Category Archives: health

Oct20

My Wish For You.

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Have you met Taylor? Likely not given he doesn’t get out…at all.

A couple weeks ago I had covid and still worked out. I was over the negativity. I was over the pessimism. I was over the fear.

From others, not me.

The negative assumption that I wasn’t doing well. The pessimism of the worst-case scenarios and to make sure I watch myself. The fear that I could end up in the hospital or Evelynn would.

There was no, “Oh you’ve totally got this.” Or, “Well, make sure you’re eating and staying hydrating and take your vitamins.” Or, “This is why you eat healthy, right?”

When it’s my time, it’s my time. I’m a firm believer that I can do as much as I can and then it’s out of my control. Stressing over it isn’t worth the headache, time, or energy. I take care of my body and my body takes care of me. I fuel it with self-love: exercise and healthy eating habits.

Someone argued how did I get covid if I took care of my body so well. I had to promptly educate them on carrying an illness is different than succumbing to the illness. I never succumbed.

I may have been forced to be in quarantine jail but I still worked out every morning. I didn’t even skip cardio. I still don’t have my taste and smell back, three weeks later but I have so much more.

I still have lungs that breathe. Legs that walk…run….jump. I have a mind that can persevere, overcome, and stay positive. I push for more even when it feels like I’m being knocked down and pummeled by life. I don’t give up.

Why? I’ve seen someone, a kid nonetheless, live a life that’s less than and still smile. Still live.

So I repeat, have you met Taylor?

If not, you should. Let me introduce you.

Yesterday, Taylor turned 25. TWENTY-FUCKING-FIVE. I don’t think anybody thought this day would come. He’s officially a quarter century old. That is absolutely insane.

For over the past decade—13 years?—he’s lived in a hospital bed, being rotated between two televisions. When he was younger, we had hopes he might walk, might sit; might control a spoon even to feed himself, even if it turned into a mess and wasn’t pretty; might be able to speak or sign words to communicate. I used to put his feet on mine and we’d walk around, he loved it.

Now, he’s hooked up to those damn oxygen and heart rate monitors and is fed through a g-tube. He used to love ice cream but there’s no more for him. At one point in time, he could enjoy birthday cake. Again, no more. He aspirates.

Watching Taylor devolve over the years yet still smile, still laugh, still live, you can understand why I have no tolerance for excuses. You can understand why I’m so fucking fed up with this victim and why me and negative, toxic mentality so many people display these days.

Until you’ve gone through surgery and not known if you could wake up because you’re allergic to aesthesia, you don’t know death.

Until your lungs have operated at less than 50 percent, you don’t know what it’s like to not be able to breathe.

Until your legs are unable to hold you up, you don’t know what it’s like to not be able to walk.

Until you’re not allowed to taste your food or eat or drink because you can aspirate and you’re forced to be fed through a tube surgically inserted into your stomach, you don’t know what it’s like to not be able to eat or to have no appetite.

Until you’re forced to spend every fucking day in a bed, you don’t know depression.

Until you have to have someone roll you over because you can’t even turn over by yourself, you are not helpless.

Until you have lived with a life expectancy hanging over your head, again, you don’t know death.

Or maybe you don’t quite know living. The beauty of life, of today.

Growing up, Taylor was never supposed to keep living and yet, he’s still here. Imagine that, being told your younger brother should not live past his first birthday, fifth birthday, seven years, ten years, to be a teenager, twenty-one. Imagine that, celebrating every holiday and birthday with him as if it’s the last one he will be around for. It’s not something you pass up or overlook or forget easily. The negative expectation of a young life expectancy. Well y’all, we’re fucking here at 25 years and it’s fucking beautiful.

I am all for mental health, I am all for self-awareness. I am all for checking in.

But I will also call bullshit.

There is so much good in life. My life has been blowing up all over for the last 6 weeks. Shit is being flung at the fan and is sticking to the walls. But I haven’t melted down. I thought I might at times but life and the opportunities and possibilities that I still have, the abilities I have, are too good for me to let myself get down in the dumps. It’s really simple, I appreciate the small things immensely.

I love that I can breathe fresh air and can experience the difference in fresh air between all four seasons.

