This one's a bit choppy and you might guess that I am recording this LATE at night...not my best, but I didn't want to put off chatting with y'all any longer! I fill ya in on why I've been gone and I talk about some things that have helped me transition from one extreme to the other...the Standard American Diet to a Vegan Raw Diet...This one's a bit goofy, so hopefully you'll get a laugh or two!
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
No Organic Raw Vegans Suffering Here...
Yes I had a spoonful of cookie dough and a Chocolate banana shake for breakfast...seriously healthier than ANY processed cereal ala dairy milk.
Chocolate Banana Shake...1 Tbs Raw Cacao (not cocoa) powder, 1 Tbs of Agave nectar, 1 frozen banana and a cup of almond milk...so delicious and ridiculously healthy. You've probably heard through clever marketing that pomegranate juice has the most antioxidants ever...well Raw Cacao has something like 10,000 times that amount...I will never look older than 31 years old...maybe younger from drinking chocolate shakes everyday...who would of thunk it!
Homemade corn chips with fresh guacamole...my favorite! These chips are made from ground golden flaxseed, yellow bell pepper, organic cumin, chili powder and sea salt...dehydrated to a crisp not to damage any of the nutrition or perfect flavor...this treat makes my heart and my tummy super happy!
In honor of Elaine...this is our "Big Salad"! Romaine and baby spinach, living alfalfa sprouts, sunflower seeds, big juicy tomatoes and perfectly ripened avocado with a fresh salad dressing made on the spot! This meal provides more than enough protein, iron and calcium...all the things carnivores assume we are lacking in our new "extreme" lifestyle, not to mention phenomenal nutrition that hasn't been touched by over processing. DELICIOUS!!!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Poop On Today...
"Poop on today...I tried to make a positive recovery, but even I am not that positive all the time...glad it is over. I want to have a glass of wine and carve pumpkins, but neither is a safe solo activity for me...I need my husband."
And that is my current Facebook status ladies and gentlemen.
I know I have a history of sarcasm here in safe-to-express-myself-ville, but in most facets of my life I'm a friggin Pollyanna. Usually my FB status reflects a dance party I am having with my toddlers or the endearing quirky hijinks my husband and I are getting ourselves into while being zen vegans. These FB statuses [or statai] reflect the truth, they're just limited to the aren't you jealous of my beach life moments...usually. Today sucked so hardcore (hopefully that last phrase does not affect how this blog comes up in Google) and I had to go global with my feelings.
The Hubby (hate that word) is still commuting half the week to the last town we lived in to take care of his clients there as we struggle to build up his Massage Therapy clientele here. You know how absence makes the heart grow fonder, well that only applies to us if we limit our interactions to text and email. My theory is that we are both stressed when we're apart because we have formed some sort of dysfunctional team over the last couple of years...especially when it comes to wrangling our kids and keeping track of his keys, wallet, phone, laptop, favorite hat, nail clippers, shoes, the certain type of socks that he likes to wear when he works...He has trouble getting ready and leaving the house without me and I have trouble disciplining the girls without him. When we're apart we get stressed, then within the first 5 minutes of a phone conversation we both want to play the I had the worst day card. We end up taking it out on each other and neither one of us receives the sympathy or encouragement we were craving...P.s. we are both the babies in our families...makes for a very tricky personality combo in marriage.
Anyhoo as of right now we're barely speaking besides brief business related emails. My 1 year old screamed all day about mysterious things she could not successfully communicate which made her scream even more and my 2 year old decided to try her hand at lying, choking her sister and throwing a sippy cup at my butt when she realized it didn't have "joosh" in it. I feel completely buried in housework and work-work that I so perkily promised my husband I'd take care of. Everything I tried to do was completely undone by 2 precious girls who so badly needed every ounce of my attention and affection today...Yet I tried to do it all while parenting on the shortest fuse ever.
The 2 year old is a genius...freaky photographic memory genius...she will remember today and she's gonna grow up weird or be "that kid" because of my mommy dearest behavior. When she gets within 2 miles of our house, her grandparents house, her aunt's house, her aunt's work...she knows exactly where she is and can give directions the rest of the way. The other day she told her daddy that she liked his sacred heart tattoo... she is 2 years old and doesn't miss a beat...my ass is grass if this child ever goes to counseling. I didn't do anything worthy of the government removing my kids, but there definitely was not the normal pre and post timeout discussions. There was yelling and I cried once, though I may have been able to hide it from her, either way it made her laugh. Seriously what was my deal? I know 2 year olds test, that's what they do...today I failed the 2 year old test.
After they were in bed, I felt lonely. I felt like a bad wife and a bad mom. Usually at the end of the day I chalk myself up as human and cut myself some slack, but tonight is different. Do you ever feel like a mental pep talk isn't enough? That nice and polite facebook comments from facebook "friends" aren't enough? That you just need a big fat humungous real life tangible hug from someone in the same room who completely understands and appreciates you not because your fishin for it but because of an intense need to love you just as you are despite the ugliness of days like today? Bleh!
Tomorrow my kids are going to know they are loved like crazy despite their antics...it's necessary...my heart is aching for it at the moment and I've been blessed and entrusted with the responsibility of letting them know that they matter...will do.
So today's entry wasn't about food, or diet, or whatever it is that I usually go on about... it certainly was however therapy for me. Oh here's something for you...After I put my kids to bed and checked my phone for the hundredth time to see if my husband accidentally sent me an I love you text, I ate a non-raw non-vegan english muffin toasted at a nutrition scorching 350 degrees with butter (from a cow) and sugar filled strawberry jam on it...then I had instant diarrhea yet felt like I gained 100 gazillion pounds mainly in my upper arms somehow...moral if you're gonna stress eat, make vegan raw cookie dough or guac...don't spend the rest of the night sulking on the toilet.
And that is my current Facebook status ladies and gentlemen.
I know I have a history of sarcasm here in safe-to-express-myself-ville, but in most facets of my life I'm a friggin Pollyanna. Usually my FB status reflects a dance party I am having with my toddlers or the endearing quirky hijinks my husband and I are getting ourselves into while being zen vegans. These FB statuses [or statai] reflect the truth, they're just limited to the aren't you jealous of my beach life moments...usually. Today sucked so hardcore (hopefully that last phrase does not affect how this blog comes up in Google) and I had to go global with my feelings.
The Hubby (hate that word) is still commuting half the week to the last town we lived in to take care of his clients there as we struggle to build up his Massage Therapy clientele here. You know how absence makes the heart grow fonder, well that only applies to us if we limit our interactions to text and email. My theory is that we are both stressed when we're apart because we have formed some sort of dysfunctional team over the last couple of years...especially when it comes to wrangling our kids and keeping track of his keys, wallet, phone, laptop, favorite hat, nail clippers, shoes, the certain type of socks that he likes to wear when he works...He has trouble getting ready and leaving the house without me and I have trouble disciplining the girls without him. When we're apart we get stressed, then within the first 5 minutes of a phone conversation we both want to play the I had the worst day card. We end up taking it out on each other and neither one of us receives the sympathy or encouragement we were craving...P.s. we are both the babies in our families...makes for a very tricky personality combo in marriage.
Anyhoo as of right now we're barely speaking besides brief business related emails. My 1 year old screamed all day about mysterious things she could not successfully communicate which made her scream even more and my 2 year old decided to try her hand at lying, choking her sister and throwing a sippy cup at my butt when she realized it didn't have "joosh" in it. I feel completely buried in housework and work-work that I so perkily promised my husband I'd take care of. Everything I tried to do was completely undone by 2 precious girls who so badly needed every ounce of my attention and affection today...Yet I tried to do it all while parenting on the shortest fuse ever.
