Category Archives: Eating healthy

Sometimes I need a break from me.

Standard

I breathe confidence and my favorite motto is “you are enough.” People closest to me, & even those who don’t know me well but know me enough, will likely tell you I’m the girl who knows who she is & who knows her worth. I’m here to tell you it’s not always like that.

I’ve been called conceited, which is crazy to me because more often than not when I look in the mirror, I see my flaws & all my faults staring back at me. I see rejection. I see the labels & I see the negative stigmas attached to them.

I don’t always feel strong. I don’t think I’m by any means gorgeous. I don’t think I have a killer body.

& that’s okay.

Society might tell me I’m too skinny but I need abs. I need to clear up any acne. I need to smile more. I need bigger boobs. I need round hips & an ass like J.Lo’s. I need long legs but if I want to be a mermaid I can’t have a thigh gap.

Then again, society might also tell me I’m perfect. I’m strong. I can cry whenever. I should eat that pint of ice cream. I need to own this bitch face. I should wear no makeup & love my skin but I need to make sure I moisturize. Yet I rarely (I’ll be optimistic because never say never) see a well-known virtual fitness coach without makeup in workout videos or celebrities on the carpet without perfect skin.

Society wants to tell me a lot of things, whether it’s to cut me down or to build me up.

Society doesn’t know me.

I’m sick of society telling me when & how to love myself. I’m sick of society telling me it’s okay to fall apart.

That’s not okay.

When I was in college I had a really shitty soccer coach. We had over a dozen players quit after my first season. He had a glass eye and a lazy eye. He was an ass & he benched some of the best players consistently. The only language he spoke was kissing ass. It killed me to contemplate quitting soccer but my dad was the one who told me, “Tiffany, it’s clear you don’t love the game anymore & it seems to me he took that from you. I can tell you all day that I think you’re a great player. Your mom can tell you. Your past coaches can tell you. Your teammates can tell you…but at the end of the day it only matters what you think & believe. You are your last defense. You must be the one believing, or you will always question what others tell you.”

So here’s my belief.

  • Yes, I’m confident to almost the point of cocky and if that comes off as conceited because I take selfies, so be it. No, the selfies don’t mean I think I’m beautiful or want to be a model (I actually shy away from most cameras) but I’ll still take them because it’s my way of building myself up sometimes—it’s my way of saying to myself, this is how I look and that’s amazing.
  • Yes, I’m skinny but I’m also fairly fit & I can wear size zeros without listening to jokes about me throwing up—newsflash: I’ve actually never been one of the girls to do that (& stop shaming the ones who have by making jokes, talk about poor taste. Pun intended).
  • I will never have an ass like J.Lo’s, I accepted that feat a while back.
  • Do I want bigger boobs? Hell yeah! But guess what? I’m okay with having these small ones, too. I’ve lived with them this long.
  • No, I don’t have to go to the gym daily.
  • Yes, I will eat whatever I want & if that’s healthy food because I love eating healthy, that’s okay. If I crave hotdogs, I’ll pig out on some hotdogs.
  • I’m going to smile as I please & I’m going to own this resting bitch because it’s my face.
  • I’m not going to cry when I feel like it because I hate crying & for me, I do believe it’s a sign of weakness & that’s okay. Do I care if others cry? No. Cry all you want. Will I feel uncomfortable & want to run? Quite possibly. (Don’t judge me for it if I do, my apologies in advance.)
  • I don’t always love my skin & that’s okay. I’ll wear makeup when I feel like it & I’ll go makeup free when I feel like it.
  • I’ll continue to hashtag the hell out of single mom status because I’m doing it, I’m making it, & there’s comfort in knowing I’m able to. Doesn’t take away from other moms, it’s just my status & my situation. & no, it doesn’t mean I’m desperate.

There’s power in reality. There’s great vibes in knowing who you are. There’s great vibes in trying to find yourself. There’s comfort in knowing I’m human, I have flaws & I can handle not always liking what I see.

There’s power in doing things & seeing things for me.

So fuck society. I don’t want to be perfect & I don’t always want to be me. It’s called getting better.

Sometimes I need a break from me.

Who will I wake up to be tomorrow? The girl who wants to spend a day reading with a coffee in hand or the girl pulling a 14-hour day & up at 4:34 a.m.? The girl wearing eyeliner & lipstick or the one with a fresh face & not a touch of makeup? The girl craving 3 hotdogs or drooling over a salad?

We underestimate the power of choosing & being who we want to be, not who we were made to be.

Society can tell me to be me & stay me all day. I’d much rather evolve & change as I want.

Bring on the Backbone.

