Journey.

Okay, folks...be gentle with me...this is probably the most embarrassing blog post to date...even though I'm incredibly proud of my progress in my weight loss journey.  I've had a couple of friends ask me how much I've lost thus far, and how much more I have to go, and how have I changed in the process?

Well, first off, I have lost roughly 80 pounds...I say roughly because I cannot seem to locate my original weigh in record when I started Weight Watchers what seems like forever ago.  I'm thinking the number is closer to 90, but I'll say 80 to be on the safe side.  

Yes, the progress has been thanks to Weight Watchers.  It has worked for me, but only when I allowed it to.  I'm starting to fall into a great rhythm with it, though I have not been faithful, and have quit and restart a number of times.  

I'll gladly give specific 'numbers' (weight, sizes, etc.), but not until I am at 'goal'.  I've lost 80+ pounds and 6 dress sizes in a matter of years, but still have quite a bit to go.

In addition to the food tracking portion of Weight Watchers, I am also going to the gym regularly:  weight training, running, and a variety of cardio are my go-to's.  

I love seeing my body change...and then I don't...

I know that sounds crazy, but I've struggled with my weight since I was 8 or 9.  I've yo-yo'd dieted throughout middle school, and high school, and my entire adult life.  

But now, I'm starting to face the psychological aspect of my weight, hand in hand with dealing with anxiety, and how that has affected my life, and my daily choices.  

So, while I love seeing the change, and the scale reflecting new numbers, it's hard...and scary.  As strange as it sounds, I wonder who I'll be when I'm no longer labeled 'the fat girl.'  Even the compliments aren't as easy to take as I anticipated:  the heartfelt, well meaning gestures of kindness, people asking me if I've lost weight, and how much, and keep it up.  It makes me feel encouraged, and strangely exposed in a way I've never been.  But, I'm learning to embrace this journey, and to like my body along the way...flab and all.  

Anyway, thanks for the encouragement and support, my friends and readers.  

Sometimes you don't realize just how far you've come until you look back and see where you started...

2005

2009

2013

Boo to the Flu.

On the eve of my birthday, I was hit hard with the flu.  My dinner party cancelled, I took some nighttime cold/flu medicine, and drifted in and out of a feverish stupor for the next 3 days.  I had a lot of time to think, hence the list featured here...

The Top 5 Things I Hate About The Flu

5.  Kidney Punches

Maybe this isn't something you've experienced, but it was something that I dreaded during this flu, and illnesses past.  I kept myself pretty medicated to keep my fever down, but in that short lapse between dose 1 wearing off and dose 2 kicking in, I could feel the fever come raging back through my body in the form of (what I call) kidney punches.  

No, no...not just a backache induced by a fever.  But, an intense, sharp, throbbing pain that would get me right at the kidneys.  All I could do was curl up in the fetal position and gasp through the pain until it subsided.  I kid you not, it was as if the Keebler Elves had abandoned their cookie tree and found me with fists of fury and sharp knives.  I shudder at the mere memory of it.

4.  Skin Irritation

When the kidney punches would subside, I would go stand in a hot shower.  It just helped me feel better.  However, (TMI, possibly, for some people...) I found that the loofah and moisturizing body wash I use every day, without any problems, made me feel like I was rubbing sand paper on my skin.  It was the strangest thing.  And, it only felt like that during the height of my fever spikes.  Am I the only one...?  Regardless, it was rather annoying, not to mention uncomfortable.  

3.  TV

This is a strange one, but I rarely just 'channel surf.'  I have a handful of shows I record on my DVR, and I watch them on certain days at certain times...a typical day for me goes like this:  wake up, prepare for work, morning devotions/prayer time during breakfast.  Work until 3:45, gym (I've been a slacker), go home, prep for next days work, shower, take care of dinner, evening devotion/prayer time, watch a show or 2 on my DVR, bed.  It's not that I'm 'holier than thou' by any means.  It's taken me a long time to become disciplined enough to maintain regular devotion/prayer time, and I really enjoy it.  

But, I was so sick, I could barely sit up, so I spent a lot of time laying on my couch, mindlessly watching television, or sleeping.  And, I found it becoming...boring...Sure, I could have skipped it, but in those moments when I couldn't sleep, I did like to have the TV on for noise, or simply a distraction.

TV:  a love/hate relationship.    

2.  Fever Crying

True confessions, and a blessing on the man who I someday marry...I have horrible crying jags when I get sick...for no.reason.at.all.  It's like my body gets so maxed out from fighting off the infection, it just takes a nosedive off the emotional cliff.  It's awful.  And, to make matters worse, I was already congested, so crying was NOT helpful.  

There were a couple of times I woke up in the middle of the night and burst into tears.  No reason.  I was already delirious, drugged up, and feverish.  Might as well cry, too.