The 2 year old is a genius...freaky photographic memory genius...she will remember today and she's gonna grow up weird or be "that kid" because of my mommy dearest behavior. When she gets within 2 miles of our house, her grandparents house, her aunt's house, her aunt's work...she knows exactly where she is and can give directions the rest of the way. The other day she told her daddy that she liked his sacred heart tattoo... she is 2 years old and doesn't miss a beat...my ass is grass if this child ever goes to counseling. I didn't do anything worthy of the government removing my kids, but there definitely was not the normal pre and post timeout discussions. There was yelling and I cried once, though I may have been able to hide it from her, either way it made her laugh. Seriously what was my deal? I know 2 year olds test, that's what they do...today I failed the 2 year old test.
After they were in bed, I felt lonely. I felt like a bad wife and a bad mom. Usually at the end of the day I chalk myself up as human and cut myself some slack, but tonight is different. Do you ever feel like a mental pep talk isn't enough? That nice and polite facebook comments from facebook "friends" aren't enough? That you just need a big fat humungous real life tangible hug from someone in the same room who completely understands and appreciates you not because your fishin for it but because of an intense need to love you just as you are despite the ugliness of days like today? Bleh!
Tomorrow my kids are going to know they are loved like crazy despite their antics...it's necessary...my heart is aching for it at the moment and I've been blessed and entrusted with the responsibility of letting them know that they matter...will do.
So today's entry wasn't about food, or diet, or whatever it is that I usually go on about... it certainly was however therapy for me. Oh here's something for you...After I put my kids to bed and checked my phone for the hundredth time to see if my husband accidentally sent me an I love you text, I ate a non-raw non-vegan english muffin toasted at a nutrition scorching 350 degrees with butter (from a cow) and sugar filled strawberry jam on it...then I had instant diarrhea yet felt like I gained 100 gazillion pounds mainly in my upper arms somehow...moral if you're gonna stress eat, make vegan raw cookie dough or guac...don't spend the rest of the night sulking on the toilet.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
More to come soon...Promise!!!
We have been out of town...If you've been following the blog for awhile then you know that our youngest daughter was born with kidney issues. She is treated at a Children's hospital 3 hours away from our home. She just had a surgical procedure that we are hoping will be her last!!! We have been knocked off our routine, but it has been well worth it...our little girl is doing better than ever! We should be home by Sunday and hope to update you all then. I keep thinking of so many things that I want to share that have been so helpful to me, just so little time. Thank you all for the love!
Boots
Boots
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Oh Baby I Like it Raw, Living and Vegan...Episode 3
Meet My Husband! I give a shout out to the very first subscriber to my videos!!! The Theme: IF WE CAN DO IT ANYONE CAN DO IT...how we get by for now on a tiny budget with a bottom of the line dehydrator, blender and food processor...When you set out to do the best you can within your means, it's a great start...don't give up no matter what!
Friday, October 8, 2010
The stats…AKA the cold hard truth…Weigh In #2
Oh Baby I Like it Raw, Living and Vegan Weigh In #2...Learn how much weight I was able to lose the first 24 hours back on Raw Foods...after a 3 day detour I am back on track and feeling excellent!
The stats…AKA the cold hard truth…
Oh Baby i like it Raw Living and Vegan...Weigh In #1 +Bonus...Humiliating "Before" Pictures : (
Oh Baby I Like it Raw, Living and Vegan...Episode 2
Kicking a daily 12 cup pot of coffee...falling off the wagon...getting back on with a water fast, sort of...sharing my fear of becoming a tree hugging fairy worshipper.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Chronicles of Schmarnia: My Imaginary Closet
"Um, I have cellulite and stretch marks and that pretty much overrides being tiny…even when I somehow overcome the evil forces of PCOS and lose all the weight…I am still not going to prance around in a bikini. Stretch marks are like nipples…they are private parts, I don't plan on sharing them with the world and I don't hold with high regard a gal who does. The majority of my irreversible damage exists between my knees and hips so I need to plan for fashion that will camo this danger zone."
Black Little Number...
Friday, September 17, 2010
The Chronicles of Schmarnia: My Imaginary Closet
"Um, I have cellulite and stretch marks and that pretty much overrides being tiny…even when I somehow overcome the evil forces of PCOS and lose all the weight…I am still not going to prance around in a bikini. Stretch marks are like nipples…they are private parts, I don't plan on sharing them with the world and I don't hold with high regard a gal who does. The majority of my irreversible damage exists between my knees and hips so I need to plan for fashion that will camo this danger zone."
BLAH BLAH blasé
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The stats…AKA the cold hard truth…
Age 31
Height 5'6"
Starting Weight 183 lbs
Today's Weight 181.0 lbs
Since last weigh-in -0.4 lbs
Total since first weigh in -2.0 lbs
What the BMI chart has the nerve to say about me today 29.2=Obese
I usually don't post the "Cold Hard Truth" 2 days in a row, maybe just to keep up the facade that I am not slightly obsessed and that I don't weigh myself everyday. I just wanted to report that I am back on the losing side (that being a positive thing since this is in reference to weight loss) and within one day of being home from the hospital (my one year old daughter had surgery last Thursday) I feel a big difference...of course I have more control over my food options and I am a lot more active. It sort of stinks because I was hoping to show that my journey was possible anywhere even in the least likely of circumstances, but I really just didn't feel like it and the scale reflected that yesterday (my first day out of the hospital).
Here is the other cold hard truth, I do weigh myself everyday, when I have access to my own scale. Sure most experts will recommend that you don't for several reasons, but as we've discussed a few times already...when you have PCOS you are the exception. Weekly weigh-ins don't work for me personally, because with PCOS my weight fluctuates dramatically. I can gain 10 lbs in a week, not just water weight either, weight that will take 2 months of hard work to lose. I have to weigh myself daily to keep tabs on my body and look for patterns in regards to certain food and fast weight gain.
My rules for weighing in to get the most accurate weight. First thing in the morning, after using the restroom and before eating or drinking anything...must be NAKEY NAKEY and use the same scale. Also before your shower, wet hair will add weight.
My daughter is doing really well by the way...she had a stent placed in her right ureter which causes painful bladder spasms. Hopefully these are temporary and will end soon. We are feeling super optimistic about this surgery and the best part...she had the hated nephrostomy tube removed from her back!!!
Monday, September 13, 2010
The stats…AKA the cold hard truth…
Age 31
Height 5'6"
Starting Weight 183 lbs
Today"s Weight 181.4 lbs
Since last weigh-in + 1.2 lbs
Total since first weigh in -1.6 lbs
What the BMI chart has the nerve to say about me today 29.3=Obese
This is my first weigh in after being home from the hospital...the good news is, we are home. I gained 1.2 lbs in 4 days while in the hospital with Normandy.
This is my first weigh in after being home from the hospital...the good news is, we are home. I gained 1.2 lbs in 4 days while in the hospital with Normandy.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Sure I Have Good Reason, But Not If It Ends Up Becoming An Excuse.
I have 2 daughters, just 13 months apart in age, a 2 year old and a 1year old…I'm tired. I am writing today from a pediatric surgery waiting room. My youngest is having major surgery today. She isn't quite 16 months old and this isn't her first surgery and it probably won't be her last.
