New Year. And some brutal honesty.

Warning. This will not be the happiest entry. I'm getting honest and saying things that just a few people know.

New Year's Eve. I have a very strong love-hate relationship with this day. I'm like the rest of the world, ready to say goodbye to the hot mess that was 2020. I'm ready for 2021, for a chance to start over. (Okay, I could "start over" at any point in the year, but the very beginning of a year just seems fit.) I'm cautiously hopeful about 2021. I don't think life will ever return to the "normal" we once knew, but maybe this year things will get a little less strenuous. I pray that they will. 

And I pray that for me, I'm able to finally work past all of the mental roadblocks in my head. That I'm able to stop listening to or at least quieten the voice in my head that tells me I'm not good enough. That nitpicks my body in the mirror when I'm getting dressed and tells me to change my shirt because it makes me look bigger than I am or that tells me I'm huge and that I can't be huge and beautiful. That tells me not to sit around, even when I'm resting because I'm tired/sore/whatever, because I'm going to gain weight. Or that tells me I can't eat the treat I want because of the calories, fat, whatever. That tells me to check how I look in the windows while I'm in the frozen foods aisle at Walmart instead of shopping like a "normal" person. Or that forbids me from going sleeveless in public because of my arms. That tells me I'm annoying the people I try to talk to, tells me to hide the things I enjoy because they're stupid and I'm the only one that enjoys them in my little circle. I could go on and on about the things it says to me. I pray to God that I'm able to stop this voice in my head because it is exhausting and prevents me from enjoying my life. 

So yes, the approaching new year is a good thing. But today, New Year's Eve, is a bittersweet day. Because seven years ago today, December 31, 2013, is the day I lost my mother. I can tell you exactly what I was doing when I found out. I was sitting on the couch, watching the NYE party thing on ABC. Ryan Seacrest was hosting. And all of a sudden I saw my dad's truck headlights in the driveway. I knew right then what had happened. She was gone. And they say time heals all, but there are some things that time doesn't completely heal. This is one of them. And today, for some reason, it's hitting me particularly hard. Maybe it's because this is the year I finally forgave my mother for the way she treated me when I was a teenager. I don't know. But I woke up this morning with a heavy heart. 

I know better days are coming. But today, I'm going to allow myself to feel how I feel and treat myself with kindness and care. My feelings are legitimate, they matter, and I can't keep pushing them aside. 

So, for whoever reads this, I pray that 2021 is better for you in whatever way you need. Because we all need a better year next year.

Perspective

My therapist told me something the other day that really struck me. I've always felt like I have no control over my anxious thoughts. That once they show up, I can't stop them, no matter what I do. Because believe me, I've tried. I'll have a negative thought show up -- this person doesn't like me because they didn't do this when they do it for other people, this person probably thinks this about me, I'm not doing enough, and so on -- and I'll try to fight it with my brain. But when the first time I try doesn't make the negative thought go away, my brain says something like... "Lol, nope, give up now. It isn't going to work." So, of course, I give up. Negative wins because that's easier. 

I've told my therapist this, and she suggested I use affirmations. I laughed at first (thankfully I'm using online therapy so she doesn't know I laughed) because believe me, I've tried affirmations. Repeatedly. Telling myself I'm beautiful, I'm this, I'm that, it all sounds dumb because it's not what I'm used to hearing. The voice in my head... if she belonged to an actual physical person who said these words, she would be considered a bully. A legitimate one. Nobody would like her. Anyway. My therapist then said the thing that struck me. 

The brain can only focus on one thought at a time, and I can choose whether it's posveitive or negative.

Mind. Blown. I've been told that a lot, but I think the way it's been said to me is what's kept me from believing it. Until this. And it's really opened up my eyes to a lot. I'm starting to notice that when I have a bad outlook going in to work that I have more anxiety about how I'm doing. If I have a bad outlook, I see others' actions as something negative involving me. Or when I have a bad outlook, I'm more prone to be in my head during whatever it is I'm doing and less "in the moment". 