I love that I can walk and run up and down stairs and feel the strain in my quads from exertion.

I love that if I am craving a burger or a salad, I can enjoy them and savor them.

I love that I can curl up in bed and read as a nightcap.

I love that I can push my body through a strenuous workout, cussing myself for doing it, doubting if I can make it through but refusing to give up…until it’s over and I’ve completed it. That feeling of accomplishment, that feeling of becoming stronger every day. It’s worth so much to me.

Meet Taylor.

People always ask me what’s my motivation for working out, being consistent, eating healthy. It’s simple, I have little motivation—motivation is a fool man’s crock. I have a ton of discipline. I owe it to Taylor. I owe it to myself. I could very easily give up on myself but why would I when I can do so much more. Once you say yes to yourself, it becomes easier to keep saying yes.

You can have excuses or you can have results.

You can go to bed every night lying to yourself, “tomorrow will be the day I do better.” Or, you can wake up every morning actually doing better.

Do it for you. And if you find doing it for you isn’t a good enough excuse, do it for those who don’t even have the opportunity to do it themselves because I can guarantee you, they would give anything to be in your shoes. I don’t care how bad things might get in my life, I’ll never hit rock bottom. Ever. Why? I know there is someone out there, many people in fact, who have it so much worse and are praying to be in my shoes instead. When you pity yourself, when you give up on yourself, it’s like giving a “fuck you” to those like Taylor.

I wish you knew how good you have it in life. I want you to appreciate the small things in life. I really hope to God you can be happy even when life seems hard.

Oct26

& just like that, he’s 24.

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Taylor turned 24—24!—a week ago and I’m still processing it. Partially I think because I wasn’t there to celebrate it and that’s rare, I usually always make the trip home for it but this year it didn’t quite seem like the best idea with everything going on—working, starting up real estate, bathroom addition, Evelynn’s virtual schooling…the list goes on. Even more, I think it’s because every birthday of his, every year he lives, is incredibly unexpected. His birthday hits a little differently when you grew up being told he won’t live long, when he was always given a “deadline”.

I’ll never forget the Christmas that started late because he woke up blue and my parents had to rush him to the hospital that morning—I was 10.

Or I’ll never forget the call my third year in college when I had to rush home to meet my grandmother so she could drive us to Chicago—or was it St. Louis? You never remember the details, just the emotions—because Taylor’s surgery had some hiccups.

Then there was the unexpected tracheotomy that came out earlier than expected—if that doesn’t tell you the whirlwind of his hospital visits and medical care, I don’t know what will.

All of the times I woke up in the night as a child from my mom banging on my bedroom wall (it was the wall behind her rocking chair) because Taylor was having a seizure and he wasn’t breathing and I had to wake up my dad to help. 

The times when I had to get used to hearing the oxygen machine and heart monitor through the night—his bedroom was across from mine and I never liked sleeping with the door shut, too stuffy. 

It’s even crazier to think of how he was before the spinal fusion.

Back when we thought there was a slim chance of him walking, with assistance, and had feet/leg braces and I would put his feet on mine and we would walk, slowly taking steps around the living room, or dance.

When he could be pushed on a swing—he freaking loved it I might add!

When you couldn’t eat ice cream without him having some too—when he could eat, in general.

When he would roll around on the floor to play with his toys…and then if it was during a Red Wings hockey game and a commercial came on, he’d roll on up close to the tv and “yell” (jabber) at the tv until the game came back on. 

When he could roll over on his own, in general.

Covid-19 has been hell on everyone. The masks, the distancing, the unknown. Honestly, I have more to complain about the politics behind it than anything else because quite frankly, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve witnessed the worst. As far as I’ concerned, when it’s your time, it’s your time.

It hasn’t been Taylor’s time yet despite being prepared for it as a child.

People are not allowed in my parent’s house at the slightest flu or cold symptom because Taylor’s immune system is shot. For a very long time, he had to have daily breathing treatments multiple times a day. My mom’s “job” is to be his caretaker and I can count on one hand the number of dates my parents have gone on in the last decade. Oh yes, decade.