I know my blog seems pretty self-indulgent and even more self-deprecating, but keep in mind it is my only outlet. My daughters don't know that weight is an issue for anyone let alone their mommy. They don't know that I "un-tag" myself as soon as I see unflattering pictures surface on Facebook…right before I do a dance unto the god of ex-boyfriends and high school "frenemies" praying that none of the above saw them. I get all the junk out here in cyber-world so that in my home I can be their beautiful healthy strong mama…I am not saying I fake who I am to them…I am a healthy beautiful woman, it just takes a lot of strength to be that kind of example and here on this blog I get to take a break and get things out. In the real world, I promise I am not letting my girls run rampant while I stand crying on my scale in my elastic waisted pants asking my 2 year old, why doesn't your father get me? In the real world I am chasing them down the beach, feeding them healthy snacks, teaching them how to perfectly deliver a punch line and how to count in Deutsch…eat that Dora.
My youngest daughter was born with bi-lateral grade 5 hydronephrosis…basically she has kidney reflux, meaning that rather than draining out through her bladder, her urine goes back up into her kidneys due to a blockage in her ureters (the little hoses connecting the kidneys to the bladder). Most kids with Hydronephrosis have a lesser grade on only one side and will grow out of it naturally by one year of age. She has the highest grade on both sides with no end in sight. Her ureters are not just blocked, but they are severely kinked and twisted. We recently learned that her right kidney had not been draining at all so they placed a nephrostomy tube into her right kidney coming directly out of her back draining into a bag that we keep belted around her waist.
I am here with her at the children's hospital every 2-3 weeks to treat severe kidney infections. The hospital is about 3 hours away from our home and we are usually here for about a week at a time. When we are here we are typically apart from my husband and my two year old. My sleep is lacking during that time and I usually don't get to leave her hospital room for more than 15 minutes a day. She has been on antibiotics daily since the day she was born to prevent kidney damaging UTI's and I think she is no longer sensitive to most antibiotics so they rarely do much to prevent infection anymore.
The frequent hospital stays started back in February…I was 150 lbs then…by May I had gained 33 lbs and have floundered between 177 and 183. During this time I've also gotten my first cyst in probably 5 or 6 years and my periods started becoming irregular. In addition to a new sedentary, stressful hospital life, I am definitely battling PCOS again.
Prior to this I hadn't had a cyst since I was 25, because I had found the right birth control pill (Yaz), lost a lot of weight, then I was either pregnant or breastfeeding. Oddly enough it seams that my hormones are happiest and my weight is the easiest to control when I am breastfeeding…I only gained 25 lbs with my first pregnancy and lost it in 20 days…let me say that again, in fact let me yell it this time…I LOST ALL OF MY BABY WEIGHT IN 20 DAYS!!! Then in the next 40 days I lost an additional 14 lbs…I hadn't seen that weight on a scale in a whole decade! This was just in time for my wedding day. We were married only 2 months after our first daughter was born and I felt fabulous!
It feels like I spend a lot of time feeling discouraged and no time taking care of myself these days. I have to find a way. I have to find opportunities and I have to remember to take them. It's funny, a big theme in my blog is to not compare myself to others who I believe have it easier…I also need to stop comparing my current circumstances to the events surrounding my previous weight loss…Maybe a bigger theme in my blog needs to be that nothing is impossible for ME…present day, 31 year old, busy hospital-mom…ME!
OH, I almost forgot…I know my thoughts are all over the place, but I don't know how else to get it all out, so track with me…I had a eureka moment this morning and I must share! My daughter needed to have some blood work done before surgery this morning. I was holding her down assisting the man sticking her with needles as I have countless times before. She screamed and looked at me with questioning eyes as I spoke to her in a loving tone with a broken heart knowing full well it would be years before I could explain and reason with her as to why she had to go through these things…that I was holding her and forcing her to experience this pain because I loved her…because hopefully it was fixing her. Though it is hard for me to type this without welling up, this was not the Eureka moment…I have often thought of this and have drawn a parallel to God's love for me and why I've had to experience certain things. Here is what I realized today, the second it was over she reached out for me…she called out for me. I was able to soothe her almost instantly, she hadn't lost any trust in me. She was ready to move on and not waste any time dwelling…it was like she knew she needed to make the most of it before the next nurse or doctor walked in the room and as long as I was in reach everything was fine. I haven't suffered half as much as this baby in my 31 years…why am I not as resilient? Why do I float from one disaster to the next…why don't I make the most of the time between even if it is only a few minutes? Why don't I trust myself as much as she trusts me...why don't I love myself as much?
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| High School (duh) Even though I got my first cyst at age 15, I didn't have issues with my weight until after graduation. |
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| I rapidly gained almost 90 lbs in less then 2 years reaching an all time high of 209 lbs. I battled my weight for almost 8 years, infertile the entire time. |
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| This picture was taken less then a year later. I lost 53 lbs in less then 5 months. I believe it was a combination of Yaz birth control pills, intense cardio workouts and a low calorie diet. |
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| Though not intentional I became pregnant the first month off the pill. |
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| 5 days before giving birth I weighed less than I do today. |
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I lost all of my baby weight in 20 days. breastfeeding does your baby and your body good! |
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I lost an additional 13 lbs in time for my wedding day... less then 2 months after delivering my first daughter. |
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| This was me at 150 lbs 7 months ago with my youngest daughter. |
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| Taken this past weekend 33 lbs heavier, battling PCOS once again. |
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The stats…AKA the cold hard truth…
Age 31
Height 5'6"
Starting Weight 183 lbs
Today"s Weight 180.2 lbs
Since last weigh-in + 1.0 lbs
Total since first weigh in -2.8 lbs
What the BMI chart has the nerve to say about me today 29.1=Obese
I think my blog should be renamed...With the Exception of Labor Day Weekend...Fail.
I had Chinese food (fried breaded meats, fried egg rolls, wontons, sugary sauces) Mexican Food (chip, chips and more chips) and Ice cream (mmmmm)...I only ate when I was hungry, stopped when I was satisfied, shared meals/treats with my family and we were super active...BUT...this is my body we're talking about, I know including non-healthy carbs in my diet is a sure way to perform sluggishly and gain weight. Today is a new day with no mistakes in it and so far so good!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The Time Line...BC..."Before Conception"
5th grade...Began to develop a certain resentment toward my mother for not letting me shave my legs, though it was time. In my earliest act of rebellion I used my mother's razor then proceeded to cover my legs in her Revlon Liquid Foundation to appear as hairless and tan as Jill Miller, the most popular girl in fifth grade. I went on a class field trip to an amusement park and received a just punishment when the water attractions turned my white Keds the color of my mom's made-up face.
Age 11...Started my period at science camp. I hid it from every living soul, especially my mother for an entire year knowing full well she would announce the horrifying news to relatives.
A year later...Weary of stealing supplies from my mom, I made the announcement to her pretending it was happening for the first time. She told me I was a woman now and took me to a restaurant called The Good Earth then proceeded to share personal stories that I was uncomfortable hearing. I had the Chicken Cashew Salad.
7th grade...Boys were finally taller than me. A weird patch of eczema below my left nostril finally cleared up. I figured out there were much better methods of styling my naturally curly fro than cutting it as short as possible. Exclamation Perfume, teal eyeliner, a scrunchie on my wrist and silver hoop earrings evoked a newfound confidence.
That same year...shared an embarrassing first kiss with a boy through a chain link fence. I knew as much to close my eyes then I puckered up. He however approached the situation with mouth wide open and tongue out. He cut my chin with his braces.