Standard

backbone blog2017 has been one hell of a rollercoaster year. For growth, personally and professionally, mentally and physically.

When I began the year, I was coasting primarily at about 120lbs., unable to keep my weight consistently up to a comfortable number, annoyed when people I hadn’t seen in years told me I looked great when I felt weak most days. Skinny, I can assure you, is not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m a size zero damn near a double 0. It’s a pain in the ass to find jeans or leggings that fit me, most shirts fit awkwardly, and I only buy from the junior department at Kohl’s. I can’t shop women sections anywhere—seriously, most don’t make them small enough for me. That all being said, I’m self-conscious of the slightest weight change, loss or gain. It’s one topic I despise: weight. Doesn’t matter if they’re talking about themselves, me, or someone else. I don’t mind giving healthy eating habits or exercising tips but anything beyond that I’m quickly annoyed by.

Skinny isn’t everything, it’s hardly anything. Fit not skinny is my goal and motto.

Yet, I’m constantly asking folks around me at work to lift shit or open shit for me. Let’s not talk about my stamina on the soccer field—pretty sure the asthma is back and here I thought I had outgrown it. The year started off well on working out regularly and at some point life happened and I couldn’t fit it in as well anymore.

My overall health is on the up, however. I found out I can’t have dairy, a symptom of being “diagnosed” with Celiac Disease so late in life and not going gluten free until I was 25 that lead so such an allergy. I’m sick less, fatigued less, and awake more. Not being able to work out, I focused more on my eating habits. As if my diet couldn’t become more high maintenance. I might be slightly neurotic when it comes to eating some days…or most days, whatever.

And I have to be crazy because when it comes to dating, my radar for finding great guys is impeccable…and I continue to blog about my dating life that has turned into a horror sitcom. The male species have taken everything out of me. I have let them run me down. Played for a fool a number of times. Gave a guy a second chance only to find out the reason he didn’t know what he wanted to do for New Years was because he was hoping for someone else to come along for him to spend it with. Seriously, his dating profile says, “be my new years kiss that sticks around.” Yeah, it came across my attention while I was visiting him. I was only a place holder for him—that’s a really great feeling to have. And if any of my blogs from this past year have proven anything, it’s that I’ve completely lost my backbone and self-respect.

At least when it comes to dating.

Professionally, I have a lot going for me. My boss is like the older brother I never wanted, and I work in an environment where I’m pushed to get better every day. I’ve grown a lot in my capabilities, expanded HFG on a new scale socially. All because of the support I’m provided at work, and that is a really great feeling, knowing I’m surrounded by team members who do care about the success of each other in addition to the company’s. While I’ve watched the company more than triple its size, I’ve also seen my baby (our social media) grow and expand. And yes, it’s seriously like my baby.

I have written enough poetry 2018 can be the year I seek publication. I’m not talking about in competitions or in magazines, I mean as an author of a compiled body of work. Wow. Blowing my own mind there—and you should blow your own damn mind once in a while.

My kid blows my mind every day, though. Being a mother has been the highlight that never fades, making the hard days easy. Knowing I’m a good mom is another great feeling, the fact that I can tune out any noise from anyone who thinks otherwise is assuring—I haven’t lost my self-respect there. In the last year, Evelynn has turned three, played in the ocean for the first time on her first vacation to Florida (yes, we actually took a vacation), started pre-preschool, and has come a long way in her speech. She’s advanced for fine motor and solving problems, doing puzzles. She’s also advanced in the act of being stubborn, fairly certain she might be the boss in this household.

Which brings me to 2018, the year we might move out and into our own place. Oh, you can definitely say I’m excited for next year. Bring it on.

Maybe I’ll even find that backbone.

Watch Me: A Rant.

Standard

watch me blog

Dating is one big game of hypocrisy and don’t let anyone tell you different. I’d love to say the games are done but I’m notoriously played and I’m a hypocrite to whine about anything if I also turn down guys—I do. Knowing this hasn’t stopped me from wondering why I’m hard to love, if I’m legitimately crazy (these blogs prove I am), and knocked down my self-esteem.

I’ve always been the one who didn’t care about my body, didn’t give guys more than one chance—I’m not a fan of apologies to the point where I don’t believe in “I’m sorrys”—and never questioned my worth. Somehow that’s changed. And that’s hard to admit.

In the last year or so, I’ve questioned everything: career, dating, self-worth, independence, strength, body, health, happiness, location.

The only thing I haven’t questioned: motherhood. And it’s so devastating to me to know the one thing that brings me the most happiness, the one thing that grounds me, is also the one thing that turns many guys away. In the last two weeks, I have been asked multiple times, “How hard is it do date with a kid?”