And regarding my affirmations not sticking the first time, we do have a "negativity bias". We're more prone to remember negative experiences than positive ones. From what I've read, it was a survival mechanism in our ancestors but... it's not really one we need today. So naturally, it's going to be harder for me to believe affirmations. One, humans are prone to negativity and two, I've been bullying myself all of my adult life. Since at least my substitute teaching days. I'm literally having to rewire my brain, which I'm going to assume is harder for an adult than a child. It's like I'm learning a new skill. When I started playing the clarinet, I wasn't as good at it as I am now. I had to learn the skill. Just like I have to learn the skill of positive thinking. Or at least changing my perspective to something more positive when I notice myself slipping towards the negative. 

I read this article -- and for me to read an ENTIRE article is saying something -- and it really captured what I'm trying to work through as far as my brain goes. If any of you are doing the same thing, maybe it'll help you too. Take in the Good 

I have to remember that self-love and positive thinking don't happen overnight. It takes time, especially when I'm having to relearn things. I need to be gentle with myself. Just like I was when I was learning to play my clarinet. I'm good at that, so maybe, with a lot of practice, I can get good at this too.

The Domino Effect

I know, that's usually seen as a bad thing. One little thing happens, and it sets off a huge chain reaction of bad things happening. But this week, I've started a positive domino effect. Last Thursday or Friday, I created a bedtime routine. It looks a little something like this. Thursdays will look a little different because my class starts at 6:30, but I'll stick to it as much as I can.

• Be done with exercise by 6:30. 
• Be showered by 7.
• 7:30 - Snack (if I'm hungry) and tea. I use this tea - Soothing Caramel Bedtime
• 8:30 - Get ready for bed. Turn on my diffuser and plug my phone up in my bedroom. 
• 9 - Bedtime. Read in bed. 
• 9:30 - Lights out, earplugs in. 

I'm not going to be super strict with these times, but that's the general idea. I tried it Sunday, and it really helped. I drank my tea while watching Supermarket Sweep and the new Who Wants to be a Millionaire?. And when 8:30 came, I did those things, turned on my diffuser with lavender, and went back to the living room without my phone. And by 9, I was actually sleepy! I don't know if it was the trip I took to Greenfield (probably not), the tea (maybe), or what it was, but I was ready for bed. And that never happens. The challenge with going to bed was actually reading instead of hopping on Facebook, TikTok, YouTube, games, whatever. But I made myself do it, and I actually lost track of time! I woke up twice before it was time to get up, which is pretty normal for me. 

And it helped! I woke up refreshed and ready for the day. I felt excited to try it again with some changes I'm going to make. And probably the most important, I felt more motivated to take more steps to take care of myself. I'm going to make sure to stay hydrated - I can leave my water bottle down on Mondays since our kiddos are virtual, but the rest of the week I'll have to do my water drinking during breakfast, lunch, and at the end of the day. But no worries, I can get it done.

And I've been happier than I have been. I had a LOT less anxiety about my relationships with other people. I've been able to focus more on myself and what I'm doing instead of worrying about what other people think about me, if they're talking about me behind my back, and so on. I have a mantra in my head that I got from the host of the show I'm watching - Unless they're paying your bills, pay them no mind. Meaning that I shouldn't pay attention to others or worry about what they think of me. Cause, y'know, other people don't pay my bills. Granted, today was a little off at first, but once I got into my day at work, I started to feel more like I did yesterday. 

I honestly think that having a routine is helpful to me. It's been proven that people with anxiety disorders (aka yours truly) benefit from routines. I'm not going to fully schedule my day like I did when I was a kid, but I think that this nighttime routine will help a lot. I used to shame myself for needing routine. Life was about spontaneity! Living in the moment! But I've come to realize that there's a balance needed. Spontaneous day trip somewhere by myself, with family or friends? Sure! But it's okay to have a morning or nighttime routine, especially if it helps. It's a comfort, knowing exactly what I'm going to do. It helps me stop the "I should be doing this or that" type thoughts that I have when I don't have an exact idea of what I need to do. 

