Tag Archives: motivation

Alright, that’s enough…

Attitude Adjustment, Battle of the Butt, Get Real!, Get Serious!, Gimme a Break!, Motivation

This year has been unlike any other year of our lives. I’m not sure how yours is going, but as far as I’m concerned 2020 can go straight to hell. Damn! Can we just bury this thing in the yard and move forward? Ugh.

When the pandemic hit, I was blindsided with having to say goodbye to a job I loved at the best company I’ve ever worked for…but, being the scrappy girl I am, I quickly set about making a plan for how I was going to make the most of my time. We all saw how that went. It all tanked. Why? Because I’ve never been through a pandemic before and, well, it turns out I don’t handle isolation and global panic very well. At all.

For the last several months, I’ve been sort of….yessing myself. Don’t want to get dressed today? It’s okay, Dianne. Pandemic happens. Only want to eat chips today? It’s okay, girl. Pandemic happens. Don’t feel like moving off the couch? Hey, it’s a pandemic. Get the picture?

My clothes don’t fit right anymore. The weird funky things that used to happen to me when I only ever ate junk food are coming back…like itchy shins at bed time. I have no idea why that’s a thing for me, but it is. And it’s back. And I just feel GROSS. I feel bigger and I feel gross. And now I’ve realized…in trying to be all “hey, it’s okay” and gentle with myself (I’ve been telling myself it’s self-care to be indulgent), I’ve gained 44.7 pounds back.

That is ridiculous, y’all. I did that. In the name of “self care”. I indulged myself into a weight gain that is anything BUT self care. I neglected myself and told myself it was okay because it’s self care. LOL. I mean…what kind of jacked up thought process is that? Lordy!

So here’s the thing: I don’t want to indulge myself anymore. Clearly, I need to redefine what “self care” means to me before I gain back all of the 132 pounds I lost. But I also know this: self care does not mean to go all boot campy on myself and beat myself into oblivion trying to get rid of the weight I brought back. And it doesn’t mean spending even one second on chiding myself for the decisions I’ve made during one of the shittiest years ever. So what does it mean?

Well, this morning I crawled out of bed and got on the scale to face the consequences of what I’ve been doing. That’s how I know about that magical 44.7 pounds. And I put myself on a 3 day “pouch reset” plan. For gastric sleeve patients, that’s basically going back on liquids. So today I’ll have 3 protein shakes that will give me all the nutrition I need…and I’ll allow myself an iced coffee. My iced coffees don’t have any sugar in them except for literally 1 tablespoon of creamer…so they’re pretty harmless.

Another casualty of this self indulgent lifestyle: my house. It’s a mess. Every room is a mess. So this morning the dishwasher has been running non stop and I’ve put quite a few steps on my Fitbit putting things away and just…behaving like a responsible adult who gives a shit about her home. There have been quite a few times this morning where I’ve had to resist the urge to feel guilty about the state I’ve let everything fall into. I’ve already decided that I’m not going to get super down on myself for all of this, though, because…pandemic. While I no longer believe that laying around and eating crap is okay for me to do, I still say getting negative about what I did is not helpful.

Now that I’ve taken a good look at where I am it’s time to get busy. Not perfect, just busy. I’m not eating one more bit of crap. This might get tricky because there are cookies in my house. Lots of cookies. Christmas cookies. Gingerbread cookies. Shortbread cookies. Yep. Hubby has self control. Me, not so much.

For now, they’ll stay in the house. If I start giving them the side eye then they’ll have to go. But for now they can stay because my resolve to actually take care of myself is much stronger than my desire for a cookie.

I’ll keep updating as I lose the 44.7. We all know I know how to do it. LOL. I’ve done it a few times now, haven’t I? Funny how I thought self care was essentially packing on a bunch of weight so I’d have to work hard all over again. 🙂 That wasn’t self care. Thank God I had the realization before it got worse.