Even later that same year...I was suspended for making out with the same boy. Practice (due to low self esteem and lack of healthy father-figure) makes perfect! The principal at my Christian private school explained that I was cheating on my future husband and that if I kept it up Mr. Future Husband would always be secretly disappointed in what little I reserved for him and would think of nothing else every time we kissed. This boy remained a friend through high school…I was his Winnie Cooper and he was my Kevin Arnold.
Age 15...First cyst was diagnosed…read The Exception for all the sorted details.
Age 17...Did what I promised I would never do, then he promptly cheated on me. My youth pastor was right, broken hymen before marriage=broken heart.
Senior Year...Went on independent studies so that I could get a full time job, before my father's child support would end on my 18th birthday. Graduated 6 months early and began a lucrative career as a cashier at a Rite Aid drugstore.
Age 19...Married my manager at Rite Aid…eeew not a creepy old man or anything…he was a 21 year old college student and up until that point in my life the most mild mannered and responsible person I had ever met under the age of 67. He thoroughly enjoyed taking care of me and assisting me in the great escape from my family. After I failed to find a birth control pill that didn't make me sick, I wouldn't use any form of birth control for the next 7 years and would never conceive...I didn't want to conceive.
Age 21...Reached an all time high weight of 209lbs…I gained almost 90lbs in less than 2 years. All of my attempts to lose weight failed…I felt as if something else was suddenly in control of my body. My husband began working as a civil engineer and we were the first of our friend's to buy a home…As I became swallowed up by suburbia I was never interested in keeping up with the Joneses. As others my age were off at college I became obsessed with being the Joneses. I began to avoid all interactions with my family and lost touch with everyone who might compare me to the thin captain of the cheerleading squad/homecoming princess I was only a few years earlier.
Age 23...Moved to Boise, built a beautiful home sharing a neighborhood with people twice my age. The boredom, discontentment and depression began to set in.
Age 24...Hired a personal trainer. I worked out with a trainer 5 days a week for 6 months and gained 6 pounds...I love it when you gain weight from working out with the intension of weight loss and people try to encourage you by saying things like..."muscle weighs more that fat". That sounds neat but, where the hell is this muscle...hiding under all the fat that still remains? I wasn't wearing a size 16 because I was buff.
Age 25...ten years after my first cyst a doctor finally diagnosed me with polycystic ovarian syndrome. She showed me the connection between PCOS, rapid weight gain and infertility.
Age 26...I woke up one morning with a deep desire to change everything about my life. I was completely unsatisfied with everything in my world. I convinced myself I had been robbed, I had missed out. The truth was that I was selfish and giving up didn't feeling like giving up…it felt daring and exciting. My doctor told me about a new pill, Yaz, that would especially help a woman with PCOS. Within 2 months of taking my first pill the cysts stopped and for the first time in my life I got one 3-4 day period at the same time every month. I felt as if I was beginning to gain back control over my body. To escape a marriage that felt like the biggest anchor attached to a life I was beginning to hate, I would go on 2 hour walks sometimes twice a day. My days consisted of walking, working, sleeping. When I would walk I would imagine a different life, with different people, different men. When I started walking I was 209lbs and it was painful to carry, but in addition to birth control I was only leaving time for simple low calorie snacks when I needed them...after a slow first month and a half I began losing weight at an astonishing 0.5lbs a day. As the weight came off my exercise regime became more intense and more addictive. In the midst of all of this I separated then quickly divorced my husband while burning every bridge in my life. My attempt to start over began a life full of distractions from loneliness. My days consisted of intense workouts, working at a job I cared nothing about, maintaining shallow meaningless connections via social networking and texting, then bar hopping alone. That year my only Christmas card was from Boise City Taxi.
Age 27...Got a job with the Department of Defense working at a military rec center...we're not talking about ping pong tables in a converted warehouse...this was a 5 star ski resort in the Bavarian Alps. I worked and dormed with about 300 other young adventurous Americans...most of them younger than me, all escaping from something, all looking the other way, because they didn't want to ever be asked to stop their own bad behavior. I began seeing a much younger bellman at the resort...It seemed like the perfect thing to do at this point of my quarter-life crisis, almost cliche really. We had many adventures, broke up, 3 days later I found out I was pregnant.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
The stats…AKA the cold hard truth…
Age 31
Height 5'6"
Starting Weight 183 lbs
Current Weight 179.2 lbs
Total -3.8 lbs
What the BMI chart has the nerve to say about me today 28.9=Obese
I just started my second month of Ocella (Yaz Generic) Birth Control pills. I know it is different for every women with PCOS, but I believe Yaz really helped me lose weight the last time (53 lbs) and was key in my pregnancy...birth control helping in pregnancy, I know that doesn't sound right and trust me it wasn't intentional.
I don't know exactly how Yaz works and why it is more beneficial to a woman with PCOS than other pills, so if you need those kind of details, you'll have to do some research on your own. I believe it helps regulate the excess testosterone that we soul-cystas have in our system and I know testosterone plays a big role in getting cysts and in insulin resistance which are the two key players in excessive weight gain and infertility. Don't get me wrong, the last time I took Yaz I was also exercising EVERYDAY and eating between 1,000 and 1,200 calories a day...sometimes less, but these measures don't typically work on their own, so I've got to assume it was the Yaz...but I also have to assume that Yaz won't work on its own either...nothing is that easy.
During that time I had also separated and quickly divorced from my first husband, I have heard many people refer to the "divorce diet". Have you ever seen someone who is going through a divorce and it seems like the weight just sort of falls off due to some weird magical non-cortisol producing stress? Please don't despair and don't go divorcing your sweetie-pies...remember they love you even though you're moody, fat and barren...stand by your man. And seriously we have PCOS...if there really is something to the phenomena that is the divorce diet...it wouldn't apply to us, because nothing works that simply for women with PCOS. I am going to prove that divorce was a coincidence the last go round...I promise to stay married while getting skinny this time.
For those of you who carry extra weight and are struggling with infertility I am sure you have been told weight loss can help dramatically...so clearly losing 53 lbs in a fairly short amount of time was a major reason why I got pregnant. I also believe regulating my cycles and stopping cysts helped. Up until I took Yaz, every month during the time I should have been ovulating I would get cysts...EVERY MONTH SINCE I WAS 15 and I had never had a regular period since my first one at age 11. I definitely felt the change in my body from the first pack of pills. I don't remember how long I took yaz before I got pregnant I am guessing about a year and a half and then I GOT PREGNANT THE FIRST MONTH I WAS OFF OF THE PILL! That would be difficult for a woman who doesn't have issues with fertility, but my body was happy...not only had I lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time, I probably ovulated for the first time in my entire life and I had a 21 year old boyfriend who was a real go-getter, so there you go.
I just started my second month of Ocella (Yaz Generic) Birth Control pills. I know it is different for every women with PCOS, but I believe Yaz really helped me lose weight the last time (53 lbs) and was key in my pregnancy...birth control helping in pregnancy, I know that doesn't sound right and trust me it wasn't intentional.
I don't know exactly how Yaz works and why it is more beneficial to a woman with PCOS than other pills, so if you need those kind of details, you'll have to do some research on your own. I believe it helps regulate the excess testosterone that we soul-cystas have in our system and I know testosterone plays a big role in getting cysts and in insulin resistance which are the two key players in excessive weight gain and infertility. Don't get me wrong, the last time I took Yaz I was also exercising EVERYDAY and eating between 1,000 and 1,200 calories a day...sometimes less, but these measures don't typically work on their own, so I've got to assume it was the Yaz...but I also have to assume that Yaz won't work on its own either...nothing is that easy.
