Today

Somehow I have gotten lost. Again.  Lost in life.  Lost in loss. Lost in the addictions and manipulations and shortcomings of day to day life.  Lost in the chaos and control I manically try to hold on to.  I was starting to let go, starting to accept, to change, to recognize.  And then one day looked up and I didn't quite recognize where I was at any more.  Why does this keep happening to me, why?!?!

This is the story of my life.  After all these years I should feel comfortable here in my uncomfortable, stable in my unstable.  

I felt I was doing good for a while.  I felt good, strong, bold, healing, settled.  But as I look back, I question what I was actually gauging that success on. Was it the number on the scale, the number of pages I read, the number of blogs I wrote, the number of miles I logged, the number on the label of the clothes I wore?  Or was it honestly gauged on the improved state of my heart, my soul, my inner health and well being?

Somehow my journey of child loss intersected with my journey of weight loss, and somehow that went from something great to something exhausting.  I went from someone gaining strength and traction, back to someone losing ground and falling apart.

I went from wise choices and wise words to poor choices, empty words, and an autopilot life.  I went from fending off satan and his lies, to friending him and being sucked into his deceit.  I went from finding my inner worth and sparkle to yet again losing it.

At what point do you just give up, give in, let go?

At what point do you kick your heels in and grab life, yet again, by the horns and say TODAY!  TODAY we start fresh, TODAY we start over and take back the control.  TODAY we kick satan back to the curb and walk away from his lies and his heartaches.

I feel the pull and the darkness upon me, gaining in intensity, pulling me in, pushing me around, bullying me from all sides.  I feel the battle going strong within. I feel defeated.  I feel frustrated. I feel angry.

I did not come this far to only come this far.  I did not lose the weight to just once again lose the battle.  I did not lose the child to once again lose myself to my own insecurities and lies of unworthiness.

No, not this time.  I will not cycle back through my typical roller coaster cycle of emotions, worth, and weight gain insecurities.  I will not.  Not this time.

TODAY is the day I start over.  TODAY is the day I breath deep and say no more.  TODAY is the day I choose myself, choose me, choose my health, choose my sanity, choose my destiny.  TODAY is the day I start believing in the power of my own worth, my own strength, my own willpower, my own desire to really heal and improve and move beyond this.

I will always be a woman who has dealt with weight issues, infertility issues, eating disorder issues, self worth issues, marriage issues, parenting issues, child loss issues, control issues.

I will also always be a woman who has a Heavenly Father who will love her no matter what tragedies, what battles, what losses, what struggles rage ceasingly within her.  He will always be there waiting for her to choose Him, to choose herself, and to choose to face her fears, to choose to battle her scars, and continue forward.

TODAY I choose to stand back up, dust myself off, extend my hand once again to Him, turn my back to satan and simply take take that first step again.  Oh how many times have I had to get back up and just take that first step again.  Over and over and over I fall, I fail, I wallow, I wail, I fall victim to the lies of worthlessness.  Over and over and over I stand up and start over.  And maybe that's the real underlying beauty of life... we have an endless opportunity to wake up and simply start over, start fresh.

TODAY is a stand back up and start over day.  TODAY, not tomorrow, TODAY.  Right here, right now.  Let's do this.  #kickasssass

{ Previous blog post "Six Pounds" HERE }

{ Next blog post "So Let The Sun Shine In" HERE }

Six Pounds

Six pounds.  I have gained six pounds.  Just being honest here.

Today my inner battle is between the acceptance of those six pounds, or if I'm supposed to use them as motivation to get back down to the weight I felt the best at, the weight that I was able to maintain for the last year, but suddenly can't seem to keep off anymore.

Today I am going to fake it 'til I make it.  Today I'm poured into a pair of jeans I am not comfortable in, I do not feel that I look good in, I do not feel happy about.  I realize I'm probably the only one who can see those six pounds.  Lord knows I'm the only one that can feel the full weight of those six pounds (both the physical and mental weight of them).  In reality, no one is really probably going to notice or give a rats ass about those six pounds on me today except me, but they are there, and I know they are there.

Is it a control issue?  Hell yes it's a control issue.
Is it a me thing?  Hell yes it's a me thing.
Does it bother me?  Hell yes it bothers me.  More than it should, it bothers me.

I listened to a live webcast last night about infant and child loss and grief, and she talked so beautifully of the stages and steps we hurting mamas need to take as we process the lives and losses of our precious littles that are in the arms of Jesus in Heaven instead of in our arms and on our laps here on earth.  It was so well done, so well presented.

