The Pursuit of Happiness

I've never really been a happy person. There were days when I can honestly say I was happy (when my son was born leads the pack), but for the most part, I've been a relatively grouchy individual. Negative. Sarcastic. Gloomy some might say.

I was once bound by so many chains. More than I care to count, really. My baggage was large and heavy, and it affected everyone around me. My house became a disaster area, full of clutter and dirt. My office was a misery – and getting up for work every morning a struggle. My son was unhappy and acting out at school, and my father and I barely talked.

My life was a waste of time. My gloom showed in pounds of fat.

But here is what I've come to realize:  If we hug all of the world’s negativity to our chests, we have no room for joy. If we bury our heads in the ground like a cowardly ostrich, we’ll never see the sun. If we let grudges and sadness overwhelm us, we’ll never be able to come up for air. Depression, unhappiness, stress – these are all chains to ground us, hold us down, and keep us from our goals and dreams.

I will longer let negativity, unhappiness, spinelessness, and stress rule my life.

I will ride like the wind on my bike.

I will breathe in the fresh air and soak up the sunshine.

I will dance in the rain.

I will cultivate deeper relationships with people I care about.

I will be kind to all people no matter what the circumstance.

I will finally live my life, not let it live me.

I will do all this, and more, while embracing a healthier lifestyle and loving myself. I think I deserve this life. I hope I can prove it.

My Name Is Erin, and I'm a Food Addict

I have fortunately never been addicted to drugs or alcohol. Maybe I tried a little pot in high school, and had some very blurry nights in my Roaring 20’s, but I’ve never felt compelled to drink or smoke. I’ve never tried any heavy drugs. I was a smoker for several years, but kicked that “habit” by myself.  In fact, if someone told me today that I HAD to give up craft beer or a glass of wine before bed, I really think I could do it quite easily. I wouldn’t like it, but I could do it.

My addiction is food.

In the past, when the going got rough, I turned to food. I’m sure you remember those gloriously flattering posts about me stuffing my face when I was sad, when I was happy, and let’s be honest, when I was feeling just normal. Food was my go-to drug to calm the growing depression inside me – and I was (and am) addicted.

I had already started eating for comfort when I was in my early 20’s. I suffered a devastating break-up, was living alone, hated my job, and was really in a bad place. Late night episodes of carb loading were the norm, and I always felt just a little dirty afterward. When I got divorced, things got just a little worse. I was a single mother, home owner, and sole supporter, and all of a sudden had to do everything for and by myself and my kid.

Then my mom died, and I truly and completely fell under the spell of food.

I ate ALL THE TIME. Pasta, fast food, whole pints of ice cream… and I ate alone, so no one would know. I have gained 100 lbs since my divorce, most of it over the last five years. My addiction is deep, and woven into the very fabric of my life. Because of my addiction, and my weight gain, I had successfully convinced myself that I was unworthy of love (have another chocolate bar), that I would remain alone for the duration of my life (Sausage McMuffin and large Coke), and that I would never achieve happiness (full bowl of pasta). It was OK – I felt like I didn’t deserve to be happy anyway (late night pizza).

Not anymore.

I can happily say that I successfully navigated a wonderfully thrilling and terribly sad weekend without indulging even one time. I ate for fuel, and not for comfort. I ate for enjoyment, and tasted some really nice things, but didn’t overdo it.  I took a major step in breaking my cycle of addiction, and I couldn’t be more pleased.  I don’t have a monkey on my back – it’s a donut as big as my head. And it’s time to throw it off.

I think I’m on the road to becoming addicted to being HAPPY and HEALTHY. I’m no longer interested in being alone, or going another eight (gulp) years without someone in my life. I want to become addicted to love, and sharing my time, not sharing a cinnamon roll. I want to spend as much time as I can with my friends – not eating out, but walking, biking, hiking, and talking. I want to spend QUALITY time with my son, exploring, boating, and running.

I want to become addicted to living. I think I’m on my way.

Adventures in PiYo

I’m sure many of you know my secret – I’m not very brave, but I talk and act a good game. Sometimes this is good; my false bravado pushes me outside of my comfy little box so that I try new things or have great new experiences. Other times, not so good. There have been times when my mouth is writing checks that my body can’t cash.

That’s why it’s always good to know your limitations; to know what you realistically can (and can’t) do. In the past I’ve heard  myself saying, “Oh yeah, I’ll do that Mud Run”, or “I’ll get those rollerblades – it’ll be fun.” Guess what? I should have realized my limitations and SHUT MY MOUTH. Like saying to Jameson last night, “I might even RUN the mile with you at Summerfest.” WTF, Erin. Shut up!

I am in NO WAY implying that the Mud Run wasn’t a huge blast (when it was over), or that I’m not looking forward to getting stronger and more agile so I can make those rollerblades my bitch. But that’s my point exactly – while my mind is strong, my body is still weak. While I may want to do all the great things I commit to (and visualize myself doing), I still need to be mindful of the fact that I just can’t do everything. Yet.

That brings me to Tuesday night, when I attended my first PiYo class, which is a combination of Pilates, Yoga, and stretching. It was hard. I mean, really pretty hard. When people first hear about this class, I think they imagine a serene, relaxing workout, with soft music, easy stretches, and New Age love, light, and flower petals. Well, in some ways, on point: The teacher is excellent, and really knows her stuff. Her explanations and modifications are really easy to follow, and she speaks in a calming voice. The lights are off, the overhead fans are on, and we work on cushy mats.

Then the planks start. Planks! Yikes. And the bouncing. Oh, the bouncing.