All of this has given me one other idea as well. Usually this time of year has me reviewing how I did with my New Years resolutions. I typically set 5 or 6 for myself and I enjoy checking in and seeing how I did by the end of the year. When I started trying to think of fresh ones for next year, I decided almost instantly that I will set only one resolution for 2021. Only one…and it’s a big one that I didn’t hit this year:

Hit 225 on the scale. That number means something to me. It’s not my goal weight, but it means something. And that will be my sole resolution for 2021.

Adjusting the Sails

Mindset, Motivation, Wellness, , ,

Hey, y’all! It’s Wellness Wednesday, so let’s get to it.

2020 seems determined to teach me some serious lessons. I am consistently being taught that my normal methods for attacking any problem are not going to work in 2020…and so I need to rethink every strategy I’ve ever used in my life. Whatever, 2020…I’m so over you at this point.

The truth is…I’m sad. I am still sad over having to leave my job, even though I took a package to save my benefits and wasn’t just arbitrarily shown the door. It still hurts to be away from the absolute best job I’ve ever had and all the amazing people that made it a great place to work. With my head, I want to move on…I want to push forward, but my heart is not making it possible. My heart is broken and my motivation and focus is just not where it needs to be for much of anything.

I had planned on an organized approach to all the plans I’ve made now that I have some time to myself. That’s what I always do. It has not worked, nor has it felt like the right thing to do as I go about trying to focus on the tasks at hand. I thought a week and a half was an appropriate amount of time to let myself do whatever I wanted before I planned out all my days and headed towards my new goals. It’s not. My heart just isn’t in much of it. My heart is still heavy and I am torn between pushing myself to move forward or letting myself have a little more time to grieve.

What’s the answer? At this point, I’m not sure – but I have a new approach to try, so that’s what I’m going to do. This week and next, I plan to stick to the same goals and plans…but give myself more time. I will not be as regimented as I thought I should be. So here’s an update of where I am in my wellness plans and what I intend to do over the next week:

  • I’ve lost 4 quarantine pounds this week.
  • I struggle with motivation in taking my morning walk and doing yoga every morning, so I’m changing that from daily to every other day…at least until I feel motivated to do more.
  • I struggle with wanting to eat junk food all day. I haven’t given in to that, but I think it will be helpful to me to go on a protein shake only regimen for a few days next week.
  • I haven’t even begun to tackle the insomnia issue, except for beginning to reduce my caffeine intake. I’m starting to feel like might be smarter to just tackle the Ambien detox sooner rather than later. I haven’t made up my mind yet.
  • I still struggle with practicing meditation as much as I wanted to.
  • My creative goals, which I haven’t even shared the details of yet, are pushing at me constantly…and my energy is drawn to those projects first. I feel like I should allow that to happen, which is why the idea of doing the Ambien detox earlier also appeals to me.

I feel like this is a rather underwhelming Wellness Wednesday post, but can we just take a minute to acknowledge those 4 pounds I lost? It feels good to see that number on the scale creeping back down to where it should be.

For me, in order to move forward with any kind of purposeful momentum, my head and my heart need to be in sync. They’re not right now. And no matter how many motivational memes I read or post on Facebook, my head and my heart are still not aligned. So I must adjust my sails and be content with gently coasting around the sea right now…until I’m ready for a stronger current.

This next week will be more about not heaping a long list of expectations on myself and more about making smaller changes. Later this week, I’ll be back with an update on ALL the plans I’ve been making…but today is Wellness Wednesday, so we’re talking about that project and no others.

I do plan to blow up the dam that’s been keeping my creativity at bay for years. That will certainly be interesting, so stay tuned…and be kind to yourself today. You deserve it.

The Talk About Surgery

Battle of the Butt, Motivation, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hot Mess Hubby and I had the talk a few weeks ago. We were talking about my struggles with food…and working out…and my weight. And he said the words that a lot of spouses are probably afraid to say.

“Babe, I’m not being mean…but at some point, don’t you have to think about surgery?”

Yowch. I’m not going to say it didn’t hurt to hear that – but after ten years of marriage, HMH knows how to take the sting out of his words. Pretty much.