During that time I had also separated and quickly divorced from my first husband, I have heard many people refer to the "divorce diet". Have you ever seen someone who is going through a divorce and it seems like the weight just sort of falls off due to some weird magical non-cortisol producing stress? Please don't despair and don't go divorcing your sweetie-pies...remember they love you even though you're moody, fat and barren...stand by your man. And seriously we have PCOS...if there really is something to the phenomena that is the divorce diet...it wouldn't apply to us, because nothing works that simply for women with PCOS. I am going to prove that divorce was a coincidence the last go round...I promise to stay married while getting skinny this time.
For those of you who carry extra weight and are struggling with infertility I am sure you have been told weight loss can help dramatically...so clearly losing 53 lbs in a fairly short amount of time was a major reason why I got pregnant. I also believe regulating my cycles and stopping cysts helped. Up until I took Yaz, every month during the time I should have been ovulating I would get cysts...EVERY MONTH SINCE I WAS 15 and I had never had a regular period since my first one at age 11. I definitely felt the change in my body from the first pack of pills. I don't remember how long I took yaz before I got pregnant I am guessing about a year and a half and then I GOT PREGNANT THE FIRST MONTH I WAS OFF OF THE PILL! That would be difficult for a woman who doesn't have issues with fertility, but my body was happy...not only had I lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time, I probably ovulated for the first time in my entire life and I had a 21 year old boyfriend who was a real go-getter, so there you go.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Maybe not the worst thing that ever happened.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Exception.
Through elementary school and junior high I attended Christian private school which left me equally confused and freaked out by my body. I started public school my freshman year of high school. On my first day of 9th grade English class a substitute teacher in casual conversation said, "Ladies it is your privilege to explore your body and I encourage you to stand over a mirror and take a good look at your vagina." Sure there was a string of topics that led us to this point, though I can recall none of them. And why did I have a substitute on the first day of school anyway? And why weren't we answering the age old question, "conjunction-junction, what is your function?" WHO CARES…never in my life had it even been implied that I actually had a vagina in mixed company and suddenly half of the freshmen football team is picturing me balancing naked over a Covergirl matte ivory pressed powder compact squinting for a better look. I was suddenly aware that my body bestowed wondrous capabilities, some of them possessing great power over the acne ridden, Drakkar Noir stinkin opposite sex, but through my formative years I grew to be ashamed and fearful of it all.
I don't remember a time when I wasn't terrified of being the exception and not in an exceptional way. In the last week of kindergarten they brought us into the first grade room to meet the teacher and sit in desks that were arranged in lines facing the chalkboard for the purpose of a more focused learning. Above the chalkboard was the alphabet, both upper and lowercase letters, with a picture that began with that letter…we're not talking mind blowing educational tools here, but that of which you would see in any first grade classroom in America. The teacher excitedly announced that in the first grade we would be learning to read and write and it wouldn't be long before we could read books without help…everyone around me was estatic, suddenly first grade was the place to be…immediately rumors began to circulate that Bryan Johnson's nanny already taught him to read and spell his name in cursive…the room began to spin and I grew nauseous…what the hell was cursive anyway? I spent the entire summer dreading the first grade, because I just knew I would be the one kid that wouldn't pick it up and in fact I was positive that all the other kids would be writing their names in this mysterious "cursive" by the time summer break was over. I watched a Phil Donahue at my grandma's house about illiterate business men who faked their way to success…this gave me some hope, but the lies seemed very hard to keep up with and I wanted to grow up to be Alyssa Milano not a business man. From that point pretty much every right of passage and every adolescent unknown became a source of sheer terror, because I would be the exception. My brother calls me the "lazy perfectionist"…he says that I don't do anything that I know I won't be perfect at, therefore I don't do anything…It's not so much that I am lazy as much as it is that I am occupied elsewhere hyperventilating into a paper bag.
My number one fear in public high school…sexual organs. In private Christian school they warned us of what went on in public school. According to what I had been informed (possibly my first experience with right wing propaganda) my new peer group had been listening to "secular" music from a very young age with lyrics such as, "do me baby", as well as putting condoms on bananas and hanging out with gay people pre Will & Grace…these people were going to attend colleges with coed dorms! They had all looked at their vagina's in mirrors and I wouldn't even wear a tampon for fear of what it might rob my husband of on my wedding night….SIDE NOTE: another major adolescent fear…farting on my wedding night. I quickly learned to avoid any extracurricular activity which required a physical exam, because I knew a doctor would want to explore my vagina with a popsicle stick. I knew he would find something horribly wrong with it and I knew my mother would be close by to receive a full report. Either I would be the one person ever that contracted some shameful vagina ailment for telling a lie in 3rd grade or I would have some sort of embarrassing deformity and my mom would surely announce it at family prayer circle and add me to every prayer chain in northern California.
One day when I was 15 I began feeling a horrible pain in my side…it quickly grew more and more intense until every time I took a step it felt as if I was being stabbed with a tiny knife in my lower abdomen. My mom rushed me to the ER assuming it was my appendix. The doctor who treated me looked like less of a doctor and more like a grandpa…make that a great grandpa. As he poked around at my belly I quickly assessed that he was not quite living based on the frigid temperature of his fingers and he quickly assessed that I did not have an appendicitis. Without any warning he announced to my mother, "I need to do a pelvic exam" and my mom agreed. Whaaaaa-wait….pelvic? Like pelvis? As in the same body part that gave Elvis a sexually charged seedy reputation? It was clear to my mother that I was terrified. As I stepped behind the curtain to drop my pants in private maintaining a false modesty as if he wasn't about to join me with that popsicle stick, my mother began to comfort me in, um, "her way". I wasn't just raised in the church, I was raised in the charismatic-pentacostal-ish church…my mom's way of comforting me wasn't to actually comfort me, but to go to the Holy Spirit on my behalf in her "prayer language". Other moms might offer practical non supernatural advice while holding their child's hand…my mom however would speak in tongues and authoritatively cast out demonic spirits in situations that were already stressful, scary and awkward in their own right. I soon learned that Doctor Father Time opted to use his frigid zombie fingers instead of the popsicle stick which no longer seemed so scary. My mother was now thanking God for the peace filling the exam room, while I innately clenched every muscle in my Holy of Hollies. After several stern requests from Doctor Crypt Keeper to relax, he finally gave up and opted for the back door…In the last 16 years since I had this exam I have been plenty educated and I still don't know how he found what he found using that route. Suddenly the feeling that I was about to poop in front of another human being while my mom sang the second verse of Then Sings My Soul ended and as fast as I heard the latex glove snap off of his frozen toquito-esque fingers, he announced, "she has a large cyst on her ovary". He suggested that I take birth control pills to prevent any future cysts all together, but in my world it was a fact that the instant I popped the first baby-squelching pill my eternal life would certainly hang in the balance as I stumbled down a road of heavy petting with Johnny Football Player. Instead I began an ineffective regime of missing school once a month and taking obscene amounts of Ibuprofen. In the years to come I silently coped with 20 day long periods and unbearable menstrual cramps fearful of what I believed would be an embarrassing diagnosis that didn't have a cure anyway.