So I'm going to keep implementing this as long as I can and see where the rest of these dominoes fall. If it helps me learn new, healthy coping mechanisms to replace the old, unhealthy ones that I need to get rid of, then I am all for it. And right now, I'm very hopeful.

If You Don't Love Yourself...

How the heck are you gonna love somebody else? This quote always ends an episode of the show I'm currently watching. I know it's meant as a "sassy" sign-off from the host, but there's a lot of truth in it. I didn't truly love myself when I started dating Stephen. And looking back, I think we rushed into it. We went on one date, and he asked me to be his girlfriend two days after. I'm not saying I'm the sole reason the relationship ended, but my issues eventually surfaced. Long story short, we broke up, got back together, broke up again in February, got back together, and broke up in late October. I haven't spoken to him since, nor am I going to be the one to text first. We both made it clear that we still want to be friends, though he did say that it would be a while before he tried to contact me again. If he does, wonderful, if he doesn't, that's okay too. I care about him and wish him happiness in whatever it is he does with his life, and I know he does the same for me. 

That being said, I fully believe that God placed him into my life for a reason. Stephen is not the man I am meant to marry and have children with. Stephen is the person that God placed into my life to guide me down the right path before I went down a very dark one. Because, and this hit me while I was in Martin Walmart of all places, if Stephen hadn't come into my life, I would not have started counseling. I'd been working with an online therapist for a few months before he came into my life, but it wasn't until I started working with a therapist in person that I saw the true progress. 

I always thought that a romantic relationship would "fix" me. Nope. Stephen didn't make all of my mental issues go away, but he did help me begin to work on them. And because of that work, I'm a long way from where I was before. Before, I hated myself. I know, I know. It's cliche, but it's true. I hated myself. I hated my body and tried anything to make it fit into society's "thin is best" mold. I felt worthless because I couldn't find a full-time job and because I lived at home (which would later become a blessing, but that's another entry). I felt hopeless. Useless. Like a waste of space that wouldn't be missed. I never got to the place where I acted on these feelings, thankfully. But they were there, and they were strong. 

When I got my current job, the feeling of worthlessness began to go away. I was finally working somewhere that made me feel like I was contributing something to the world. I felt less like a waste of space. But the self-loathing, anxiety, depression, and guilt were still there. I started dating Stephen in late 2018. And by mid-2019, he and I were sitting at Taco Bell in Paris, eating lunch before he went with me to my first Carey appointment. I began working with a wonderful counselor who helped me get to the root of my anxieties and depression. I know why I have these mental issues. And my counselor taught me the skills I needed to begin coping with these anxieties. These skills, combined with my medication, have been a huge help. And that is why Stephen was put into my life. To help me get to this place. So for that, I am grateful. 

Today, I feel better. Do I have days where I feel less than great about myself? Yes. I'm human. But for the most part, I like who I am instead of hating her. I feel less guilty about taking care of myself. In fact, I know it's necessary nowadays for me to keep my sanity. When I first started working at DES, I didn't miss a single day because I wasn't sick. But now, I don't worry about taking a day for myself, as long as I can find a sub. I don't feel bad about coloring my hair or buying a new outfit or anything along those lines because they help me feel good about myself. Coffeeshop or solo day trips are my "me" time. Same with reading in my room. I'm worthy of self love and self care, and I always have been. It just took me this long to realize it. 

My journey isn't over, though. I still slip. I still forget to apply what I've learned in therapy. I still have a hard time trusting myself and relying on my own strength when my anxieties get really bad. I still see others as "above me" on my bad days. Sometimes, I use my past as as an excuse for not doing the work to change how I think. I'm still afraid of making someone upset with me. And I am really bad about taking things personally. But I'm also really proud of the progress I've made thus far. And whenever I find the man God has made for me, I'll be ready for the relationship. I'll be better equipped to handle my moods and mental health instead of relying on my boyfriend to fix them for me. Whoever he ends up being.