We never know how severe anything is with him, everything is a gamble. The doctors have said he could be the only person in the world with his case—they have no idea how to “treat” it, there is no “treatment”—and long ago made it clear that Taylor would not live a long life. Of course, they’ve always made it sound like he would pass before I became an adult yet here we are, I’m 31 and Taylor is 24(!!!!!!!).  

Growing up with a sibling like Taylor, it puts things in perspective—in many ways. I did not grow up with the assumption that my life was standard or “normal” (ugh, I can’t believe I just used that word, insert eyeroll)—far from it—nor did I ever believe it was quite special. Instead, it gave me an awareness, an ability to accept circumstances.

But not excuses, never excuses. Let’s be real clear about that one.

Do I believe that someone can have extenuating circumstances that can make doing something or achieving something very difficult? Absolutely—see Taylor. However, I also believe that for 99.99999999999999(repeating)% of the population, if they want it bad enough, they can make it happen. We see people overcome impossible circumstances all of the time. 

Though I can accept circumstances, I’m the person who tilts her head and goes, “Ok, but how do we get past that? How do we overcome that?” Taylor has been through hell and back; lives his days in a hospital bed; cannot turn, roll, or move over on his own; is fed through a G-tube; cannot communicate by any “normal” (ugh, again) standard—no sign language or speaking—that no stranger could attempt to immediately interpret; is hooked up to an oxygen and heart monitor with oxygen always nearby; has to have loose phlegm suctioned using a tube that goes down his throat or in his nose; can’t throw up because his esophagus is wrapped; must wear an adult diaper.

I could go on. 

Taylor does not know what it’s like to push your lungs to exertion by choice not by coughing. He’s never had jelly legs from working out. The only wind he’s felt on his face is from a windy day which isn’t the best thing for his health and can lead him into a coughing fit and then being suctioned. 

When I see people complain about not having the time or motivation to work out, it physically pains me. They have all they need to work out—working lungs, working legs, working heart. It’s just a matter of wanting it bad enough to manipulate their time. It’s a matter of putting themselves—their well-being and health—as a great enough priority. And why don’t they want to celebrate what their body can do? This is something I’m unable to grasp.

Broken hearts hurt like hell—at least I get the opportunity to fall in love if I open myself up to it and want to (I do, love you babe, by the way).

Being unemployed and losing my job due to Covid-19 was a very hard hit to take back in March and the unknown freaked me the f*ck out—at least I get the chance to create my own future, to find a career (hello real estate, can’t wait to crush it!).

Finding myself unexpectedly pregnant almost 7 years ago was scary—at least I get to have kids. Even if I’ve been doing the whole single parent thing alone for years, at least I have that option of having a child (and man oh man has motherhood been the best and most thrilling rollercoaster ride of my life).

Too often, people complain about things they mistakenly forget they can control. 

I wake up every day happy that I have a life that I actively choose—even when I’m in a mood or have a debilitating migraine, because I know neither one will last forever. And then I go to bed every night feeling absolutely blessed and amazed that this is my life, even if I had a bad day and it’s not everything I want from life, that this is my life: a man I love beside me, a daughter that drives me crazy but whom I’m crazy about, a house we’re making a home, three annoyingly stubborn but hilarious and protective bulldogs, a new career I can’t wait to dive into, supportive family and friends on my side, and a strong and healthy body that can and does work out regularly (sometimes rigorously).

24 years old, the youngest sibling in my family and who has never gone to school, yet Taylor continues to teach me more about life and living than I think anyone ever could. 

Jun26

Migraine hell.

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I’ve always done it alone. And I was fine with that. Though, I couldn’t tell you how as I never remember much other than the puking. The constant puking and pain. Everything else is black.

Until this time when I had someone by my side.

Migraines are my invisible enemy & Wednesday I came down hard with one. I was out for 36 hours, dead to the world. My boyfriend claims to have spoken to me throughout the day but I don’t remember it. He took Evelynn the entire day and then planned on having to do so again yesterday (he skipped going to football practice) because he didn’t know what to expect. If I’d feel better or if I’d still feel like death. Yesterday, I still wasn’t 100% with a lingering headache that I had to work to manage.