1.  Forgetfulness

I would say I have a pretty sharp memory.  But, when I am sick, it all goes out the window.  And, I think it makes it worse when you live alone and have to fend for yourself.  Typically, that's quite fine with me.  But, this time, I think my brain was taking a holiday, because I kept forgetting ridiculous things.  For example:  I needed to make soup.  The instructions said boil water.  No biggie.  I would set the water on the stove, crank up the temp, and then FORGET I had done it.  It wouldn't be until I heard a strange hissing sound and saw billows of steam rising from the stove that I would remember I had even turned the stove on.  Or, that I was going to make soup.  That happened more than I'd like to admit.  I hate the feeling of forgetting something...especially something important, like turning on the stove or oven, and not remembering I did it...drives me nuts.

There you have it, folks.  My own little list of things I hate about the flu, besides the flu itself.  

Stay healthy, everyone!!  

Just say boo to the flu!

Epiphany.

Hello, readers!  I apologize for my long absence, but I cannot guarantee it won't happen again...I still go in circles about whether to keep this blog, or close it.  Truth be told, I mainly keep it for my list of blogs I love to read.  I just don't seem to have the time to write here, and often wonder whether the posts I do write belong here...it's a continual catch 22...I want to share, but I don't.

For example...this post, brutally honest, and even sharing it reminds me of how much I detest being vulnerable...yet, I know I am not the only one.

The past few months have been good.  I have spent a great deal of time with friends, attending Bible study, working, going to church...

But, around the holidays, I found myself struggling through a rough patch, spiritually.  It felt akin to wandering in a barren desert land.  I read my Bible often, prayed, wrote in my journal (FYI, my journals are not the 'dear diary' sort of journals...they consist of prayer requests, answers to prayer, things I believe God is speaking to me about, Bible verses, etc.), went to church, fellow-shipped, worshiped ..  I did everything I knew how to do.  But, it just didn't seem to be enough.

I felt...

lost.  

Recently, a friend shared a wonderful devotion that she herself had written.  One thing that really impacted me was the phrase being at the end of yourself.

I was at the end of myself...I found myself wrestling once again with God over control in so many areas of my life.  I was overwhelmed and exhausted.  I was looking to myself for spiritual rejuvenation...I was doing the right things to get there, except the ONE thing that I needed:  asking God to meet me in my desert.

I had been going to the beach frequently, because in my barren wasteland, I discovered that I felt His presence more at the edge of the sea then anywhere else (besides church).  It was our meeting place, in many ways.  I would go and walk and walk and walk...and walk some more...and I would talk to Him.  And, He would talk to me.  Those moments were sweet, and they seemed so far and few between in my day to day life.

So, not too long ago, I went to the beach on a whim...I wasn't prepared with the basic necessities: I went wearing a dress, a sweater, and some nice dress shoes.  Naturally, I wasn't going to damage my shoes, and I am typically fine walking barefoot.  Unfortunately, the beach I go to often has an influx of small pebbles covering the shore.  I got there, and noticed that the pebbles were washed up over the sand, and the stretch of beach near the water was clear.  So, I hopped, tiptoed, and leaped from sand patch to sand patch, until I reached the point of having to carefully trudge across the carpet of pebbles to get to the waters edge.  It was rather uncomfortable, but I made it, and walked in the icy water.  I must have looked out of place in my dress, sparkly sweater, and bare feet, hopping around pebbles.  I wandered aimlessly for awhile, growing colder each moment, begging God to meet me.  I started feeling frustrated, and self-righteous.  I had, after all, used precious gas money, and my feet were being bruised for this closeness to Him...those were (shamefully) the thoughts that went through my mind.  And, I didn't feel His presence.  I knew He was with me, but He seemed distant.  Finally, my feet were starting to burn with the onslaught of numbness that came from being in the water.  I was shivering, and decided to call it quits.  I pulled out my phone to send a friend a text message before getting in my car, and that's when I noticed my fingers were so numb, I could barely bend my thumbs to tap at my phone keypad.  They ached at the mere attempt of bending them, and I tried weakly to open and close my hands.  I got in the car, cranked up the heater, and drove home.

It wasn't until I was home, showered in scalding water, wrapped in a blanket that I had an
epiphany:
that was the end of myself.  Painfully shivering, desperate, alone...demanding God to be there, instead of asking Him to be there.

I stopped looking at the end of me, and I found Him.  Waiting patiently and ever so lovingly holding out His arms to me.  He reminded me that I don't need to hold on to my own brokenness, I need to give it to Him.  I don't need to have a far off place to be to feel His presence, I need to seek Him in every place and area of my life.  

I'm not completely out of the desert, but I don't feel quite as dry and lost anymore.  All He wants from me is me...my trust, my belief, my love, my thankfulness, my dreams, my future.  His love never fails.  And, He never leaves me alone.

But, the most profound part of the epiphany was the realization that God was not making me struggle in a barren land.  He was allowing me to, because He knew it would turn me right back to Him.  

And, the next time I find myself feeling lost, demanding His presence, I want to remember to invite Him into my struggle, and let Him work in my heart.

Where would I rather be, after all?

At the end of myself, or safe in His arms?