It’s not easy.

There’s three turnouts:

  • Guy stands me up right before the first date because he can’t handle the idea of a kid involved.
  • Guy bails because he met a girl “who doesn’t have a kid.”
  • Guy bails because he’s scared of losing both me and my daughter in the breakup—remind me again why you’re thinking of a breakup already? Talk about Doomsville.

Oh wait, but there’s a fourth: I have high standards (aka shallow as all hell) and don’t waste time “playing the field” to get to know guys I’m not attracted to. As in, I cut the cord.

Dating with a kid is something of an entirely different ballpark. I’m a hypocrite because single dads turn me off—I question how honest they are about the relationship with the mom. Often times, it eventually comes out the guy complains about not having their kid enough but then turnaround and complain about not doing anything when he has their kid. No thanks.

This weekend I went to a wedding out in Grand Rapids, the city I need to call home again one day. Every time I hit the city limits, my heart clenches—it’s where Evelynn and I belong—but that’s a story for another time. Two things happened: I got hit on because I have the absolute cutest/beautiful/adorable kid—yes, I was shocked too—and the guy wanted me to know that—yes, I’m aware I make cute babies—and I felt really good about myself for the first time in a long time. I’m not a fan of getting dressed up—I like knowing I feel comfortable and good in my own, natural skin when I’m dressed down but that hasn’t been reality lately. But there was something about being in Grand Rapids, my kid having an absolute blast and soaking up the attention, and being with my two best friends and great people that had all the bullshit melting away. It’s amazing what a simple change of location did to me. And I want more of it.

I’m often told I’m too tiny, I’ve heard the cracks about having eating disorders or how I’m like a twig. It’s amazing to me how people think it’s entirely okay to make these comments but turn around and tell me I’m not allowed to talk about how I want to hit the gym more or how I need to work more on my health. I’m not complaining about being fat—I don’t think I am—and I’m not allowed to admit that or comment on it—that would be conceited—but others are allowed to comment on my body. I’m not allowed to feel self-conscious in a bathing suit even if it’s not a weight issue. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves: I can’t comment on how I want to be stronger and fitter without being told to stop talking. I can’t even say that I like my body which I would consider a triumph after questioning my body over the last few years. I’m skinny (derogatory term!) and I’ve let people chip away at my armor, making me wonder about my body image and not liking how I look. Well fuck that.

I’ve also had numerous guys want me only for my body. And that is where the real self-worth and body perception issues lie. No girl wants to be treated or thought of as a toy. It amazes me how guys can call a girl a prude or a tease simply because we won’t send them nudes or sexual photos. Or we won’t bang them on cue. WHAT?! News flash: no girl owes you anything.

But I owe it to myself to wake the fuck up. I owe it to Evelynn to set a better example. Evelynn might be what grounds me but I lay the platform for how she sees the world, how she views herself. So goodbye chips. Goodbye low self-esteem. Goodbye judgments. Goodbye assholes. Hello Grand Rapids? A girl can dream but I’d rather make it happen. Watch me.

Green Grass.

Standard

Recently I was informed, again, how “easy” my life is and how lucky I am. Usually I can shrug off these comments but this is a week where I’m just not in the mood to accept idle judgments.

Let’s get one thing straight: I am lucky but my life only appears easy because I have great people in my corner and I have an unbeatable will power.

I don’t think there’s a single person on this earth who has had it “easy.” They may deny tragedy or refuse to face hardships, but everyone at some point has faced a battle we likely know nothing about.

Robin Williams made millions laugh but committed suicide.

My brother lies in a hospital bed but we’ve never heard him moan or scream or cry.

There are two sides to the coin of life, some of us wear tragedies on our sleeves while others hide them behind steel doors.

It’s true, I have it easy with my mom providing daycare but reality is I couldn’t afford daycare if she weren’t able to do so. And it makes it harder to go out to see friends or go out on a date or even go to the gym because that’s just more time my mom is watching Evelynn. (Not to mention that’s more time away from Evelynn.)

It’s also true how I have it easy not having to pay for rent or a mortgage. Trust me when I say if Evelynn could live within city water limits I would rent my own place or if I had the finances to finagle purchasing a home, I’d jump on the opportunity in a heartbeat. There is nothing exciting about being 27 years old and living in your childhood bedroom—it’s a shot to your independence and ego. (& it really improves my dating life–we’re not even going to go there in this blog.) But racking up debt or making my daughter bathe in chlorinated water is not in her best interest—everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

It’s also very true that my boss is understanding and supportive of my situation to allow me to work from home whenever I want. I don’t have set office hours. I choose to make it into the office 3-4 days a week and work long hours so I can work a “normal” day from home the rest of the week. (Let’s not get me started on my commute, one reason I want to move.) Evelynn hates these hours. On working from home days, she likely lays in my bed next to me while watching a movie or playing with puzzles. She doesn’t leave my side. She even eats her lunch in my bedroom sometimes. Good thing she knows to behave so I can work or she gets booted.