My brain was in a meat pulverizer. It was like a construction crew was having a jackhammer party in my head. I couldn’t keep down anything, not even water. My body would overheat and then get hit hard with chills. I couldn’t stand up, I was dizzy, I was seeing spots. It’s wondering if death is a good enough answer just to end the pain—it’s not. But that’s the troubling thing with migraines: you want it to end as fast as possible by any means possible. There is nothing I can do except sleep. Looking at a screen makes it worse. Trying to keep hydrated just makes for more trips to the bathroom to puke. I go dark.

While I spent the entire day in bed, Andy took care of Evelynn. They washed both his truck and my car. They took the dogs for a walk and she rode her bike. She got dirty and played with mud. They did a bonfire and danced. She ate all her meals and earned herself some ice cream. He kept her happy and entertained.

I’ve had to skip major events for migraines. I’ve lost great friends from migraines. I’ve been verbally abused by past boyfriends due to my migraines cancelling their plans. I’ve had grades slip in college due to migraines and my attendance record alone. I’ve slept through days on vacation due to migraines. I’ve missed soccer games growing up due to migraines. I’ve left bachelorette parties early due to migraines. I’ve almost lost jobs due to migraines—my work ethic and communication helped me keep them, helped my employers trust me. I gave up going for my teacher certificate because I couldn’t sub more than 3 days in a row without getting a migraine. I once chopped my hair because I heard that could help. I once gave up lentils (yes that means peanut butter, too) because I heard that could reduce headaches. I once went on a migraine med and ended up pregnant because it interacted with my birth control despite original assurances it wouldn’t—8 months after giving birth there was a “new finding” that the med I had taken was reportedly making birth control pills ineffective.

Since finding out I’m celiac and going gluten free, I’ve had far fewer debilitating migraines. Where I used to have them for 2-5 days 2-3 times a month, I now only get the excruciating crushing ones a few times a year. Most people don’t know how to react. They can’t see it. They can’t feel it. It’s invisible. Some think I must be faking it. It’s extremely difficult for anyone who doesn’t experience such crushing and debilitating migraines to not be annoyed with me for disrupting their day. Reality: it’s my hell. I not only have to battle the migraine but then I will have to also defend myself.

Today with the migraine gone and the post lingering headache gone, I’m feeling unbelievably blessed to have a man who took it upon himself to watch Evelynn for a day without complaints. Thank you babe.

Feb16

Reality Check.

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On his 90th birthday last Sunday, my (step) grandpa attended a memorial service for his daughter; and on Valentine’s Day, my paternal grandpa attended a visitation for his wife of almost 63 years. The following day was her funeral mass and burial. It’s been a week of reality checks and right after a breakup I didn’t see coming nor did I want.

Death is a reality check.

My step aunt passed away from cancer and while I didn’t know her well, let me just say cancer is only for the strong. Even when it feels like a losing battle or like giving up, it is only for the strong. Whether you are the one battling the disease or watching someone battle. You cannot be weak and have cancer. Nobody is weak and has cancer, whether they beat it or not. I firmly believe cancer is only for the strong. The mental and physical hits one takes, their capacity to process—only the strong get cancer.

We grew up rotating between visiting three sets of grandparents every week. We lived with my maternal grandmother until I was ten and then every Sunday we would visit either my maternal grandfather (now deceased), my maternal great grandparents (now deceased), and my paternal grandparents.

After returning home Sunday evening from my step aunt’s memorial service, I got the call that my grandma wasn’t doing well. I hadn’t seen her since last summer and I had made plans for Evelynn and I to go see her Tuesday. She never made it through Monday.

My grandparents didn’t have the best health. I’ve only known my grandmother to be extremely overweight and to make little effort in achieving better health. But oh man could she complain. And with my growing up with a severely disabled brother who is confined to his hospital bed and wheelchair, you can imagine how much her lack of interest in selfcare was difficult for me to process and accept. Not to mention my dedication to my own fitness and healthy eating, and struggles with health and celiac disease. And they knew. My mom guilted my paternal grandparents into eating better when I was pregnant—I wanted them to meet their first great grandchild. I’m sad to say by the time my grandmother passed, she was seeing my daughter more than she was able to see me.

Despite this difference, she was damn proud of me and she was a ferocious woman. She was stubborn as all get out and was all about that girl power. Of nine grandkids, I was one of only two girls. Sometimes, I think she loved the fact that I was a full-time single mom. I think it made her prouder.