One of the key steps the speaker talked about is needing to come to terms with ourselves, accepting our bodies as they are, and learning to live with, and love fully, our own selves and our own physical bodies.

They hurt us, they denied us, they let us down, they aren't perfect, but they are our bodies... ours... no one else's.  Our bodies are the only things really in our control, and yet completely out of our control all at the same time. What an ebb and flow, what a juxtaposition, what a gift, what a burden.

So, obviously I don't love my body, I don't fully love myself, and I have identity and control issues.  And I have dealt with these issues as far back as I can remember... all the way back to early middle school, back to the beginning steps of being taken captive by the inner demon of an eating disorder.  My mind was at war with my body years before my body went to war with my body as I went from battling weight and self acceptance, to battling infertility and child loss.

So today I stand in that messy and slippery cross roads of telling myself it's ok that I'm starting to gain back the weight I'd lost... I knew it would happen sooner or later, it always does, it's unavoidable, it's just another check on that long list of my failures.   No, I'm not defined by the scale and my weight and my body mass index.  No, I'm no less of a person because I weigh six pounds more than I did a few weeks ago, and yes it's actually perfectly fine if I chose to do nothing about it and stay right where I'm at.

And the other side of this slippery road of weight gain is the silent yet screaming voice inside telling me it's not ok, I'm not ok, that this has got to be the motivation to get my shit back together, and get it back together soon, before it gets any worse.

And a huge part of me is screaming at myself - "Seriously, why are we still battling this?!? You are almost forty three years old, get a grip and get over yourself already!"

Six pounds.  Six little, yet enormous, pounds.  Will I let them control me, define me, hijack me over and over again?  Will I allow them to take control and invite all their friends to join them for lunch and stay again for a few years?  Or will I take back the control and send them back on their way?

Or... will I finally surrender it fully and totally to the foot of the cross, laying it all down at the feet of Jesus, allowing HIM to finally and fully be the One I allow to be in control of my life, allowing HIM to finally and fully be the One who decides my value and my worth through His eyes, not through my eyes, not through the worlds eyes?

{ Previous blog post "Just Keep Hanging On" HERE }

{ Next blog post "Today" HERE }

Just Keep Hanging On

I am on the struggle bus of life right now, and I'm sure that no one wants to hear about it.  We are all on the struggle bus of life right now.

It's the middle of February, we just had a snow day on a day that was supposed to be a make-up snow day.  It's cold, it's icy out, winter seems like it's been here forever and spring seems a million miles away.

I've hit that plateau, that hanging on by my fingernails, that basically I'm ready to crash and burn and completely fall off the wagon of all things good and all things hard.  My mind is no longer in the game, my body slowly in the starting stages of morphing back into that which it once was, that which I did not like.

I've been hanging out here for the last year... eating the same foods, doing the same exercise training, basically maintaining the same weight within a pound or two, feeling overall pretty ok with how I looked.  And then that all started to change.  Well the same foods and same exercising didn't change - but the weight and the feeling ok about myself did.  And you know what, I know they go hand in hand.  I know my body needs a little “shake it up” with what I’m putting in and it and what I’m expecting out of it. I know my attitude and outlook also could use a little “shake it up” about right now.

I have a closet full of new clothes I've acquired over the last twelve months, I have an instagram account full of inspirational quotes and smiling selfies after big accomplishments.  I have a blog with posts about the journey, the battle, the struggle, the loss, the attempted inspiration I want to be to others.  I also have a strong cup of coffee next to me with real creamer in it this morning.  Not sugar free, not fat free, not a packet of sweet-n-low, no I got out the full fat, full sugar creamer and probably poured in more than the two tablespoons, two points worth that I'm going to log it as on my faux weight watchers old school app.

What good are the new clothes if they don't fit anymore?  What good is the inspiration and aspirational social media posts if I can't believe or follow them myself anymore? And surely, what good is a first cup of coffee in a silent house without some good ol full flavor creamer in it?!?

I went to bed resolving I was not going to get up early this morning.  I was also not going to weigh in this morning.  It was only going to show a gain and I didn't want to see it or deal with the mind games it was going to throw at me.  I was not going to run this morning.  My back hurt and I'm getting a cold and mostly because I just didn't want to.

And then my alarm went off at 4:00 a.m. and I climbed out of bed.  And I played this stupid game in my head as I fed the dog and got my shoes on and my water out of the fridge and headed downstairs.  Just walk today.  Ok just do intervals today.  Maybe every other mile.  Maybe every half mile.  Maybe run the first mile and walk the rest.  Maybe don't do all five miles.  Maybe just walk two miles and call it good. Good Gandhi girl just get on the darn treadmill and get it over with.

