Checkin’ in, eleven days into the new year, and it’s already hit me full force.
If you read my fitness frenzy post that just went live, you’ll know that I’m starting a workout program called Refine YOU, which is ran by an Indy based fitness trainer (and doctor), so that’s going to be a pretty big adjustment over the next seven weeks.
I just wanted to touch on that upcoming program, again, because the main bulk of this post today is going to be a mental health check that encompasses my weight and weight gain.
If you would have asked me a year ago if I’d be willing to start a nutrition program, I would have screamed “YES, YES PLEASE”. I’ve always been a person who’s wanted someone else to tell them what I needed to do, with the littlest effort possible, and hoped for the biggest rewards. When I wasn’t able to produce consistent results with Pinterest workouts, I turned to Weight Watchers. When Weight Watchers wasn’t providing me with the “easiest diet plan”, I checked out. I’d looked into personal trainers, nutritionists, and online programs, but ultimately decided against it. The costs compared to the amount of time I’d have to put in, wasn’t of interest to me.
Though, through my lack of dieting, my abundance of over-eating, my self diagnosed turned into medically diagnosed anxiety, I learned to love myself. I can remember about seven different posts about “finally loving myself” since 2015 when I started blogging, but my last one (which I think came in June or July of 2018) was when it really stuck. Since July, which was my lowest weight in about two years, I’ve gained 18 pounds. For someone who used to weigh themselves every single day, and punish themselves based on the number, this has been a big step. While I know that eating healthy is important for my body and my future, I also know that this is the only body I get, one I should not spend time punishing for keeping me alive.
With that being said, as summer ended and my anxiety started subsiding through medication, I found this appreciation and beauty for myself. I enjoyed my life, for everything it was, and wasn’t as concerned with if the tag on the back of my sweatshirt said medium or large. As the year came to a close, and I was seeing my weight gain on my face, my pants, and my fatigue, I realized that I probably needed to make a change.
This change was not a punishment. This is the first time I can ever say that. I am not trying to lose weight, to punish myself for gaining it. I’ve spent six years using workouts and weight loss as a means to an end, and a punishment for living my life.
In the last six to seven months, this time where I have fully embraced and loved who I’ve become, there have been so many changes in my life.
I thrive at work. Even though, I still spend time crying in my boss’ office somedays, and even though I still don’t get along with everyone all the time, it’s a place that I absolutely love to go every. single. day. I used to dread it. Waking up was painful, because there was so much that could go wrong over the course of eight hours, and I really, truly, deeply didn’t want to have to deal with it. Now, when things go wrong, I roll with the punches. I also have an amazing team that’s got my back, no matter what tries to bring us down. It just seems like that building is full of families who love and staff who love back. It’s not like any child care facility I’ve ever worked at before.
Another change I’ve noticed is within my relationship. I used to panic when Dylan would work an event for work. The constant fear of a prettier girl, who he may talk to, changing his ideals of love, was always in the back of my head. I didn’t like him double tapping on any woman’s Instagram pictures. I guilted him if he said he was coming home at seven, and it was seven fifteen. I just don’t care anymore. Not about him, but about everyone else. If Dylan wants to do cocaine off of a strippers booty cheeks, well then happy Friday. It’s just not worth the constant energy to panic over things that really just don’t matter. The fact that I spent years worrying about Dylan’s Instagram likes is insane to me. Shit. 50% of females have better bodies than me, and my body dysmorphia doesn’t even let me know what I really look like, so double tap to your hearts content, like this is who I am. He went to New Orleans last night. Something that would cause the craziest amount of concern for me. Which, in May, when he went to Las Vegas, did cause concern. I don’t need to stress over things like that, because I only get to be me for the rest of my life, and I’m only hurting myself and the people around me. Like what’s the point of starting a fight over something that really isn’t anything at all? Hating someone isn’t going to make them uglier, make them delete their Instagram pictures, or make them go away. It just creates negativity inside myself. What a waste of the last three years, holy shit, this is eye opening.
I post all the time about money. Here’s the real deal: I’m broke. My savings account builds and empties often, and these are things that millennials like to pretend don’t exist. In reality, there are so many of us who are really living paycheck to paycheck, unable to buy a house, have children, vacation often, or pay off their school loans. If we just pretend we’re okay, then we’re really fine, right? I spend money, and a lot of it. I’ve finally decided that it’s just money. I pay my bills, I buy clothes when I want them, I go on trips when I want to, and I don’t care at all that I don’t have a house or children. I’m happy that I’m twenty seven and living for myself, and solely myself (and Dylan and the dogs of course). I used to be abundantly jealous of the married couples that were married and had children withing twelve months. Now, I want nothing to do with it. Living for myself has been such a release, and part of the release is being broke, it honestly is. Spending my money and enjoying my life has become so important. If I die tomorrow, I got to see the world, own the things I loved, and do the things Dylan and I never knew we would. That doesn’t mean I never want to have children, it just means that right now, I’m excited to see New York again in April and not stress over any type of care except for my fur children.
Other than that, I’m just happier in general. Again, the Lexapro is such a solid roadblock to the unhappiness that loved to loom in my head. I just feel that this year, things that are supposed to happen, will. Like, really will. Things that have always been in my head, on my heart, or in signs from my Grandma will come to fruition this year. I’m just finally ready to love myself, love my body, love my strength, and make changes. This really feels like it’s going to be my year, and I mean it.
This is an after thought, this is being typed after I read this whole post back to myself.
I feel like this post wasn’t written by me.
I’ve lived in a head space of anxiety and negativity for so long, that I didn’t ever think I’d escape it. Tonight, as I wrote this, I just typed. I let whatever thoughts were in my head, come out in my work, and then I left them. That’s why so much of this post seems like a ramble, but it’s such an important ramble. This post is filled with real words, from my heart. It’s filled with a lot of growth. There are so many of you who struggle alongside of me with anxiety, weight, relationship problems, etc. Please, know that you aren’t alone, I say it all the time and I mean it. This is the year that we all find the things we’ve been hoping will come. I’m figuring it out, will you join me?