My grandmother was the only person who whenever I was dating someone would ask me, “Well, does he make you happy? Are you happy Tiffany?” That’s all she cared about. She might ask other questions about his job or how we met—the gossipy bits of general info everyone always asks—but she always without fail would ask me if I was happy. That was the most important thing to her. And if I was, then it was a, “Well then I’m happy for you and Evelynn.” And if I was single, it was a “Well, I’m proud of you. One day there will be a man good enough for you but never settle.” And then there was my favorite, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Men aren’t worth the trouble of settling.”

Actually, she’s one of two people who would ever consistently ask me this—my step grandpa also asks me this whenever him and my maternal grandma find out I’m seeing someone new or when they meet a new man in my life. My paternal grandmother, though, she would ask me this every time I saw or spoke with her. Every time. Whether I was seeing someone new or not or if it was the same person. All she asked was, “Well are you happy now that you’re living in Grand Rapids?” “Well, are you liking your new job? Are you happy at your job?” “Is Evelynn happy?” All she ever cared about was if Evelynn and I was happy. It was the underlying theme to every question every time I saw her.

And yes, I’ll admit, thinking about all of this immediately after a breakup I didn’t see coming and in a relationship where I felt valued and naturally happy, it’s painful. With death, you realize how little time matters and when lack of time was the key reason I had been given for why he wanted a breakup, it stung and was confusing.

Death is a reality check if nothing else. It makes you think of where you are at in life, where you want to go, what you haven’t done that you thought you would have. Above all, it makes you realize how short life really is. Time is fickle.

I never thought life was a given. In fact, we speak of life not being a given but a gift, yet we act like we have a lifetime ahead of us and we are owed that lifetime. Maybe it’s watching Taylor live a very confined life all these years, but I feel lucky for anything I get to achieve or experience. It’s why I’m so passionate about working out and eating healthy—I’m showing appreciation to my body. I feel lucky to be able to work out daily and breathe in fresh air and wake up in the morning to a new day. I never could be the girl to sit around and binge watch Netflix. I could never be the girl who felt good being winded by stairs. I was the girl who if stairs were making me winded, it meant I was going to up my cardio game in my workouts. If I couldn’t play a full half game of soccer without needing my inhaler, oh man was I on a mission. Asthma might be a diagnosis but it was not about to control me.

I think it’s why I never settle in dating. I think it’s also why I never quite give up. Life is too short to be in a relationship I don’t want, respect, or value; where I don’t feel valued or where I simply know I’m not happy. But life is also too short to not want to experience life with someone else by your side and make memories with and build a life with in the hopes that when we reach 90 years old (fingers crossed), we can look back together and reminisce and be like, damn did we live. The only three questions I ever ask myself when dating: Am I happy? Do they treat me well? Do I like who I am when I’m with them? That’s my criteria.

I find it extremely captivating and beautiful to be able to grow with someone. To have someone who calls you out on your bullshit, expects the best of you and pushes you to grow but also accepts you for you and knows you’re not perfect. It’s an ideal I continue to hold out for.

And it is completely acceptable—encouraged, even—to be selfish in love.

The other day my recent ex made a comment, “I know you want to be in a long-term relationship with someone.” Here’s the thing, I want to be in a long-term relationship with the right person for me. (And yes, I did correct him, too.) I might have a fear of going through life without ever really knowing love and it might hurt like hell when someone doesn’t choose me back but I’m not willing to force it. I’m not willing to force finding it or feeling it. I’m 30 years old and I won’t lie, I thought I’d be married by now—don’t most of us?—but I’m also 30 years old and know who I am, know my worth, and know what makes me happy. I’d say, I’m pretty ahead of the crowd because all that is worth more.

And I have to thank my late grandma for consistently asking me about my happiness over the years (and reminding me not to settle) because it’s a question I’m not only not afraid to ask myself, but I’m also not afraid to answer honestly and make moves to change if needed.

Nov2

Balancing Act: Single Parenthood.

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Incredibly grateful. That’s the mood.