It’s also so very true I’m skinny (dear lord I hate that term, it’s derogatory). I used to be about 20 pounds heavier, give or take depending on the day, but I’m not proud of how I lost it—from a difficult pregnancy not hard work in the gym. I’ve had a hard time gaining muscle back. I don’t overeat and I eat about 85% healthy—no artificials, no preservatives, mostly veggies—and that’s how I stay….skinny.

It’s also so very unbelievably true that my daughter is fucking sunshine, but her father and I don’t have a good relationship and I’ve dealt with plenty of snide comments from “friends” who thought they knew the story between the two of us. They don’t—I’m not the type to gossip. There are very few people I confide in, for others they must pull teeth. I have to deal with recognizing this will likely always be the case.

There is nothing easy about being the one who holds your daughter’s stars and feeling like you let her world crumble just because you must leave for work or you just need to get in the shower or you’re not there when she wakes up. It breaks my heart that she can be with me uninterrupted for an entire day and still will not let me use the bathroom alone. “Mommy is coming right back” doesn’t work. We do distractions—a movie in my bed, a couple m&m’s, a snack in her uncle Tay’s room, a diaper change, etc.—for me to be able to sneak out of the house or into the shower without a meltdown. Half the week she sleeps in my bed. And on those nights, she throws a fit to sleep on the outside of my bed (it’s flush to the wall) as if to barricade me in.

It’s not even a little bit easy.

I’ll never understand parents who WANT their child to be sad over them leaving or walking away. Who purposefully instigate a negative reaction just to make themselves feel wanted or to boost their own ego.

I want Evelynn to be independent enough to know she will be okay and that I’ll come back. I love how she loves me…I don’t love how I can’t be there whenever she wants me. The doctor warned me of the clingy stage but that doesn’t make it easier.

I got lucky in my will power to stand up and fight for what I want in my life, and for those in my corner: parents that will watch my kid so I can work and not have 60 percent of my paycheck go to daycare; a boss who, if I tell him I’m offline Friday mornings because it’s Operation Evelynn Social (a weekly playgroup), accepts my kid is my number one priority; & a daughter who brings the sun.

I won’t deny the luck—I don’t want to.

But I have never met a single person who has had an easy life. And if they do, it’s because they were determined to make it that way.

My life is “easy” because I have an indomitable will to make it the best life I could have ever lived—I water my own damn green grass.

Will Power, Baby.

Standard

I’m not supposed to lift weights. I’m not “supposed” to do a lot of things but Friday I happened to get on the scale to find out that I’ve lost almost 10lbs. in one week. Since I accidentally had gluten a couple weeks ago, I’ve been suffering from severe and chronic migraines more often than not. If anyone has ever had one, then you know the struggle to eat. Food—the smell, the sound, the act—is a ticket to Pukedom. Not my ideal holiday destination.

Yesterday I got back into the gym for the first time since just before Thanksgiving. I died and it felt amazing…somewhat. I made it in again this morning for the second day in a row and hit play harder. I decided to do weights after running and was forced to cut it short. Lifting isn’t supposed to be on my fitness agenda. Not yet, anyhow.

I started physical therapy sometime in middle school. When my last physical therapist moved out of state a year after Evelynn was born, she recommended yoga. I’m not just flexible, I’m loose-jointed and hypermobile. It’s easy for me to do harm to my joints without knowing it, hence why the only body weight I’m currently allowed to lift is my own. But I’m a firm believer in mind over matter, the power of will power, and pushing limits.

Before Evelynn, I was about 25lbs. heavier and it was mostly all muscle. When I started physical therapy back in the day, it came with strict workout regimens and a hell of a lot of modifications. If I wanted to keep playing soccer, I didn’t have a choice. I worked daily to build muscle to control my hypermobility. But I lost all of that after my pregnancy. And as amazing as it feels to be back in the gym, it is equally frustrating. I can do a 60- to 90-minute intense yoga flow but can’t last in the gym. Yes, frustrating. Inhale the good, exhale the bullshit….Namaste.