In an overdramatic effort to run away from home I got married at age 19. A month before my wedding I got a prescription for Birth Control Pills…I certainly flashed my engagement ring about as if it were my permission slip to have them. Even after all that I had gone through the pill was not to treat the cysts, but was an actual form of birth control…the thought of being a mother was as scary as learning to read…it felt as if all the other married girls wanted it, were capable and would succeed and I just knew when it came to being a good mom…I would be the exception. The pills made me extremely nauseous and added to my already rapid weight gain, which was becoming a problem for the first time in my life…I gained 60 lbs within the first 6 months of my marriage and 30 more by my 21st birthday. I tried 3 different types of pills and gave up…little did I know at that point there was no need to control birth…I was infertile. After my first attempt with the pill, in 7 years of marriage we didn't use any form of birth control and I never got pregnant.
The OBGYN appointments became less scary as they became more frequent. It is amazing that through countless examinations, paps and cyst sonograms it was 10 years before I heard terms like "polycystic ovarian syndrome" and "insulin resistance"…I was told cysts were common and that I needed to cut back on coffee and chocolate and that my uncontrollable weight was due to lack of self discipline….turns out it wasn't that simple…turns out I was the exception.
I don't remember a time when I wasn't terrified of being the exception and not in an exceptional way. In the last week of kindergarten they brought us into the first grade room to meet the teacher and sit in desks that were arranged in lines facing the chalkboard for the purpose of a more focused learning. Above the chalkboard was the alphabet, both upper and lowercase letters, with a picture that began with that letter…we're not talking mind blowing educational tools here, but that of which you would see in any first grade classroom in America. The teacher excitedly announced that in the first grade we would be learning to read and write and it wouldn't be long before we could read books without help…everyone around me was estatic, suddenly first grade was the place to be…immediately rumors began to circulate that Bryan Johnson's nanny already taught him to read and spell his name in cursive…the room began to spin and I grew nauseous…what the hell was cursive anyway? I spent the entire summer dreading the first grade, because I just knew I would be the one kid that wouldn't pick it up and in fact I was positive that all the other kids would be writing their names in this mysterious "cursive" by the time summer break was over. I watched a Phil Donahue at my grandma's house about illiterate business men who faked their way to success…this gave me some hope, but the lies seemed very hard to keep up with and I wanted to grow up to be Alyssa Milano not a business man. From that point pretty much every right of passage and every adolescent unknown became a source of sheer terror, because I would be the exception. My brother calls me the "lazy perfectionist"…he says that I don't do anything that I know I won't be perfect at, therefore I don't do anything…It's not so much that I am lazy as much as it is that I am occupied elsewhere hyperventilating into a paper bag.
My number one fear in public high school…sexual organs. In private Christian school they warned us of what went on in public school. According to what I had been informed (possibly my first experience with right wing propaganda) my new peer group had been listening to "secular" music from a very young age with lyrics such as, "do me baby", as well as putting condoms on bananas and hanging out with gay people pre Will & Grace…these people were going to attend colleges with coed dorms! They had all looked at their vagina's in mirrors and I wouldn't even wear a tampon for fear of what it might rob my husband of on my wedding night….SIDE NOTE: another major adolescent fear…farting on my wedding night. I quickly learned to avoid any extracurricular activity which required a physical exam, because I knew a doctor would want to explore my vagina with a popsicle stick. I knew he would find something horribly wrong with it and I knew my mother would be close by to receive a full report. Either I would be the one person ever that contracted some shameful vagina ailment for telling a lie in 3rd grade or I would have some sort of embarrassing deformity and my mom would surely announce it at family prayer circle and add me to every prayer chain in northern California.
One day when I was 15 I began feeling a horrible pain in my side…it quickly grew more and more intense until every time I took a step it felt as if I was being stabbed with a tiny knife in my lower abdomen. My mom rushed me to the ER assuming it was my appendix. The doctor who treated me looked like less of a doctor and more like a grandpa…make that a great grandpa. As he poked around at my belly I quickly assessed that he was not quite living based on the frigid temperature of his fingers and he quickly assessed that I did not have an appendicitis. Without any warning he announced to my mother, "I need to do a pelvic exam" and my mom agreed. Whaaaaa-wait….pelvic? Like pelvis? As in the same body part that gave Elvis a sexually charged seedy reputation? It was clear to my mother that I was terrified. As I stepped behind the curtain to drop my pants in private maintaining a false modesty as if he wasn't about to join me with that popsicle stick, my mother began to comfort me in, um, "her way". I wasn't just raised in the church, I was raised in the charismatic-pentacostal-ish church…my mom's way of comforting me wasn't to actually comfort me, but to go to the Holy Spirit on my behalf in her "prayer language". Other moms might offer practical non supernatural advice while holding their child's hand…my mom however would speak in tongues and authoritatively cast out demonic spirits in situations that were already stressful, scary and awkward in their own right. I soon learned that Doctor Father Time opted to use his frigid zombie fingers instead of the popsicle stick which no longer seemed so scary. My mother was now thanking God for the peace filling the exam room, while I innately clenched every muscle in my Holy of Hollies. After several stern requests from Doctor Crypt Keeper to relax, he finally gave up and opted for the back door…In the last 16 years since I had this exam I have been plenty educated and I still don't know how he found what he found using that route. Suddenly the feeling that I was about to poop in front of another human being while my mom sang the second verse of Then Sings My Soul ended and as fast as I heard the latex glove snap off of his frozen toquito-esque fingers, he announced, "she has a large cyst on her ovary". He suggested that I take birth control pills to prevent any future cysts all together, but in my world it was a fact that the instant I popped the first baby-squelching pill my eternal life would certainly hang in the balance as I stumbled down a road of heavy petting with Johnny Football Player. Instead I began an ineffective regime of missing school once a month and taking obscene amounts of Ibuprofen. In the years to come I silently coped with 20 day long periods and unbearable menstrual cramps fearful of what I believed would be an embarrassing diagnosis that didn't have a cure anyway.
In an overdramatic effort to run away from home I got married at age 19. A month before my wedding I got a prescription for Birth Control Pills…I certainly flashed my engagement ring about as if it were my permission slip to have them. Even after all that I had gone through the pill was not to treat the cysts, but was an actual form of birth control…the thought of being a mother was as scary as learning to read…it felt as if all the other married girls wanted it, were capable and would succeed and I just knew when it came to being a good mom…I would be the exception. The pills made me extremely nauseous and added to my already rapid weight gain, which was becoming a problem for the first time in my life…I gained 60 lbs within the first 6 months of my marriage and 30 more by my 21st birthday. I tried 3 different types of pills and gave up…little did I know at that point there was no need to control birth…I was infertile. After my first attempt with the pill, in 7 years of marriage we didn't use any form of birth control and I never got pregnant.
The OBGYN appointments became less scary as they became more frequent. It is amazing that through countless examinations, paps and cyst sonograms it was 10 years before I heard terms like "polycystic ovarian syndrome" and "insulin resistance"…I was told cysts were common and that I needed to cut back on coffee and chocolate and that my uncontrollable weight was due to lack of self discipline….turns out it wasn't that simple…turns out I was the exception.
Friday, August 27, 2010
The Chronicles of Schmarnia: My Imaginary Closet
"Um, I have cellulite and stretch marks and that pretty much overrides being tiny…even when I somehow overcome the evil forces of PCOS and lose all the weight…I am still not going to prance around in a bikini. Stretch marks are like nipples…they are private parts, I don't plan on sharing them with the world and I don't hold with high regard a gal who does. The majority of my irreversible damage exists between my knees and hips so I need to plan for fashion that will camo this danger zone."