I was terrified to be a parent. I knew without a doubt I could love my daughter hard and give her my heart but I didn’t think I could have the energy to be present. I thought I might be one of those moms who are always laying down. Not because of depression or lack of desire but because I had suffered from constant chronic fatigue and endless migraines. You have to understand, I missed so much school in high school that every year I had to write my principal and the board a letter requesting not to make me repeat a grade and explaining the cause of my extensive absences, and I had to get all of my teachers to sign it with their stamp of approval. After I had Evelynn, I was subbing and couldn’t wake up to sub more than 3 days in a row without coming down with a migraine from exhaustion. I’d spend the next 36 hours or so sleeping. It was dreadful.

I worried endlessly about a career I could juggle with single parenthood. Until Evelynn, there was a reason I stuck with serving—it worked for me to sleep, I didn’t take the job home with me, it required little to no functioning. It wasn’t until we found out I had Celiac Disease and I learned how much working out daily helps that I improved and did basically a 180 with my health—I now average less than 6 hours of sleep most nights, little to no fatigue (unless obvious overexertion), and migraines minimized 95 percent I’d guess.

And then there’s the other part: I am adamant about believing I do NOT have it harder than any other parent, single or not. Some days it gets really difficult to believe but I refuse to go down that road. I am not special. I am not the only single parent. I am not the only parent. There are plenty of others in similar or way worse situations—let’s be real clear and honest about that fact. I have it pretty damn good.

Reality is it’s still frustrating when folks don’t get that single parenting as the sole parent is tough. No, I can’t drop things to go out. No, I don’t have “half the days off a month” to date. No, I don’t have someone else who can pick her up from school because she’s sick. No, I don’t have someone else who can get her around in the morning because I’m running late. Everything is on me—the school events and extracurriculars, the finances, the cleaning, the nurturing. I play best friend and parent. I play both parents.

I love her hard enough so she never doubts she is less for having only one parent routinely around.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Seriously, I always feel like I’ve suddenly lost a part of me on those weekends she goes to my parents without me. Might not be often but damn, shit hits hard. (I swear I’m not a helicopter parent.)

I am no supermom. I don’t mind if Evelynn thinks I am but I don’t want to be anybody’s goals simply because I might have it hard. I know I have it hard. You can respect me for it but it’s only my reality, not yours. Your reality is yours, and your only goal should be to make it work, make your dreams happen, make the best of your situation.

The difference between me and others, though, isn’t because of my single parent status, it’s because of my mindset. I refuse to settle. I refuse to give up.

Whether I had Evelynn or not, my reality would still be me pushing forward, working for more, consistently showing up for me.

I can account for every moment of my day. I act with intention. I make things happen for me and my daughter. I don’t believe in complaining about things we don’t have or our struggles when I can work at changing them. I have the power (98 percent of the time) to grow and make changes.

And then there’s the reality we can’t always control things. I shared my fear of parenting due to health issues and support—I wasn’t sure I could keep or find a job with my life. Single parenting is hard and you never feel so alone as a parent until you’re taking all the days off work for both your illnesses and your kids, even if it’s just the flu. You never feel so alone until you have to fit in the groceries, the bill paying, the dinner cooking, the workouts, the cleaning, the drop-offs and pickups, the extracurriculars, the bedtime stories and tuck-ins, the early morning wakeups and midnight calls. And then the actual work for an income. It’s stressful. There’s no one to fall back on. I have an extremely supportive family but my life is not their responsibility. I’m pretty adamant about that, too.

So why do I refuse to recognize myself as having it “harder” than other parents? Because their situation isn’t mine. I think parenting in general comes with some hiccups and difficulties. It’s a road only you can travel. Every child is different, every household is different. It’s the entire reason for the nature vs. nurture debate. We can’t depict how one’s upbringing effects one’s life. So how we can say single parents with 100% custody have it harder? I simply have different obstacles to overcome than others. We’re still all in the same battle of raising littles.

The benefits: I raise her. I make the decisions. I don’t have to consult with a partner currently. I have the freedom to raise her how I choose—there’s no room for varying upbringing beliefs that I have to take into consideration.

But I also own all the failures. And I’m good with that.