Today I ran two miles for a warmup, and likely for the second time in my life, I’m guessing. First off, you have to know getting on a treadmill and running is an accomplishment for me every time. I hate treadmills. They freak me out and give me anxiety. Yes, that’s right, I have a fear of treadmills. Kind of like my fear of elevators. (Don’t judge.) Secondly, I hate jogging. I hate going slow. I’m fast. I’m a sprinter. I’ve always been one of the fastest players on the field but I can’t run for shit. So I cranked that baby to 7.0 setting and with every step I told myself “Do [step] not [step] touch [step] that [step] butt [step] on.” I didn’t move it up, I didn’t touch it. Fucking will power baby and I made it two miles. Hashtag winning. Third, I felt it—the exhilaration, the triumph, the exertion…and the shakiness.

When I moved on to lifting, I about fell over. I had to cut it short, skip to lunges, and get dizzy during abs. By the time I was done, I was ready to pass out and fall in a grave. And I don’t mean to sleep. The scariest thing about working out for me right now is knowing I’ve fainted before overexerting myself and I have a habit of not just pushing the boundary line but passing it so far it’s in the distant horizon behind me.

I need a workout buddy to force me to quit before I get to the death stage.

Why am I even talking about any of this? Because of how much my social news feed is filled with resolutions to a skinnier you. Size shouldn’t matter. Don’t support products pushing you to get skinny. Take it from a girl who is skinny: its overrated and a derogatory term. If you want to get and stay fit and healthy, that’s something entirely different. And 98 percent of individuals won’t even keep with their resolutions. It’s a fad. A temporary trend more temporary than those 7-day quick diet fixes. Who says you have to start getting better in the new year or on a Monday. Stop waiting and wasting time. If you really want something, you’ll start it now and keep at it. Hence why only 2 percent stick with their resolutions—they likely started early, had a plan, and knew their destination.

If you hit the gym, go in with a goal and two plans in case the first one is too much to handle. Listen to your body. Know your limits. Push them by inches. Know that by pushing inches you’ll last longer and go miles. You won’t get injured or over exerted. More importantly, don’t do it because it’s trending or a resolution. Do it because you want to make a healthy change, whether you start it Wednesday or in two months. Just make sure you get that will power on check first, it’s half the battle.

The False Fad.

Standard

Gluten free is not a fad yet the market is exploding as more and more people request gluten-free options at restaurants and purchase gluten-free products in stores. Many of these people are not required to follow such a diet—they don’t have celiac disease or gluten sensitivity. Like other diet trends before, people are misconceiving gluten-free as a healthier option. Often times, unless they seek out information on the diet and are careful, the consumer lacks sufficient fiber, vitamins, and minerals. What is gluten? It is the proteins found in wheat, barley, rye, and oat. Abstaining from eating gluten is neglecting the other nutrients that gluten foods offer. So why are people going gluten free who don’t have celiac or gluten sensitivity? Gluten can be hard on the digestive tract. For some individuals, limiting gluten can help increase bowel movements and reduce constipation. For others, eating less gluten can lead to a decrease in migraines or fatigue. However, it is the misunderstanding of “gluten free” automatically meaning healthier that has lead most of the gluten-free diet population to refrain from consuming gluten.

Mid-January 2015, I came across a past coworker’s post on celiac disease. It had been a year since she was diagnosed with celiac. We used to constantly discuss fatigue, battle it out for who required more sleep, and regularly complain to each other of the weekly migraines we endured. I decided to look further into the disease.

Every year in high school, I was required to write a letter to the principle, requesting not to be held back due to absences and getting signatures from my teachers agreeing that I had the academic performance and grades to continue. Once, I missed an entire week of school due to a migraine. I’m fairly certain my professors in college assumed I was irresponsible or uninterested in their class. The absence policy in one class turned my A- into a D+. Friends were lost as I consistently cancelled plans due to migraines and fatigue. Bosses became annoyed as I often randomly called in to work sick. I grew up with a “weak” stomach. I didn’t gain weight during my pregnancy. A week before I was induced, I quit Jimmy John’s—my coworkers never knew I was pregnant, the tiny belly bump hid so well behind the apron. When I went in to be induced, my already low platelet count plummeted. My daughter was born at the 7th percentile. After giving birth, I lost weight quickly from breastfeeding, or trying to. Getting my milk in and then keeping up a supply was a hassle, and I only lasted a few months. My weak stomach became weaker, causing a dwindling appetite.