Under Imaginary Circumstances Here is the Reality Check
I have said goodbye to white flour and sugar.
I am not only restricting my daily calorie intake, but I am choosing healthy foods.
I am limiting my carb intake and choosing only complex low glycemic index carbs.
I am doing some sort of cardio activity for at least 60 minutes everyday.
I have started taking Ocella (Yaz generic) birth control to regulate periods and control cysts.
When you have PCOS your goal can't be a number on the scale, because it's different for us…we can't just decide to follow the standard rules of weight loss and know there will be a payoff. There is no formula and there is no even trade. After you've exhausted all internet searches for the magic weight loss spell or how to sell your chubby soul to the perfect hormone balancing low glycemic devil...after you've weeded through every message board and forum full whiny giver-uppers...you either give up or you face reality. When you have PCOS your goal is to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your goal is to not give up even though doing all the "right" things have caused you to gain 10 lbs in less than one week rather than lose. When you have PCOS you have to work twice as hard, for twice as long, for half the results…if your lucky.
So let's just say after a year of following my plan I am in the best shape possible…let's say I have miraculously lost 59lbs…even at 124lbs (the very lowest weight considered healthy for my height on the cruel BMI chart) there will still be irreversible damage on my body that I'll want to hide. All of you chubby wubbies who wear booty shorts and tight tank tops no matter your weight and believe bebe should have plus sizes…those of you who do not inspect how your backside looks before leaving your house…please go embrace your bodies somewhere else…I saw some rainbow and kitten themed background templates that will be perfect for your blog.
I got my first cyst when I was 15, but my weight didn't get out of control until after I graduated high school…you know how it's said that God won't give your more than you can handle? So true…I could not have handled being fat in high school. In high school my weight fluctuated from 113-127lbs. I remember specifically, because like many girls that age I was obsessed. Even at a tiny size I still hid plenty about my body. I am 5'6" which is about as average as you can get for a women, but I had reached that height by the age 11…intense growth spurts left my hips and thighs covered in stretch marks then at about age 14 cellulite developed in the area spanning my knees to my hips…it didn't matter that I was 113 lbs and it didn't matter what exercises I tried…I blame the chubby pale cellulite ridden women who came before me…bad genes I guess. I never look back and think, "gee I'll never be that tiny again, if only I embraced my flaws and wore a bikini". Um, I have cellulite and stretch marks and that pretty much overrides being tiny…even when I somehow overcome the evil forces of PCOS and lose all the weight…I am still not going to prance around in a bikini. Stretch marks are like nipples…they are private parts, I don't plan on sharing them with the world and I don't hold with high regard a gal who does. The majority of my irreversible damage exists between my knees and hips so I need to plan for fashion that will camo this danger zone. I also have a scary varicose vein on my calf which I really don't want to share…I think there are some extremely painful treatments I can start saving up for to combat that sucker.
The Chronicles of Schmarnia: My Imaginary Closet
"Um, I have cellulite and stretch marks and that pretty much overrides being tiny…even when I somehow overcome the evil forces of PCOS and lose all the weight…I am still not going to prance around in a bikini. Stretch marks are like nipples…they are private parts, I don't plan on sharing them with the world and I don't hold with high regard a gal who does. The majority of my irreversible damage exists between my knees and hips so I need to plan for fashion that will camo this danger zone."
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The stats…AKA the cold hard truth…
Age 31
Height 5'6"
Starting Weight 183 lbs
What the BMI chart has the nerve to say about me today 29.5=Obese
Today was my first day giving up flour and sugar...Success! Right now pausing is the key...if I can stop and think a moment then I can stop all together. The most I have ever weighed is 209lbs...I am 26 lbs away from that right now...thanks to PCOS I can put on 26 lbs in 2 months...I do not ever want to see 184 on the scale again, let alone 209. This thought process kept me on track today.
Well That's a Real Beach...
Why the sudden need to share my feelings and change my body? The worst possible thing that could happen to someone whose body immediately turns corn on the cob and potatoes (foods one might naively mistake for nutritious vegetables) into pale lumpy fat, has happened…we moved to a beach house. We are a 20 second walk from a beautiful white sand beach on the Atlantic in Florida.
I am originally from California and though it gets hot in California, nobody can afford to live near the beach so I was never forced to wear a waterproof bra and panties in public next to tanner skinnier people. Besides, I lived in Northern California where beach activities included wetsuits, bon fires and your boyfriend's sweater…In Florida you always feel like you are trapped in the armpit of an obese woman who suffers from PCOS (ironically) and the water feels like a luke warm bathtub…there is absolutely no relief from the heat! Did I mention we moved to the shark attack capital of the world…not cool when you get your period every 9 days…Jaws is going to mistake me for a medium rare injured seal. Other side effects of living at the beach in Florida not associated with PCOS include sweaty tomato face instantly upon stepping outdoors along with fluffy frizzy hair resembling most male heartthrobs and porn stars alike from the 1970's. I am not so much fair complected as I am completely see through…my vascular system appears to be a road map running through my entire body. Thanks to the ridiculous amounts of testosterone I have, caused by PCOS, it doesn't matter how often I shave you can see my hair beneath my see through skin waiting to pop out…have you ever seen a freshly plucked chicken? This is what my legs look like. To survive in this climate I need to lose 50+ lbs and possibly invent a new hair product, because the one I need doesn't exist.
Why the hell did I move here? Look, I wanted to move to Boise or Portland…the Pacific Northwest is heaven…if teenage vampires are happy there, my pale butt is sure to be too. The thought of wearing sweaters and jeans the majority of the year sounds glorious…I adore outdoor exercise and there is nothing better than the dry mild climate and walking trails of Boise, Idaho. Boise is where I originally lost the 50lbs I boast of and I just know if I could return it would happen again. My husband however thinks horrid heat actually feels refreshing and anything below 85 makes him completely emo, like hide the sharp objects emo. It is also his dream to be able to surf everyday and an affordable solution to his dream presented itself…I love him, so there you go.
Not only did I move to the beach I pretended that my dreams were coming true as well. The first time we stood here on the white sand and stared at the crystal clear water I passed off the huge beads of sweat that rolled down my cheeks as tears of joy. As my husband explored our new territory in his wardrobe primarily consisting of shorts, I followed along in the only pair of pants that currently fit me…dark indigo jeans. A girl in my situation might jump at the chance to go shopping, but I just prayed he wouldn't notice that I was showing less skin than an Amish Eskimo in 90 degrees and 100 percent humidity…I don't want to wear clothes that are inappropriate for my body type simply because they are weather appropriate and I certainly don't want to argue with my husband about it…he doesn't understand. As we scouted the best surf spots I was noticing who my husband would soon be spending his days with as I spent mine in Air Conditioning on the computer sharing my damn "journey" with you…College Girls with bikini wedgies…I realized if your butt is flawless enough, your wedgies needn't be picked for they are hot. These girls weren't scared of tattoos or surfing (as I currently fear both, completely losing major points with my man). As we acquainted ourselves with our new life, I swallowed what I wanted to say and occasionally would squeeze his hand or hug his waist and say, "wow, I can't believe this is really happening". Which was technically the truth though my cheerful tone was lying. My weight has gotten in the way of too many of my dreams, I'm not going to do that to him.