I have been profoundly blessed in finding two jobs over the last few years with leaders who support me. Who instead of immediately looking at a piece of paper and take me to the chopping block, will ask me what is going on and how can we make it work? What do I need from them to be successful and balance everything? Often times that has included taking odd hours or working from home. Sometimes, it’s just being given a little grace.

My daughter comes first with everything, the balancing act of recognizing when that means I show up for her versus when that means working towards building a life for us, is the tricky part. I’m still learning this balance. But I always tell her why and we communicate.

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When she didn’t see me during the parade, her face was ashen white.

Thursday was Evelynn’s costume parade at her school. Of course, I didn’t find out about it until the day before. She had already scolded me once before for missing some activity in class in September where most of the parents had come to class to participate—it was a 1-on-1 volunteer. I didn’t feel the need to volunteer when they had said they had enough. Evelynn of course thought otherwise.

Evelynn didn’t see me during the parade but I saw her. She was ashen. She was so white in the face I couldn’t tell if she had been extremely upset and scared or if they had put makeup on her. She ran right by me—she hates being put on display in front of a large group of people she doesn’t know. Like every parent, sibling, grandparent, and faculty of the school. When I showed up to her class after to snag a photo and tell her hi/goodbye and grab a kiss, she IMMEDIATELY lit up. Instant color to her face. It was amazing—shocking and eye-opening, too.

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She was thrilled I stopped in for a few minutes to say hi. check out those colorful cheeks! And yes, she wore last year’s costume so her Anna costume for trick or treating wouldn’t be worried…but we couldn’t find her Minnie ears so I improvised. #momwin

I didn’t stay for the Halloween party—balancing act, remember?—but she understood.

So Thankful. That is how I felt all of Thursday and since. That I was able to text and email my bosses late Wednesday night and request 2 hours off Thursday morning to see Evelynn’s parade.

We’re all balancing something. This happens to be mine—and I love mine despite all the struggles and unknowns.

Aug16

Level Up: It’s Sanity.

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I’m not the person you come running to complaining. I’m not even the person you come running to crying. Not because it makes me uncomfortable but because I’m going to talk about how to overcome. We’re going to have a deep discussion on how you got to this place, why you’re unhappy, and what you can do to change it. And then I’ll push you to change because I’m not someone you come to just to talk either. I like action.

It’s a tough love paradise with me and few can take it.

I have no room in my life for people who react to experiences and people with jealousy or complaints. Taylor has a right to be jealous—he’s spent almost 23 years of his life hardly living, don’t come to me crying because you refuse to put in the work to become better. Don’t come to me crying because you wanted a simple, easy journey. I will tell you things could be worse. I will tell you to take a few minutes to cry it out but then to get over it. I will tell you how good you have it—or how good you could have it.

They don’t say the best things in life are worth fighting for because it’s a catchy phrase. No, they say it because fighting for something you love, fighting to making something happen, that journey makes you appreciate it more. If it were easy, you’d let it go. You’d play a game of waves—coming and going back to the thing knowing that it will always be there for you. (Sounds like a toxic relationship, eh? It is.) No, we fight for things that aren’t easy because when we get there, when we climb the mountain, we appreciate the hike, we appreciate the sweat and lack of sleep it took to get there.

People always want to hear about the climb for a reason.

They might want to hear you say it was easy and Rome was built in a day, but it’s the climb they always ask you about—how did you do it? We’re fascinated by this process not realizing the only thing keeping many from doing it is by actually starting and then by keep going.

I’m a firm believer people are capable of going to great heights and putting in the distance to get there. The issue is people don’t always want it bad enough; they’re too focused on quick fixes and instant gratification to see the bigger picture. Take running for example, distance runners are more in shape than those who run 5K’s. Why? The training is brutal. Anyone can do 3.2 miles at a walking pace but very few can do over 25 miles of running. I could wake up tomorrow and run a 5K if I wanted—I’ll have cramps in my side, likely an asthma attack, and will walk part of it—but a half marathon or a marathon? That’s entirely out of my league without at least a couple months of training. It takes running consistently and timed nutrition. It takes education. It takes time.

Most people have no time for time. It’s what sets everyone apart. It defines character. It defines the fighters. It requires leveling up.