But for now, I'm pretty happy dating myself. 

The Woman in the Mirror

Body image. It's something that many people struggle with, including myself. I could go on a whole tirade about how the media places unrealistic expectations on people, but I'll save that for another entry, maybe. But this blog is about my story, about where I came from and where I am now. So bear with me, these first few entries may be a little on the sadder side. But know that I'm doing this as a way to open up, to get all of these secrets off of my chest. To let people know the "real" me, as cliche as that is. Because I can count on one hand how many people know some of these things. 

I've been heavy all of my life. At one point, I was almost 50 pounds heavier than I am now. I was the "fat kid" in class. I got your usual teasing in elementary school, but I don't remember it bothering me much. And in high school, the only thing I really remember was someone very close to me (at that time) using my weight as an insult during arguments. That person is no longer in my life and has since apologized, but the memories stay, you know? Anyway. 

I remember weighing one day and seeing myself at my heaviest. I saw that high number and immediately felt shame. I had to lose the weight ASAP. So, I did what any person wanting to lose weight would do and began to work out and change my eating habits. I started going to a Zumba(R) class that my good friend Hannah taught. I did beginner workouts on YouTube. And so on. I discovered REFIT(R) when Hannah moved to Texas and I wanted a class to take the place of hers. And it was fine at first! I felt healthier, gradually stronger, and so on. The scale began to go down. I bought a FitBit and began to use MyFitnessPal to track my meals. Combine numbers with my tendency to take things to the extreme and you have a recipe for disaster. 

Which was what it became. I became obsessed with step counts, calorie counts, and calories burned during my workouts. If my step number was low, I felt like a failure. When I logged my meals, I tried to get the "calories left" number to be as high as possible. And during my workouts, I legitimately got upset with my FitBit if my heart rate wasn't constantly in the peak zone. If my workout burned 300 calories, ha, it wasn't worth it! I read labels obsessively. A 500-calorie meal was way too much! (When in reality, it's actually a healthy number for an average meal.) And if the number on the scale went up as much as two-tenths of a pound, I still felt like I'd failed for the week. When I was really bad, I saw hunger as a good thing. It meant I was burning fat, burning what I needed to burn. Like I said. My mind was in a very dark place at this point in my life. My thoughts were very unhealthy. 

And I still deal with them, though not as strongly. I hate when restaurants place calorie counts on their menus because it brings back those days of counting so intently. I still have things I feel guilty about after eating them. And yes, I still struggle with feeling like I have to do a long workout every day. Though not as badly.

And my body image? Oh boy. I had fallen into the trap that "skinny is beautiful". I still struggle with this today. I can't tell you how often I've body-checked in the reflective things at the sides of produce aisles at Walmart. Or in the doors of the frozen section. Or my own mirror. So on, and so on. I hated wearing sleeveless tops or swimsuits or anything tight. I compared myself to these fitness models on Instagram or these actresses in movies and TV. I had to be like them to be beautiful because fat girls were never portrayed as beautiful. I searched "Thinspo" more than I searched for whatever I was into at the time. (Not a search I recommend, by the way.)

Enough was enough. I got rid of MFP and my FitBit and began to repair my relationship with food. I let myself enjoy coffee with a friend or a holiday meal at work (I have some really good cooks for coworkers) without such an intense desire to burn it all off. I discovered the bodyposi movement on social media and began to see my body for what it is and can do. It can get me through hour-long classes or home workouts. It keeps me healthy. And so on. I began to wear things that flatter my shape instead of hiding it. And yes, I let myself wear sleeveless tops! I even worked out in a tanktop in public for the first time just a few weeks ago. I do have a FitBit again, but it's mainly used as my work watch. 

