Someone told me a long time ago, that before you can fix your outside, you have to heal your inside. I of course scoffed, because I liked to pretend that there were no flaws in my insides. High-functioning anxiety ridden woman, who looked down at people who let their emotions mire them. Kind right? I’m not proud. But I also forgive myself because I know that objectifying people who succumb to the weight of their trauma’s was another, very unkind way, that I made sure these legs kept walking.
The mature me knows that people cope with different stuff, in different ways, at different speeds and with different outcomes. Not everyone tries what I define to be “their best”, but then, isn’t it quite arrogant of me to sit there, and think I’m capable of defining what the “best effort” is for someone else? I’m aware of these bad habits of mine. My inner dialogue works for me (although also not kind) by flaying me into action and performance. My inner dialogue can make other people curl up in a corner and never want to speak to me again. I know this, because it’s happened with a couple friendships. My advice is honest, direct, but not always nurturing.
I also realize from a lot of time reading and picking it apart, that some people are driven by their inner dialogue. It does work for me, but I’ve had to learn to train it a little too, so that it motivates me, instead of picking me to pieces on the inside. My circle of accountability is getting smaller as I get older. I’m accountable for me. My circle of influence allows me to contribute positively to outcomes for my step-children, and my husband, and closest friends and family. (That’s when you are something of a pillar or a helpful presence in someone’s life, and you matter). My circle of concern, the biggest and most distant circle from my core, are things that do not impact my day-to-day, but things I am still very passionate about. The environment, child welfare, animals, GMO’s, food and water quality, Donald Trump… and Hilary (damn you Anonymous).
I’m clear about the energy each one of these circles gets from my life.
Addictions and Progressions
I got addicted to the idea of making extra money, when my day job wasn’t quite enough to cover the bills, and pay off my post-divorce revolving debt. So I poured myself into learning how to write as a subcontractor. I took courses on content writing, ate webinars like they were chocolate weekly, talked to mentors and marketing executives, and figured it out. My goal to “pay my bills” full time as a marketing professional and writer didn’t magically “come true” like a dream that just hovers there until the Universe decides to bestow it. I wrangled that outcome by writing articles for $2.50 per 500 words on hemorrhoid cream. Wish I was joking…
And then after years of working on it DAILY, there I was. For the record, I still learn on a weekly basis, which is part of the reason why I love my profession so much.
Then I got addicted to the idea of getting married again. Arguably, that started before the business. I was determined to get it “right” the second time. And I tackled it like it was a project of sorts. I wrote about my “ideal guy”, and that concept changed about forty times, as I waded into the wild blue yonder of midlife dating. Did I ace it? Hell no. I look back at my dating career in my 30’s as constantly handling live grenades. It was a fun experimental phase for me though. I thought my heart was broken. It wasn’t. I thought that I was broken from the effort, but I wasn’t. I kept at it until some arrogant Texan tracked me down at a poetry read in Second Life.
Me: “Don’t hit me up with your cowboy-esque charms. There is no point spending time together. What am I going to do, move to Texas some day? Please…”
Famous last words, right? *chuckle* And with him came another missing piece that mattered greatly to me; I got to become a step-mommy to identical twin boys.
Disliking What I Saw (Because Pictures at Any Angle Don’t Lie)
This weekend we spent some good time together as a family. On Saturday we took the kids to a public pool. On Sunday, we visited a pumpkin patch (our now annual tradition) for a hay ride, 2 x large pumpkins (which they almost dropped), and sling-shot pumpkin chunking. This year the farm added three wood cutout targets around the pond; Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton and Justin Bieber. (No comment).
Some of the pictures were not flattering. I like to pose myself at my best side, and am capable of taking a pretty decent picture, but shot sideways by my friend Sonja… I didn’t like what I saw. In fact, I was very upset with what I saw. I am the most reluctant “big girl” you have ever met. My legs are actually really nice and muscular with no jiggle all the way up. My backside too. Arms, from wrist to almost armpits are defined.
But my chins are an issue. I can’t see the face I see in my head in that picture. And my chest (while it’s always been large) just makes me look bigger on top. And then there is this *squeezes tummy*. This thing I carry around which makes no sense to me. I mean, I can figure out how it got there, but I know it’s not needed.
My blogging to date has been about rehashing trauma over and over and over again. I’m sorry for the repetition, but as a healing tool, my personal blog has helped me heal and transition through so much of it. I am a lighter person, now that I don’t carry around stuff that never belonged to me in the first place.
This blog is about to pivot to the next phase of my midlife overhaul. Business? Check! Husband and kids? Check! House purchased? Check! Zero debt? Check! Quit smoking after smoking a year? CHECK!!!!! And that is freaking awesome and worth every night I’ve spent working double shifts, eating lots of carrots and writing about hemorrhoid cream. No regrets.
But as a Diabetic, 43 year old and someone who has spent her whole life overweight, I want to be fit now. The next gift I give myself is physical wellness. Endurance. Strength. I want to be the hottie on the outside that matches the hottie I am on the inside. I want to be proud of my body. I want to see what happens when I turn my high-powered, possessive, obsessive focus on the gym and what goes into my mouth.
So this morning, my fancy scale came back out from under the bathroom. And I added a new category to my blog called “Weight Loss Adventure”. This blog is about “coming out” to be the person I want to be, and to have the life I want to have, after starting all over again at 34. I’ve transitioned a lot in nine years. And fitness, weight loss and health are my new (and lasting) Moby.
Blogging is a magical force in my life. Whatever I blog, love, relationships, business, forgiveness… it comes to pass. And so this blog is about to take a healthy u-turn as I focus on this very important aspect of my life. Something I am doing for myself. And I’ve run out of excuses or major life goals that have delayed this. The time is right for me to tackle the weight for good.
So here is where we start. When I drop fifty pounds, I get an entire new wardrobe and expensive hair extensions. (It’s always got to be a bet with me). And if you want to join me on this fitness and weight loss journey, I would love you to share your comments (or your blog) with me.