I called my doctor. The internet is great and all for finding information, but I wanted an educated and valuable opinion regarding this celiac disease I had stumbled upon. I wanted to know what was true and what was false. I wanted a credible source. My doctor recommended I remove gluten from my diet. Test it out. She was old school—and old—and the only test she knew of to test celiac was invasive. Removing gluten was my only other option. After two weeks the changes became apparent. The migraines came less often and food was kept down. When I visited my hematologist after five months of gluten free living, my platelet count was the highest it had ever been. He was thoroughly impressed. And perplexed, the man didn’t know what to make of the drastic change until I informed him of my new gluten-free diet. The full effects of gluten are still unknown as researchers and doctors continue to learn about celiac disease and gluten sensitivity. Twice a year I get blood drawn to monitor my count. If it remains up come October, I might be considered “graduated” from his care. After a couple months on my new diet, I saw a gastroenterologist who specialized in celiac disease. As I was already on a gluten-free diet, I underwent genetic testing which only required a simple blood test. It was negative. Celiac was not my diagnosis.

“Or” was my new enemy. I could be sensitive or intolerant. Doctors don’t give enough information regarding what foods contain gluten. It’s in everything: dressings, lunch meats, pastas, dips, soy sauce, ice cream, pop. The list is endless. Reading labels became a must and my already health conscious mind grew a new ego. Nothing was overlooked on any food or drink package—good thing I love to read. Contamination was not to be ignored and a family member informed me of marshmallow root, a wonderful dietary supplement that can reduce any pains that might occur from gluten contamination. In fact, when her son wanted to indulge in a gluten delicious donut or pizza, the pills would allow him to eat without dealing with the consequential pain. However, simply because he doesn’t feel the pain doesn’t mean the damage isn’t being done. He had celiac and the pill can’t prevent from damage being done to his intestines over time when he does choose to indulge. The intestine will still become inflamed but like Advil can reduce swelling for a sprain, the injury still occurred.

After I found out I didn’t have celiac, I decided to savor a cinnamon donut—not roll—and two to be exact. It was pure heaven. There was no pain. But a month later, I was still fighting fatigue and migraines again; proof the marshmallow root was only a short-term relief. When I went in for my next blood draw and visit with hematology, my platelet count had gone back down (still slightly higher than my previous average). I learned the severity of my intolerance. I had to buy a separate toaster for me to use and all my condiments are labeled “GF.” Contamination is kept to a minimum but for a safety protocol I take marshmallow root daily. Despite popular belief, my gluten-free diet does not keep me thin.

My choice of a plant-based diet and lack of snacking is why I’m thin. I don’t drink my calories away. I eat when I’m hungry and not when I’m bored. It’s no preservatives and none of the artificial trio (sweeteners, flavoring, coloring). I listen to my body. If I’m feeling shaky, I up my salt or sugar intake. If I’m feeling queasy, I lay off any spices, sauces, and oily or greasy foods. I eat one serving of meat a day. I incorporate nuts into granola or salads. I aim to drink mostly water. I refrain from relying on rice as my gluten substitute—no thank you arsenic. I don’t eat out. Most of my meals are home cooked and prepared from scratch. Most importantly, I don’t buy into the assumption that gluten-free baked goods are healthy—they are still baked goods! They can be, given the right substitutions. However, it’s a safe bet that the gluten-free option of a product is less healthy than its gluten counterpart. But to make sure, read the nutrition facts label and the ingredient listing. If you don’t know what an ingredient is, google it. If you can’t get service because grocery stores are notorious for having bad reception, try to pronounce it. If you can’t sound it out, chances are it’s artificial or an unnecessary ingredient used to make it taste better. You should be knowledgeable of every ingredient on that list.

Before embarking on any diet, education is important. For example, it isn’t uncommon for novice vegans to neglect consuming necessary complete proteins. They have to be knowledgeable of adequate supplements or plant food combinations. Unless it’s printed and the restaurant is known for providing gluten-free options, I won’t consider the menu. At the last establishment where I served, I had to ask the head cook what menu items were gluten-free and his response was simple: “Well, gluten is anything with wheat, barley, and rye, so your breads and your pastas. Tell them they can have anything that doesn’t contain pasta, a hamburger without the bun, the salads.” The reality is gluten-free diets are much more complicated and I’m surprised the guest didn’t call back with a complaint—he had warned me of his severe sensitivity. Rice flour is commonly substituted in gluten-free products and meals but there is a concern regarding arsenic because it is so easily absorbed into the rice. Unfortunately, the best gluten-free tortillas I’ve found are brown rice tortillas. I’m not a fan of many of the corn-based products, like noodles, as they can taste gritty. When baking, almond flour can be a decent substitution among many others. Research is key.

In one of my health classes last semester, my group was asked to rank four different yogurts from healthiest to least healthy. Another group member and I disagreed on the appropriate ranking because we recognized we had different dietary needs and preferences. Whereas she was more concerned with sugar and was willing to consume artificial sweetener, I have a strict no artificial rule I follow and prefer more natural ingredients.