And the scale? I learned a lot about it. I learned that a lot of things can make it go up, not necessarily weight gain. And even then, it's a number. Three digits. That number isn't anything related to my personality or who I am. So I'm happy when it goes down, and I'm more accepting when it stays the same or goes up. Progress! 

I don't have to be as skinny as these fitness models. One, those images are edited and posed. Two, my genetics probably won't let me be that skinny. And that's okay. My exercise is stress relief. Fun. A chance to be social. Not punishment for what I ate. And if I don't exercise? That doesn't mean I don't eat a healthy amount or make up for it the next day (it used to). All it means is that I listened to my body and rested when it needed rest. That's all. And you know what? I've seen some "fat" girls that are GORGEOUS. If I can think they're beautiful, why can't I apply that to myself? 

Am I where I want to be as far as this goes? Not quite yet. But I do see the progress I've made, and I'm extremely proud of it. I'll get to where I want to be.

Mom and Me

I have a complicated opinion of my mom. I know. What an opener. But she's a big reason I've undergone this journey of mine. Why I've become the phoenix rising. She sadly passed away in 2013, but it's like my relationship with her while she was alive has 3 distinct periods. Childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood. And the effects of each phase are still lingering to this day. 

Childhood

I couldn't have asked for a better mom in childhood. She volunteered in my classroom when I was in school. She let me get involved in what I wanted to do - Girl Scouts, sports, band, strings, youth orchestra, and so on. She came to my games and later my concerts. Encouraged me. She's a big reason why I love to read as much as I do. She always read to me and encouraged me to read. She would take me to the library during summers. Buy me books before I was even in school. And so on. I remember calling her my best friend. And for all intents and purposes, she was. I felt like she could do no wrong. 

Adolescence

I'd say that this starts around my sophomore year of high school. Now that I'm older, I can see that she had a controlling streak. Choosing my clothes, both daily and on shopping trips for school. I'm sure there are other ways, but that stands out the most. And she had a temper. And a selfish side. I have very vivid memories of being yelled at. I'm not talking a firm tone of voice. I'm talking full yelling, to the point where it sounded like she was hurting her voice. I remember having nobody there for me at an important banquet because she "didn't want to be seen". And there were very late nights at work. I won't go into any further details, but it was during this time that I began to feel like I wasn't enough. I developed my fear of upsetting anyone or making a mistake because I knew how she reacted to mistakes. I proudly labeled myself as a perfectionist, not knowing that I shouldn't have been proud of that. And it was the lack of control over my own life that led me to develop the strictness I have over myself today. Yet I still loved her. I never hated her. I couldn't. 

Young Adulthood

Things improved here. Things happened that caused her to get her act together. She became supportive again. She would come to Martin and have dinner with me when I was on break at band camp. We would take weekend day trips to Paducah or Jackson or Clarksville with dad when he didn't have to work. She came to my concerts in the summer. And so on. She found God and began to pray again, which is a huge part of why she turned around. I wish she'd done it sooner, because I only got a few years with her like this. She developed a rare cancer and later broke her leg while trying to run to the bathroom. That was another huge impact which needs an entry of its own. In 2013, she passed away of kidney failure brought on by her cancer. And it took me until last year to realize just how much her behaviors during my adolescence impacted the adult I am today. 

She is a big reason I have anxiety.

She is a big reason I walk on eggshells and can't really "be myself".

She is a big reason I struggle with self-esteem and self-worth. I have forgiven her for her actions, but the impacts are there. I have made progress, which I'll get into later.

But over all of this, the reason I can't hate her, she's half of the reason I exist. I wouldn't be here without her. Or I would, but I'd be completely different. So I am grateful for her. And I love her to this day. And I miss her. But I know she's in Heaven with Nanny and Papa, watching over me as I grow and progress. 

So this is the beginning of my story. It'll be happy at times, and it'll be sad at times. There'll be some things that I haven't talked about a lot. But if by some chance my story can help someone else find hope, then I will gladly tell it.