" and vice versa, and that is some Inception shit that I can't even handle right now.

We put a comfort zone inside your comfort zone so you can comfort zone while you comfort zone and my brain just exploded.

Anyway, here's the point:

Don't feel badly about lurking in your comfort zone.  It's nice and warm and cozy in there.  I love my comfort zone.  

But don't be afraid to get out there and shake it up.  I guarantee, if you do, your life will change.  I can't guarantee that all the changes will be amazing.  Some of them might suck. 

The only person I can speak for is myself, and mine have been frickin amazing.