He was speaking out of love, not malice. He’s watched me struggle with this for a long time now. Any normal person would be thinking “When is it going to be enough for you to just do it?” There is no pressure attached to his message, no impatience or intolerance. He loves me. He’s worried about me.

We’ve had this talk before. A few times. In the beginning, it was just my crazed ranting against surgery because I was watching a friend (or two or three) go through it without using it as a tool for healthy living. I know many people who’ve had weight loss surgery and gained it all back because they didn’t change what was really important: their thinking.

I’ve seriously considered surgery twice in my life. About five years ago I made an appointment with a local surgeon and then cancelled it the day before. Two years ago, I made an appointment with a different surgeon and kept it. I went through the entire screening process, passed the psych exam (shut up, I totally aced it), and was awaiting insurance approval when I stopped the process and decided not to go through with it. Why? Because I lost weight on my own.

worth it

Ever since the first of many of my friends had weight loss surgery, the option of doing it for myself has hung over me like a dark cloud. At one point in my life, all my closest girlfriends had done it. I lived in a world where they were so excited about their amazing weight loss that they couldn’t stop talking about it…and then they started giving me their clothes that were too big for them. As happy as I was for them, it was absolutely crushing.

There have been times when I’ve felt surgery was inevitable. There are moments when I think…what am I waiting for? How long am I going to struggle in vain before I realize that I’m just not strong enough or tough enough or smart enough to change myself?

And that’s when the answer comes. No. I’m not having surgery.

I admit it: there was a time in my life when I looked down at people who decided to have weight loss surgery. I haven’t felt that way about it for a long, long time. I understand it for what it is: a tool. I have nothing but love and support in my heart for those who choose surgery – because I’ll tell you what: unless you’ve been morbidly obese, you have no idea what this is like.

Surgery has a bad rep because there are many weight loss surgeons out there who are smarmy as hell. They get excited when they see a fat person just like a personal injury attorney gets excited when they see an accident victim. These surgeons don’t care how you gained it or why you want to lose it. They don’t care if you’re emotionally ready for it. They care about whether you have insurance or can qualify for easy financing. Weight loss surgery has become Ritalin for fat people – and that’s why it has a bad rep. I know women who have been told to gain 20 pounds in order to qualify. And I know someone who’s done exactly that.

I also know people who have had weight loss surgery and say it’s the best decision they’ve ever made in their lives. They’ve kept their weight off and they live healthy, active lives now. It’s a combination of being ready and finding a decent doctor that results in a positive, lasting experience. It’s just not for me.

yesican

I’ve pretty much fixed the inside of me. And I’m pretty damn confident that I’d be successful if I elected to have weight loss surgery. I still can’t do it. Not because I’m afraid, but because I have something to prove.

I think back to that ten year old little girl I was when I first learned what fat was. I think about the way I grew up: believing that I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t lovable enough, smart enough, pretty enough, skinny enough. (Yes, I do realize I sound like that idiot from Saturday Night Live.)

I’m just not going to tell myself that I’m not tough enough to do this the way I feel I need to do it. I’m not going to think about that ten year old kid in that mirror and know that my rotten bastard of a dance teacher was right: that my best is not good enough.

I’m not going to say that to myself. I’m just not. I would rather hurt on the elliptical than hurt in a recovery room. So it’s for her that I’m doing this…that ten year old little girl who just needed someone to stand up for her. I can’t just fix her with surgery. I have to show her that she really was enough.

The path you take to living a healthy life is a very personal one. Whatever road you choose, I wish you a safe journey…and fierce success.


Courage: Overcoming Fear and Igniting Self-Confidence

Redefining “Me”

Battle of the Butt, Non Scale Victories, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I’ve been defined by my weight since I was ten years old. My dance teacher stood me in front of the mirror in our dance studio and used a pointer to show me the places where my body needed improvements. My thighs stuck out too far. My legs were thick. I had a bit of a “belly”.

