10/26/09 · Filed in Personal
The past few weeks have been a nightmare for me. Stressful and emotionally draining. Only today have I found some much needed relief.
The thing is, I do it to myself. On October 16th, I was supposed to get my period. When I didn’t, my brain immediately went into ‘OMG I AM SO PREGNANT, NOOOO’ mode. I worried, I fretted, I went through a bout of depression (if I can call it that…I know the clinically depressed don’t really appreciate people throwing that word around). Days went by and not even a single cramp or any semblance of sensation in my female plumbing. I’ve NEVER been more than 3 or 4 days late, and I was confused. I began playing the ‘what if’ scenarios over and over in my head, even though I didn’t want to. Whenever I tried to relax, take a deep breath, and have fun, my worries would rear their ugly head at that precise moment.
I know, I know, many think that it’s not a big deal. And even more would probably give up their left ovary to have a ‘fear’ of being pregnant. But it’s not something that I take very lightly. I’ve been through the struggles and trying times of giving birth and raising one child already. Yes, I have a happy marriage and a happy family, but I haven’t yet reached a point where I’m ready to do it all over again with a new baby. Maybe someday. But not now. And we take precautions to avoid it. THAT’S why I practically lost my shit, I believe.
Anyway, by the time the 23rd rolled around, I was at the end of my rope. Of course, hindsight is always 20/20, but it felt like I’d already been waiting and wondering for a hundred years. I worried and fretted and overreacted so badly by this point that I couldn’t concentrate or get any enjoyment out of anything. I dragged myself into work, but didn’t put forth any effort because MY CRAZY BRAIN WOULD NOT ALLOW IT. I hate waiting. I hate not knowing. I HATED my body for what it was doing to me emotionally.
Two negative pregnancy tests and a 10 day delayed period later, I think I can finally put my mind at ease and take comfort in the fact that I’m NOT pregnant. I don’t know what happened down there this past month to make things get all wacky, but I can only hope that if it ever happens again, I’ll be more prepared to deal with it…constructively.
09/23/09 · Filed in Personal
If anyone were to look at me now, it would probably be pretty hard for them to believe that I used to be “in shape” and athletic. Throughout my entire childhood, in fact. Up until my pregnancy, I could run a mile in about seven minutes, attended dance practice 3-4 times a week, not to mention doing other childhood activities like hiking through the woods and jumping on trampolines (man, how awesome were those things?!)
Ever since my pregnancy, I’ve been heavy. Or obese, according to the health nazi BMI calculating websites sprinkled all over the web (the heaviest I’ve ever been is 190 pounds). Now, I’m not blaming my son for making me fat, like so many other fat hens out there do. That would be inane and insensitive on so many levels. It was my own fault! I quit doing everything all at once, and let’s just say my hesitations about eating ice cream first thing in the morning temporarily went out the window. I’m happy to be able to say that things are waaaay better now than they were then. One excuse led to other excuses, and physical activity was put on the back burner. I realize in this health conscious world that we live in, I should have probably been crucified at least 3 years ago for even daring to show my hideous bloated face in public (Husband, fetch me my paper bag, time to roll down to the store for more doughnuts and carbonated beverages!). Thankfully, I’m still kickin’.
Okay, so I kinda went off on a tangent. To the point of this post already: I’ve decided to start exercising again. After falling off the horse so many times before, I’m surprised Old Bessy will even give me another chance. This isn’t some hope inspiring pep speech that I’m trying to give myself where I lament over old lost causes and wallow in self pity. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m celebrating my efforts. Hey, what’s done is done, right? I gained weight. I’m heavy. I’m fat. I lost weight. I gained weight again. I have dealt, and continue to deal with the occasional pangs of discontentment when I look in a fully body mirror. I get it. Like so many other people. All you can do is learn from mistakes, and try to change courses in the present.
I walk around now at a hefty 180 pounds (for my height, that is). I’m starting small. Small changes for me lead to big victories. I’m not the kind of person that can change her whole way of life in one fell swoop and be successful at it. That’s one mistake that I’ve learned from. So for now, I’m running. Not far, just down the road and back. I have Josh at my side, telling me I’m beautiful regardless, and that helps. Actually, I have Josh in my front…waaaay in the front! He leaves me and the dogs in the dust! But he’s still there for me, needless to say.
We’ve calculated that it’s about a mile. I run when I feel like running, and I walk when I feel like walking. It’s the journey that matters, and what we learn from it in the process. By looking at this ‘weight loss journey’ as just that, and not some instantaneous gratification quest, I feel that any weight I may lose from this will be worth my while. This is just my first building block, and I’m looking forward to building on it.
I blog about my daily adventures, crafting (knit/crochet), art, photography, & more. I'm sometimes funny, sometimes somber, sometimes neither, but always myself. 