And I did.

And you know what?  I ended up running all five miles and when I went to log it in my app, it came up as the fastest five mile pace I've done. And that was on a treadmill of all crazy things.  And then I went upstairs and stood in the bathroom looking at the scale.  It's Tuesday.  I'm supposed to weigh in on Tuesdays.  Sure is funny that's it's so much more exciting to stand there on the mornings when you have an anticipated loss vs the mornings when you know that is probably not going to be the case.  And then I put my toe on it and it turned on and then I climbed on the damn thing.

It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't anywhere close to what I was wanting it to be, even though I knew that was not going to be the case.  I didn't gain this week.  I'm not where I want to be anymore, but I didn't gain this week.  Small victory, even if I'm not feeling anywhere near to victorious right now.

I got up, I fought the inner demons, and can cross off today's five miles on my training calendar.  I even PR'd of all the crazy things.  I didn't gain this week.  I should be flying on a runners high of great accomplishments today, but I'm not.  I still feel a failure, still feel victim of the battle, the inner war of perfectionism, of control, of not enough.

It's the season, it's the society surrounding me, it's the media bombarding me, it's my past scratching mercilessly at me, it's my future taunting me, laughing at me.

I'm not sure what to actually even do, where to go next... but I do know where I don't want to end back up, where I don't want to succumb to again.  So I will continue to hang on just a little longer, I will vow to fight on just a little longer, I will resolve to turn this back around, somehow... some way... before I end up all the way back to square one.  And you know what, even if I do end right back up there, I am not a failure.  Sure, I'm going to feel like one, heck I already do and I'm only up six pounds of the forty...  But deep inside I do know it's not about the number on the scale, it's not about the miles on the app, the pace those miles took to complete.

It's about the journey ~ and oh how easy it is to lose sight of that isn't it, at least for me anyway. Funny how clear and bright and energy filled the good days can be, and how fuzzy and bleak and heavy the bad days can be.  And it seems I've had more of those bleak days than I have those blazing days lately, but I need to just keep hanging on... just keep hanging on...

{ Next Blog Post "Six Pounds" HERE }

{ Previous Blog Post "A Few Thoughts On Feeling Heavy" HERE }

A Few Thoughts On Feeling Heavy

Last night I went to bed feeling heavy ... both physically and mentally.

It was a mix of both this normal and familiar feeling with that of a new and odd feeling as I laid there, waiting for sleep to take me away, allowing me reprieve from the chaos for just a few short hours.  I am fully submersed in my current Journey to Faith, as well as my Journey of Weight Loss.  They both go entirely hand in hand, both entirely integrated and woven together into one tight fabric.  A tapestry I currently feel is becoming filled with little snags and the start of some wear holes.

I've been on this Faith journey now for three years.  Three years. 1,095 days. I've been on this weight journey now for... well - I've been on a weight battle for over thirty years now, and on this specific leg of that journey now for sixteen months.  I've been in official half marathon training off and on now for the past twelve months.

Today all of it feels a battlefield.  It's a thrilling, exhausting, exciting, scary roller coaster of feelings, emotions, thoughts, and physical demands.  It's good days and bad days.  Sad days and happy days.  Intense days and numb days.  It's "I have it all together days" and "I am completely falling apart at the seams" days.

I'm getting up every morning and putting in the time, getting in the miles.  But am I really putting in the effort I once was?  Am I really as invested and driven as I once was?  No, I don't think I am.  I don't think I have the force and the effort left to back up the drive and determination.  I'm merely going through the motions but not fully feeling and processing the emotions anymore.

Maybe that's actually good, maybe I'm healing, maybe I'm supposed to be plateaued in my life right now.  But it's left me feeling stagnant, weary, lost, heavy.  Ok, maybe not lost so much as just not as invested, not as committed, not as driven.  I feel I'm doing the time, but not achieving the results, not accomplishing the full potential.  I'm slowly starting to lose my sparkle.

Minimal, just enough, coasting, auto pilot.
Fatigue, weariness, lack luster.

Maybe it's the season, maybe it's the weather - the cold, the snow, the winter blues piling up and taking it's toll.  Maybe it's mental fatigue, maybe it's physical weariness, maybe it's spiritual dryness.  

Maybe it's all just normal.  Maybe it's not just me.  I'm pretty sure it's not just me.