The class was hard. I was sweating my butt off, and sore the following day. I felt awfully BIG and AWKWARD for most of the class. BUT I DID IT. The whole class! And while I didn’t do ALL the moves, because of my body limitations, I did a variation of each one, and participated completely.  You see, it’s OK to modify and adjust during any sort of exercise, as long as you don’t quit. I met my limitations, and adjusted. I listened to my body, and cashed the check, folks.

And did the planks.

My Body Is Revolting

I know what you were thinking when you read that title; and, in truth, my body really is a bit revolting to look at (to me anyway). I’m slightly uncomfortable with the thought of anyone else catching sight of it as well. I can’t remember anyone ever referring to my body as a “wonderland”.

As self-deprecating as you think this post will be; however, it’s not the point I’m trying to make, which is: whenever I start to make healthier choices, my body puts up a fuss. It seems that without the steady stream of junk food, my body revolts. It just doesn’t know what to do with vegetables, fruits, and grains. My veins cry out for sludge in the form of a Sausage McMuffin. My pores yearn for French fries. The very core of my being says, “Hey – where did all the grease and fat go?”

This type of diet change brings with it some… uncomfortable side effects. There’s some gas. A little (a lot) of bloating. Stomach distress is common, and bathroom trips triple. Dead sexy, I know. Often, at the end of a long day, I feel like my body is, well, flipping me off.

In truth, it’s very simple. My body is as selfish as I am. It wants pizza, pasta, and ice cream by the boat load, just like I want all the good things in life. When faced with healthy eating choices, this vessel of mine turns up its nose in disgust. But another truth of the matter is (and listen close, my revolting body) that THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

As a lot of us know, there is a period of transition. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still the same clean, sweet smelling, peach of a girl I always was, but I might have to excuse myself just a few more times. Soon my body will accept only the occasional treat, and start to view a ripe, juicy apple as a great alternative to Snickers.

THIS TOO SHALL PASS. I hope. 

Mind. Blown.

“The line between failure and success is so fine that we scarcely know when we pass it – it’s so fine that we are often on the line and we do not know it. How many times have we thrown up our hands at a time when with a little more effort, a little more patience, we would have achieved success?” - Elbert Hubbard

A friend posted this quotation earlier today, and I think it’s so fitting for this journey that most of us are on. We walk such a fine line every day, making decisions that are seemingly harmless, but could potentially have such an impact on our success (or failure). And what is a decision, anyway?  Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary describes it as follows:

De-ci-sion           noun \du-‘si-zhen\

: a choice that you make about something after thinking about it: the result of deciding.

: the ability to make choices quickly and confidently.

So how do we go about make a decision, particularly one that is informed and comes from a firm foundation of knowledge and experience? How do I know what food to choose if I've not done all my research into the subject? How do I know what the best, most effective exercise is for me without exploring all my options? Just saying something is “healthy” doesn't make it so.

So I’ll read.

I’ll explore.

I’ll open my mind.

I’ll educate myself on what it means to make a healthy, informed decision. Without the knowledge to make an informed decision, the fine line we are walking between success and failure gets a lot thinner.

I've realized that I need to attack my lifestyle the same way that I do my job – with research, education, and a commitment to excellence. Every other way to effect a change in my life is no longer an option.  

And I’ll share it all with you. 

She's Baaaa-ack!

Hi Folks! It’s been a long time since I’ve written – mostly because my previous weight experiment went dismally, horribly wrong. I was embarrassed and sad. Ashamed. I felt like I had failed myself and all of you who were readers. Typical to form, I sabotaged myself by out-of-control eating, and am now just as heavy as I was before.

You know what’s really great, though? There’s this little thing called GRACE. Through the GRACE of my higher power, I know that I have another chance. I’m not giving up anymore – I’m going to take this second, third, (twentieth) chance and run with it. Hell, it might take me the rest of my life to get this healthy living right – but I’m going to keep trying.

The new goal is simple. JUST TRY. And if I fail again, I’LL TRY AGAIN. You read it here first, folks. The skinny girl inside is BAAAA-ACK… and she’s SCREAMING.

From Skinny to Rhombus

I just heard a comedian say that he has dated all sizes of women – from skinny to rhombus. That struck me as so clever, simply because I myself am shaped like a rhombus. 

 

 

Did you know that I used to be skinny? I weighed 110 lbs. when I graduated from high school. This, my darling friends, is the hardest part about being fat; knowing that I once was the opposite. I could go into ANY store and find clothes to fit me. I dated a very skinny boy once. We used to get bruises on our pelvic bones. Seriously.  I could wrap my hand around my wrist and my fingers would touch. I could climb stairs at will, all without heavy breathing, and could rehearse dance for hours without tire.

Friends once called me “The Body”. When I look at my physical condition NOW, it is next to impossible not to compare it with the beautiful body I had BEFORE.

 I’ve gone from skinny to rhombus.

Which brings me to the point of this post. In the interest of full disclosure, I wanted to let you know that I’ve made an appointment with a therapist. I am incapable of helping myself at this point, and I’m thankful to my sisters who finally pushed me in the right direction. When my sister commented that she “never wanted to come over and see me in bed again in the middle of the day”, I realized I really did have a problem. The problems that I’m having with my mind are directly affecting the problems I have with my body.

It’s time to get my house in order, friends. I’ve not lost more weight because I can hardly get out of bed in the morning, let alone get up to work out. I’ve not lost more weight because I’m not motivated to go to the grocery store, let alone look up recipes. I’ve not lost more weight because I give up on myself again, and again, and again. I am my biggest disappointment.

I want to go from rhombus to skinny.

Or at least smooth out the edges and go from rhombus to heart. Cause my heart and mind is what counts, right?  

 

Yeah, that’s a puppy with a heart. You’re welcome.