More gluten-free options may be popping up on the market, but that doesn’t mean you should be flocking to consume such products simply because of a “GF” label. It’s a learning process. Research what the diet entails. By definition, “diet” does NOT mean “healthy,” it simply refers to the food you consume. If you want to eat healthy, do research and listen to your body. The random aches, changes in bowel movements, sudden eczema or acne issues, or increase in migraines could very likely be due to the food you eat. Lunchmeat once a week doesn’t bother me, but if I eat it consecutively, I will get a crippling migraine. I love sandwiches but my body doesn’t. Gluten free may be popular, but your body might disagree with that assumption.

Only a small percent of people have celiac disease, and many are undiagnosed. The only way to know if you have celiac is to get tested. There are multiple screening options available for an individual to be tested for celiac. As for those who are sensitive or intolerant, know your body. With all food consumption and physical activity, it’s important to understand your body, the limits you can push and the boundaries set in stone.

 

I do it all for me.

Standard

There’s a dispute among body types, even as we dismiss society’s view on “the healthy body” or what qualifies as beautiful. People use demeaning arguments to defend their weight: no thigh gap is one step closer to becoming a mermaid and overweight means harder to kidnap and real women have curves. Some misconceive skinny as healthy, when health has nothing to do with body shape or form. Some girls are blessed with curves and others are graced with a high metabolism. Guys think girls want to hear “you’re so beautiful” as if we need the affirmation—hint: we don’t. I can’t post a picture of my legs to Instagram without a guy asking if I will wrap them around him. I don’t workout and tone for you. I don’t even shave for you. I do it all for me.

Six weeks after I gave birth to my daughter, I went out with my boyfriend (now my ex) and a few girlfriends to celebrate my 25th birthday. I adorned a mini-dress and I looked stellar. I turned heads. And I should be able to say that without being labeled conceited. By that time, we had been dating for almost 18 months and he had never called me beautiful, but that night he told me multiple times and it was nails on chalkboard to my ears. After a complicated pregnancy, I lost all the weight and then some. 5’ 5” and I weighed 118 lbs. on a good day (bad days: 115 lbs. or below). The last time I weighed that little was my sophomore year of high school. As an ex of his walked into the bar, he warned me, “Don’t break up with me because all my exes get fat. It’s karma.” I wanted to be fat. It had never bothered me how he would comment on how “hot” a friend of mine or a coworker of ours was until it took me to lose weight for him to say it to me. And I didn’t want to hear it. I had never considered myself overweight before pregnancy. Looking back, I still don’t consider myself as having been overweight. I was a solid 140-143 lbs. I was healthy. I could outrun most girls (and boys) and I made healthy eating choices. I was a boss at soccer, could score off a corner kick, and played multiple times a week. I didn’t have high blood pressure and wasn’t concerned about diabetes. I started working out when I was in middle school. I had muscle. But suddenly, I wanted to be fat. Overweight: 1. Skinny Me: 0.

Working out has been a rollercoaster. For the past year, I have worked hard at putting on some weight. And for me to utter that sentence would be offensive for some people who can’t lose weight. How dare I? I’m not allowed to complain about not being able to gain weight. That’s unspeakable. But strong is the new skinny. My health is more important than any label given, doused in another’s insecurity. I realize I could easily eat unhealthy, consume preservatives and the artificial trio (sweetener, coloring, flavoring), sodium nitrate and MSG, and I’d quickly gain weight, but I’m not willing to eat junk and risk heart disease and diabetes. The seesaw of gaining muscle and burning calories is tipped in the wrong direction. Overweight: 2. Skinny Me: 0.

I lied. I want to be tone, not skin and bone. To my daughter, I am all bone. (I don’t care what other people think.) When she was younger and only weighed five or ten pounds, I could easily fit her along my body without my clavicle or rib cage or sternum—mine points outward compared to the flat norm—poking into her. As she grows older and taller, I’m not always the one she wants to curl up with. It became apparent early on that I have to wear a sweatshirt or a thick sweater to rock her to sleep most nights. Even then, some nights, it’s not enough. There are nights she cries because she wants the cushion her grandma can provide for her but she wants the comfort of her mother. Overweight: 3. Skinny Me: 0.

Look in the mirror and be thankful you’re overweight because your baby loves the cushion you can provide, not because you feel the need to defend yourself against society. Better yet, look at yourself in the mirror and accept your body because it is your body. Who cares if the girl on the train is skinnier than you? Who cares if your best friend has gained a few pounds? Are they happy? Are they healthy? Why do we have to follow up questions of “Did you lose weight?” with “You look awesome!” when it doesn’t matter. Tell them they look amazing. Tell them they look strong. Tell them they look confident. Tell them they look HEALTHY. People may label me as skinny—or as having an eating disorder because how else could I not be able to gain weight?—but I can promise you, I am so much more and I will not demean other body shapes by giving an excuse for mine. Society: 0. Me: Kiss my boney ass.