Don't get me wrong I am not a complete martyr…I also know better than to debate this man while his dream is within grasp. My hubby is um, unpredictably passionate…he has a lot more moods (very moody-moods) than the average dude…When he is mad or sad he doesn't just wear his feelings on his sleeves, he gets a good smathering all over your shirt too. I get this amazing feeling from him though, like I am sharing my life with someone exceptional...a slightly unbalanced creative genius that won't be stifled. It's like I am raising Children with a young Tim Burton/Bob Dylan/Bill Murray Hybrid...it is insane and at times feels like too much to handle, but I am almost in awe and grateful that I was picked for this...a big part of my love is rooted in an intense desire to see what the hell will happen next! He is definitely the squeakier wheel of the relationship and there is literally no rest in our home unless he gets the oil. He is totally unaffected by my womanly wiles, tears don't strike a chord with him…they pluck a nerve and he gets angry. If I shared all the reasons I didn't want the same thing, we'd still be living at the beach, but instead of simply silently suffering, I'd be reminded daily of how I have stolen his joy and made him feel guilty…he's used the "stealing his joy/guilty" line over me not wanting him to spend money on a video game…actually I didn't say that he couldn't, I just played devil's advocate when he asked for my honest opinion…I can't imagine the fit he'd throw if I admitted I hate the heat and don't plan on wearing a pair of shorts let alone a bathing suit anytime soon. The thing is, he uses many of the same tactics I've used in past relationships to get my way…he is full of manipulations typically used by the gentler sex, yet he's a little louder, a little bit angry and a lot more stubborn than I ever was, so he wins. I know it seems like a lot of control to give someone, but I've learned a lot from our relationship…I am actually stronger which on the surface may seem like a contradiction…but let me tell you, it takes a lot more strength to relinquish control and to quietly concede. I've also come to realize that always getting my way left me unsatisfied. Sure I wish there was more balance and that I could find compassion and have my tears kissed away and be told things like, "it's not fair, you do work harder than your skinny friends." Those things just feel good in the moment…like chocolate cake…my excuses aren't tolerated here, so I am only left with a choice.
I am originally from California and though it gets hot in California, nobody can afford to live near the beach so I was never forced to wear a waterproof bra and panties in public next to tanner skinnier people. Besides, I lived in Northern California where beach activities included wetsuits, bon fires and your boyfriend's sweater…In Florida you always feel like you are trapped in the armpit of an obese woman who suffers from PCOS (ironically) and the water feels like a luke warm bathtub…there is absolutely no relief from the heat! Did I mention we moved to the shark attack capital of the world…not cool when you get your period every 9 days…Jaws is going to mistake me for a medium rare injured seal. Other side effects of living at the beach in Florida not associated with PCOS include sweaty tomato face instantly upon stepping outdoors along with fluffy frizzy hair resembling most male heartthrobs and porn stars alike from the 1970's. I am not so much fair complected as I am completely see through…my vascular system appears to be a road map running through my entire body. Thanks to the ridiculous amounts of testosterone I have, caused by PCOS, it doesn't matter how often I shave you can see my hair beneath my see through skin waiting to pop out…have you ever seen a freshly plucked chicken? This is what my legs look like. To survive in this climate I need to lose 50+ lbs and possibly invent a new hair product, because the one I need doesn't exist.
Why the hell did I move here? Look, I wanted to move to Boise or Portland…the Pacific Northwest is heaven…if teenage vampires are happy there, my pale butt is sure to be too. The thought of wearing sweaters and jeans the majority of the year sounds glorious…I adore outdoor exercise and there is nothing better than the dry mild climate and walking trails of Boise, Idaho. Boise is where I originally lost the 50lbs I boast of and I just know if I could return it would happen again. My husband however thinks horrid heat actually feels refreshing and anything below 85 makes him completely emo, like hide the sharp objects emo. It is also his dream to be able to surf everyday and an affordable solution to his dream presented itself…I love him, so there you go.
Not only did I move to the beach I pretended that my dreams were coming true as well. The first time we stood here on the white sand and stared at the crystal clear water I passed off the huge beads of sweat that rolled down my cheeks as tears of joy. As my husband explored our new territory in his wardrobe primarily consisting of shorts, I followed along in the only pair of pants that currently fit me…dark indigo jeans. A girl in my situation might jump at the chance to go shopping, but I just prayed he wouldn't notice that I was showing less skin than an Amish Eskimo in 90 degrees and 100 percent humidity…I don't want to wear clothes that are inappropriate for my body type simply because they are weather appropriate and I certainly don't want to argue with my husband about it…he doesn't understand. As we scouted the best surf spots I was noticing who my husband would soon be spending his days with as I spent mine in Air Conditioning on the computer sharing my damn "journey" with you…College Girls with bikini wedgies…I realized if your butt is flawless enough, your wedgies needn't be picked for they are hot. These girls weren't scared of tattoos or surfing (as I currently fear both, completely losing major points with my man). As we acquainted ourselves with our new life, I swallowed what I wanted to say and occasionally would squeeze his hand or hug his waist and say, "wow, I can't believe this is really happening". Which was technically the truth though my cheerful tone was lying. My weight has gotten in the way of too many of my dreams, I'm not going to do that to him.
Don't get me wrong I am not a complete martyr…I also know better than to debate this man while his dream is within grasp. My hubby is um, unpredictably passionate…he has a lot more moods (very moody-moods) than the average dude…When he is mad or sad he doesn't just wear his feelings on his sleeves, he gets a good smathering all over your shirt too. I get this amazing feeling from him though, like I am sharing my life with someone exceptional...a slightly unbalanced creative genius that won't be stifled. It's like I am raising Children with a young Tim Burton/Bob Dylan/Bill Murray Hybrid...it is insane and at times feels like too much to handle, but I am almost in awe and grateful that I was picked for this...a big part of my love is rooted in an intense desire to see what the hell will happen next! He is definitely the squeakier wheel of the relationship and there is literally no rest in our home unless he gets the oil. He is totally unaffected by my womanly wiles, tears don't strike a chord with him…they pluck a nerve and he gets angry. If I shared all the reasons I didn't want the same thing, we'd still be living at the beach, but instead of simply silently suffering, I'd be reminded daily of how I have stolen his joy and made him feel guilty…he's used the "stealing his joy/guilty" line over me not wanting him to spend money on a video game…actually I didn't say that he couldn't, I just played devil's advocate when he asked for my honest opinion…I can't imagine the fit he'd throw if I admitted I hate the heat and don't plan on wearing a pair of shorts let alone a bathing suit anytime soon. The thing is, he uses many of the same tactics I've used in past relationships to get my way…he is full of manipulations typically used by the gentler sex, yet he's a little louder, a little bit angry and a lot more stubborn than I ever was, so he wins. I know it seems like a lot of control to give someone, but I've learned a lot from our relationship…I am actually stronger which on the surface may seem like a contradiction…but let me tell you, it takes a lot more strength to relinquish control and to quietly concede. I've also come to realize that always getting my way left me unsatisfied. Sure I wish there was more balance and that I could find compassion and have my tears kissed away and be told things like, "it's not fair, you do work harder than your skinny friends." Those things just feel good in the moment…like chocolate cake…my excuses aren't tolerated here, so I am only left with a choice.
Here's the choice…I want to change. My decisions aren't going to be based on what's fair, but based on what is required of me and only me…not the other girls who I believe have it easy, not an ignorant doctor who doesn't realize prescribing weight loss to someone with PCOS is like asking Murphy to poop out a catch 22 and having you swallow it 3 times daily, Not a husband or girlfriend full of unsolicited advice having never walked a day in my shoes. I'll write about it.
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