It's time to realign my focus, evaluate my goals, write up a new game plan, establish a new motivational plan of attack.  It's time to get my head back in the game.  Back in the game of life, in the game of self care, in the game of soul searching, in the game of healing and hurting, loving and longing for. Back in the game of accomplishment and improvement, in the game of living life and loving myself better.

It's time to step it back up, get back into gear, take back the control, take back the pride, take back my health and my mental wealth.  It's time to stop standing still and start moving forward again.  It's time.

It's time.

{ Next Blog post "Just Keep Hanging On" HERE }

{ Previous Blog post "Three Years Ago Our Faith Journey Officially Began" HERE }

Three Years Ago Our Journey To Faith Officially Began

I promised myself this year I was not going to write about this.
I was not going to talk about this.
I was not going to cry about this.
I was not even going to think about this.

“This” meaning our Faith MaryJo. “This” meaning our loss, our struggles, our hurts, our journey, our growth.  No one cares, no one wants to keep hearing about it… about her… about us, about me. At least that's what I’ve convinced myself is the current reality anyway.

I don’t want to keep talking about her, but I absolutely don’t want to forget about her at the same time. I don’t want to bother people with my incessant yammering on and on about her life, and my life, and my struggles, and my woe-is-me’s… but I also don’t want to just ignore the reality of her short and ever-so-tiny existence. Her days were short, her physically body was tiny - but her impact, her legacy, was one of the largest life altering happenings of my life… of my immediate family's life. And to discount or ignore that… well, I just can’t quite bring myself to do that either. And the thought of somehow allowing myself to forget about her all together fills me with a soft fear that makes me want to just weep.

Which leaves me stuck in the middle… stuck in a back and forth see-saw of up and down emotions, caught up in the memories and moments of our journey three years ago… and caught up in the memories and moments of all that has happened in my life since her life and death three years ago.

Three years ago she was alive. She had a heartbeat, she had a tiny body growing within me, she had fingers and toes, arms and legs, lungs and a heart… She also had Trisomy 18, so her fingers and toes, arms and legs, lungs and heart were all formed and growing incorrectly. Her very own tiny DNA slowly killing her. Her brain was surrounded by a large pocket of fluid, her tiny heart contained an even tinier hole, her organs not forming correctly to sustain her life outside the protection of my body… a body that was fighting against her sickness and illness, causing a sickness and illness of my own to battle.

That sick little body and tiny little hole in her heart would single handedly tear open a hole in my heart bigger and larger than I’d ever experienced in life to that point, or since.

Three years ago today I was sick and I had no idea I was pregnant. Three years ago this week I would go in for an appointment to try diagnose what was causing my bleeding and my sickness. Three years ago this week I saw her little heartbeat for the very first time. Her little body moving, alive, her hands clasped together in front of her body, the whooshing and pumping of her heart clearly thumping through the machine next to the bed I laid on.

Three years ago she was alive. Three years ago her heart was still beating. Three years ago her body was still slowly growing. Three year ago her tiny body was also slowly dying. Three years ago we didn’t even know she existed… yet.

But we would. On a cold day in February we would find out there was life within me, a life we had begged and pleaded with God for for years and years. A life we had doctored for, taken so much medicine for, given so many shots for, agonized over for for years and years.

This discovery of life shocked and excited us beyond our wildest dreams, at least for a few brief moments.

But her life was not to be the life we had envisioned in all those hopes and dreams, prayers and pleadings. No, her life was not the life we had tried to order, tried to create, tried to control. Her life was the life God had chosen, and for reasons I don’t understand or want to even try decode, God chose for her life to be short, sweet, but incredibly impactful.

Her life caused so many emotions, so many reactions, so many consequences, so many changes. The joy, the excitement, the stress, the anxiety, the calamity, the devastation, the division, the reunion, the coming together of that which was falling apart, the facing of life’s reality and future reality, the coming to grips with the inner demons that lived and lined my soul with darkness and lies. Her life and her loss would, in it’s own way, be that which would actually give me some of the greatest gifts thus far in my life.

So while I don’t want to talk about it, don’t want to think about it, don’t want to cry about it… I can’t help but not, I just can’t help myself, and I’m sorry. I just can’t help but want to talk openly about her, share freely about her, and continue to tell the story of the large impact her little life left on me and my family.

Three years ago this week, our Journey To Faith would officially begin.

Click HERE to read our Journey To Faith story from the beginning.

{ Next Blog post "A few Thoughts On Feeling Heavy" HERE }

{ Previous Blog Post "Two Peas In A Pod - A Lesson On Change" HERE }