Until that moment, my biggest concern was where the other lime green peep-toed pump was for my Barbie doll and whether my dog ate it. I was ten years old. When I laid on my bed and daydreamed about marrying David Cassidy, I never though about knocking out a few sets of ab crunches so I’d look super hot at the wedding. My world was Barbies and school and friends and, already, writing. That moment in front of the mirror changed me forever.

From that moment on, when I walked into a room of other kids I’d look at all the thighs and bellies and see which ones were bigger or smaller than mine. If there were bigger kids, I felt relieved. I looked at the skinny girls with such envy. I was sure everyone loved them. No one could resist a skinny girl because skinny was beautiful. I wasn’t skinny, so that meant I wasn’t beautiful – which meant I was ugly. Kid logic.

Big fat ugly me…or that’s how I felt back then. Now I just see a cute kid with amazing taste in boots.

Whenever someone told me I was pretty, I smiled and said thank you just like Mom taught me – but there was always that inside voice that disagreed with them. No, I’m not pretty…because I’m fat. It is incredibly difficult to change that voice in your head – especially when it’s planted there so early.

I’ve been finding it a challenge to remain positive over the past couple of days because I keep falling back to the old habit of defining myself by a number. I’ve realized it’s not enough to reach for a healthier lifestyle…I need to redefine how I define myself as well.

I’ve been derailed a lot over the past ten days. The mother of all toothaches was first to knock me down. I had an infected tooth that needed a root canal, but I needed to take anti-biotics for 5 days before I could get it fixed – so I lived in pain for nearly a week (as did those of you who follow me on Facebook…because I pretty much whined about it non-stop). I had no idea how much it could hurt to breathe with your mouth open when you have an infected tooth. Holy crap on a cracker! The gym wasn’t an option last week unless I took a pain pill – and the last thing I should be doing is using gym equipment while on pain pills. Those suckers were badass.

treadmill ooops

Then I got the root canal. Yay! I’m petrified of dentists, so this was an accomplishment on its own. No more freaky discomfort of a dental dam, no more huge needles in my face – or the nervous farting that I hope went unnoticed…I’m done! Well, at least for two weeks or so. I probably should have taken Kirby or Dyson with me as a “therapy dog” and then I would have had someone to blame the gas on. You know what they say about hindsight…

Just when I was ready to get back into the swing of things this weekend, the 7 Dwarfs of the Menstrual Apocalypse showed up. If this is your first time reading my blog, I apologize for the overshare. The rest of you know what to expect and you still love me…and I’m grateful. I love you too. And since you know what to expect, you know I’ve spent the last two days curled up in the fetal position, cursing Mother Nature and my angry uterus. In a few more days, I’ll be back to normal. (My new normal, not my former Dr. Pepper swilling, pizza guzzling, snack cake motorboating normal.)

I hate being derailed, especially when I’m motivated to go to the gym. When I joined this gym a couple of months ago, I started at 10 minutes on the elliptical – which was surprising as hell because I expected far less. Right before the tooth-from-hell hit me, I did 30 minutes. I was a freaking NINJA. A chubby, determined, spastic ninja…kicking my fat cells right in the ass.

Bad Ass Couch copy

I’m logging my food every day, but I’m not getting on the scale because I’m not working out. Also because I’m in the middle of my “ladies days”, peeps, and what woman is crazy enough to get on the scale then? I want my new normal back. Hurry up, uterus, and get it out of your system. Momma’s got shit to do!

During times like this, it’s hard to remember not to define my success by a number on the scale…or even the minutes on the elliptical. It takes conscious effort to remember that I need to pay attention to the non-scale victories as well. And I need to focus on the positive instead of giving myself grief for not being able to workout right now. I’ll be back in the gym by Wednesday. That has to be good enough for me right now.

There are many non-scale victories to celebrate – and some of these are going to seem ridiculous to you if you’ve never had a problem with food, but I assure you these are accomplishments. I didn’t use the toothache as an excuse to eat my weight in pudding every day because it hurt to chew. The 7 Dwarfs of the Menstrual Apocalypse are visiting right now and I haven’t once baked a brownie or driven to Walgreens and emptied the ice cream case in a sweaty fury. And probably the biggest accomplishment of all: I’m not inwardly celebrating that I can’t go to the gym right now. I’m not sobbing over it either, but I’m pretty effing proud of that 30 minutes I did right before my tooth decided to be an asshole. That pride feels good.