 

 

Secret Is Out

Standard

Still want to know my secret? Still think there was more than sickness to my lack of weight gain while pregnant? Well, truth be told, you might be right, though I highly doubt it. However, for argument sake, I’m willing to indulge you. Briefly, that is.

Morning sickness was a lie. It was all day everyday and it was the one reason why I never had to purchase maternity clothes. Yes, you heard me right. Now get over it and let’s move on. The reason I had a healthy baby and felt healthy, despite the sickness, was much simpler. I have always been aware of the food and ingredients I consume. Pregnancy only exemplified that notion. I was conscious about everything I put in my body. I read all labels, every damn thing that was written on any food product. I read it all. If it was low fat or low sugar, I deciphered the ingredients to determine what was used as sweetener.

The doctor may have mentioned it was okay to have diet pop but I refused to put aspartame in my system and I stayed away from high fructose corn syrup or artificial anything. I had enough trouble keeping bland and normal food down; I didn’t want to waste time trying to consume junk or harming substances. Instead, I devoured as many fruits as possible. They were hydrating and despite the acidity, fruit settled the best. Some days, it was the only thing I could keep down.

I gave up caffeine entirely. College was survived by guzzling about four cups minimum of coffee a day. Caffeine was kryptonite. It was the hardest thing to give up and I turned to Kool-aid. Not my smartest choice. There has been discussion over a direct correlation between artificial coloring and autism. Upon realizing this, I gave up the Kool-aid, too. For half my pregnancy I only drank select teas and water.

If I thought coffee was hard to give up, giving up sandwiches was a slow painful death. Sandwiches have always been one of my favorite foods–only to be outdone by hamburgers. Cold sandwiches, specifically. For nine months, I somehow survived on paninis and hot sandwiches, making sure to heat up the lunchmeat in a fry pan before, and I only ate the uncured. Sodium nitrate didn’t have a chance in hell to enter my body. It’s a pink powder that shouldn’t be an additive.

Read that last paragraph again. Notice how I heated up the lunchmeat: fry pan. Don’t get me started on the uselessness and utter unhealthiness of microwaves. Actually, screw that. Sometime in high school–or maybe it was back in middle school–my parents removed our microwave from the kitchen. Previously, all of Taylor’s meals had been warmed up via microwave. Between the heat and rays of a microwave, the vital nutrients and vitamins that make up a meal are killed. When eating a microwaved meal, whether home cooked leftovers or out of the freezer, you are consuming empty calories. Everything that was once healthy about the meal perished. Instead, use the bake option on an oven or a fry/sauce pan on a stovetop to heat food up. It may take a bit longer but that’s the benefit. Those key nutrients aren’t being zapped away.

Unfortunately, when I was pregnant, I hadn’t been aware of the effect gluten had on me. I continued to consume bread and oatmeal daily. This was my greatest fault and I didn’t know it. I had been able to give up all processed food and leaned instead towards the all-natural food products. It wasn’t difficult. The mind is a powerful thing. When you make a decision and actively pursue that lifestyle choice, your body begins to follow suit. I gave up salty food like chips and pretzels because they made me dehydrated and sick. After awhile, my body no longer craved such snacks. Telling my body “No” took discipline, following through took restraint, but the end result was motivating.

Evelynn may have only been 5lbs when she came home from the hospital but she’s healthy as a cucumber. Her doctor was consistently impressed those first few weeks she was home. There may have been constant worry over her health and “normalcy”–God I hate that word, it implies imperfect in the abnormal–but I also knew she was going to be a force to be reckoned with. It was a bone-deep sense if assurance and it was magnificent. My food and drink choices gave me comfort in this.

Giving up coffee and cold sandwiches, Kool-aid and salty foods, was difficult but it was also empowering. I learned my limits and I learned what I was capable of. I gave up Ben & Jerry’s and dippity eggs because of raw egg and uncooked egg yolk. I gave up tossed and garden salads because I couldn’t handle ranch but indulged in taco salads weekly. Homemade salsa made for a great dressing. We got meat from the local meat barn because sodium nitrate didn’t interest me. We sought out no GMO products. It was harder than hell but I survived. Being healthy isn’t as expensive as we believe it to be. Instead of paying for preservatives, growth hormones, and additives, pay for raw nutrients, vitamins, and all-natural ingredients. Your bank account won’t see that great of a difference but your body will reap some amazing benefits.