I’m not a number on a scale. I’m not the size tag on my pants. I’m just a Hot Mess Princess…running towards positive change as fast as my cankles can carry me.

What non-scale victories have you celebrated this week? I’m all ears…share with me!

Fitbit One Wireless Activity Plus Sleep Tracker, Black

Failure

Battle of the Butt, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This is going to be an incredibly difficult post for me to write & publish, but I have to do it. I want to do it. Because I promised myself long ago that I would always be real about my process – and if I don’t talk about it, then what the hell good is this blog anyway?

I’ve gained weight. Quite a bit.

If I don’t talk about the negative as well as the positive – and if I don’t keep pushing through it – there would be nothing to differentiate me from the hundreds of other bloggers who’ve come and gone before me, their blogs now forgotten. I’ve followed dozens and dozens of them – yet I can check them on my Feedly list right now and I know what I would see: dead, dark blogs. Blogs that were once active and full of motivation, now “dark”. No posts since 2012…or even longer. These countless bloggers stopped posting when they hit bumps in the road, perhaps because they thought no one was reading – or perhaps because they were afraid of who would say what if they admitted failure.

Well, I may be afraid in some ways – but I’ve got more courage than sense in others. Whenever I think of not posting, it’s not the readers I might lose because I fell flat on my ass that makes me persist. It’s the idea that there’s one person out there who needs to hear what I’m saying as much as I need to say what I’m saying. It’s that person, perhaps with their hand deep into a box of Little Debbies, who needs to know that they’re not alone in this – and that there are people with the same demons who are fighting the same fight…and that they’re not alone. That’s the person who sends me back to my laptop. Every time.

This is also going to be an incredibly long post. Sorry. I simply can’t break this down into digestible chunks. You may want to pace yourself. I hope you read the whole thing. It’s not my intention to overwhelm you with a giant blog post, but…I have to say it all.

I’m here to tell you that I’ve failed. I’ve fallen right on my ass…all over the internet, in front of a gazillion people and the NSA and everything. I am embarrassed and ashamed, afraid and dumbfounded at my inability to save myself from something that makes me feel like the dumbest person on the planet. Yet every time I get ready to mentally flog myself for being a moron, a tiny bit of inner strength comes over me and reminds me that there are much more horrible things in this world than the fact that I didn’t get it perfect this time. The Kardashians are reproducing, for fuck’s sake. Anything I do can’t possibly cause as much damage to the world. This realization is usually all it takes for me to remember to focus on the solution and stop beating myself up.

Looking back, of course, it’s perfectly clear to me where I went wrong. I stopped logging my food, convinced that I could depend upon my auto-pilot. Without logging, I lost sight of the little things that quickly add up to bigger things. I stopped weighing myself, trying instead to focus on the positive steps of making exercise a habit.

The simple truth is that, while others may be successful at living a healthy lifestyle without logging their food, I need it. Always. And, while others can’t step on the scale every day, I have to. My food log and my scale are the tools I use to successfully navigate these waters. I am not the kind of person who can be without them. I need them daily.

Motivation Marbles HMP

Without my tools, it’s far too easy for me to get distracted by daily life. I’ve become mired down with a million details. Things to do. Places to be. People to see. I’ve gone from being a fairly organized person to being a scatterbrained twit surrounded by a bunch of half-done tasks with no idea what to do next. Completely overwhelmed. I feel like the dumbest person on the planet for letting this happen. I fell back into the land of quick fixes and lazy thinking. And six months into 2013, I still haven’t made exercise a habit.

My monumental failure: I’ve gained back all but one pound of the weight I lost.

Living in a world of elastic waist pants makes it very hard to judge whether the weight is creeping back on – especially when most of your clothes are a 30/32. It takes a lot to move from the low end of the 30 to the high end of the 32.

43 pounds, to be exact.

It would have been easy to spot had I not stopped getting on the scale every day, but I got the brilliant idea in my head that I should take a break from the scale in order to train my focus on exercise. Dumb. Really dumb. I understand what I thought I was doing, but I was failing to accept one undeniable truth: I fucking HATE exercise. I hate it. I could quit everything else in life in order to focus on exercise but I would still be focused on something I hate doing – and all that brings is negativity. I should have kept logging, kept weighing, and kept trying at the exercise.

I have one pair of jeans that fits (or used to). They’re a size 30. I don’t wear them a lot. Imagine my surprise when I went to put them on a couple of weeks ago and they weren’t even close to zipping or buttoning. I actually thought I’d mistakenly grabbed at the wrong pair of jeans. I had to look at the tag to see the size. Imagine my horror as reality sank in. I hadn’t been getting on the scale. I hadn’t been logging my food. Oh wow…HMH and I have been ordering pizza more often, haven’t we? Shit. How long had it been since I could wear these jeans? I had no idea.

It took weeks before I had the balls to get on the scale and face the music – and in that time, I still wasn’t eating as healthy as before and I certainly wasn’t working out consistently.

So here I am…facing the music and feeling like the biggest failure in the world. And the funny thing is that I didn’t feel this way at all when I gained back the 75 pounds I lost back in the 90’s. I’ve been having quite the internal dialogue about this since I got on the scale. It hasn’t been pretty. It’s been a weird combination of beating myself up and coming up with a plan to fix this – lately, more of the latter.

believe

What am I going to do about this? Pick myself up, dust myself off, and get moving. Although the thought did occur to me briefly, I am not pursuing weight loss surgery.

As of this morning, I’m back to logging my food. Logging is my safety net and I’m never living without it again. No more pizza, no more convenience foods. There’s a half gallon of ice cream in my freezer right now that’s going down the drain tonight. I don’t need the temptation…I have shit to do.

Mr. Scale is back in my life. I appreciate him for the information he gives me. I don’t get pissed when he tells me I weigh one or two pounds more than I did yesterday. I’m a woman. For some reason, weight fluctuation is all part of the majesty of owning a uterus…or having owned one in the past, whatever your situation may be. I don’t care about two or even three pounds. I care about five. I need to know where I stand.

The 7 Dwarfs of the Menstrual Apocalypse are just packing up and leaving, so I’m not headed to the gym today – but I am tomorrow. From now on, there will be no more trying to embrace the positive kittens-and-rainbows “exercise is good for me” mindset. I hate exercise. It’s painful and horrible and I hate it – and it’s dishonest for me to try and get all warm and fuzzy about it. From now on, I am going to the gym regularly – which will require me to force myself. Tough shit. I’m giving myself permission to hate it. I’m going to bitch and moan and scream bloody murder if that’s what I feel like doing, but I’m going to the gym whether I like it or not. Like a good parent with a stubborn child, I’m going to get this medicine down my throat one way or the other.

It nearly broke my heart to pull 43 marbles out of the “Pounds Lost” jar today, but I did it. They’re not my victories to claim anymore. They’re back in the “Pounds to Go” jar where they belong. For now. It hurt to do, but I know with a certainty I’ve never had before that they’ll be back in the “Pounds Lost” jar soon.

I lost my way. I’m not proud of it. Hopefully you’ll forgive me. I sure do feel stupid because of it, but I’m not going to let myself wallow in self-pity and self-hatred over this. This has happened. I caused it. I’ve picked myself up, brushed myself off, and put my feet back on the road. I’m really not proud of where I’m standing right now.

I’m just not going to be one of those bloggers who fades into the background to lick her wounds. Y’all know me. I have no compunction about licking myself in front of you. This blog is about embracing change and finding what works. This is all part of that process for me.

I reset the weight loss ticker on the top right of this page. Makes me sad just looking at it. So here I go. One marble in the jar…