I’ll let you in on a secret: I don’t always want to workout every day. I don’t always want to eat healthy. Some days I want to take that time to read instead. Some days I crave pizza and donuts and burgers and other greasy or sugar loaded foods. The difference is I refuse to give in every day. I made the decision that feeling good long term was worth more to me than the savory taste of a loaded juicy burger and fries for 10 minutes. I recognized that taking 20-40 minutes of my day every day for physical activity meant I gained a lifetime of ability—not being as winded going up stairs, ability to park in the back of a lot and walk the distance in without grumbling, no pain or joint issues when squatting down, carrying eight bags of groceries inside no sweat because I don’t want to take more trips, playing an entire game of soccer without an asthma attack, keeping up with my daughter.

I fell in love with the process not because I love celery over a burger (I don’t, actually), I fell in love with the process because I love how I feel.

I also recognized I have absolutely no right to talk about my failures if I’m not actually putting in the work. I recognized I have absolutely no right to talk if I’m not leveling up. It’s a level up or shut up paradigm.

If you cannot level up, I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I do not want to hear what you could do back in the day, I do not want to live in your past, I do not want to hear you put others down because they are farther along than you—because they started on a journey to better themselves while you refuse to make a move. I do not want to hear what you could do tomorrow when we both know you’re not actually going to be able to do it because you haven’t put in any work.

And this goes for anything—career, fitness, nutrition, health, relationships. What’s the definition of insanity?

I believe humans are resilient but I also believe they have to want it bad enough. We have to take ownership not only of our actions but also of where we’re going. So I ask you, are you wanting to merely survive or are you thriving? Are you going to level up? Your sanity will thank you.

Jul25

Give Me Strong.

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2015 113lbs

June 2015, 113lbs. Still sick sometimes and learning about celiac disease.

Four summers ago, I was bone.

I weighed 113lbs. at 5’5”. After having Evelynn, I lost the baby weight and then some fast—if you’ve read any of my blogs on my pregnancy, this isn’t news. I was bones. I was a size 0, easily a size 00 but refused to put myself in that category. I had enough people commenting on my weight loss, a mixture of “what’s your secret??” and “You need to start lifting,” and “Girl, you need to eat.” Problem was, I was eating. It just wasn’t settling well for me. I would stare at myself in the mirror and wonder, Why? How? Is this really what women chase? Is this what they starve themselves for? Is this what they fantasize over? Is this what people believe to be the standard for beautiful? A boney body with no curves, back pain, and inability to lift anything heavy. I hated the “you look so good now!” comments. It was always that now that really irked me. And then there were the guys, many of whom I had known for years, who seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere or hit on me. I didn’t want to be noticed. I felt like shit. I missed working out. I missed having the stamina and endurance for soccer.

You could see my rib cage some days.

I didn’t have abs. I had a sunken stomach.

I don’t have many pics of me from this time.

I missed me.

I was a size 0 but would sometimes buy the size 2 because I never planned at staying a size 0. I remember the first Thanksgiving after I had Evelynn, I was only 3 months postpartum, when I refused to buy the size 0 pants. I had been a size 5/7 prior to my pregnancy. I never thought I’d keep dropping weight after. I was planning on lifting my way back up. I had never been a size 0 that I could remember, not even in high school when I was a solid 132lbs. for most of the 4 years; it didn’t make sense. So I bought size 2’s with room to grow.

I still have those pants, by the way. All of them. The size 5’s and the size 2’s. They’re in a box in my parent’s basement just chilling like villians. I titled the box pregnancy clothes because I had never gained enough weight during my pregnancy to have to buy bigger pants. But I finally donated the 7’s and 9’s a year ago.

Workouts came with spells of dizziness or pukefests. I couldn’t keep consistency. I always loved the gym, but now I only loved an empty gym—where people didn’t tell me I needed to lift heavier or needed to try another method or how yoga was “not a workout” or to go past 90 on my chest press—I have shoulder hypermobility, it’s a hard No for me and does more damage than strength building, and I often opt to do these on the floor for that control variant. I was a fan of compound moves. I was a fan of a well-rounded routine. I loved starting with cardio before lifting—I wanted that elevated heartrate to begin. I studied health and fitness for a stint, I started lifting in middle school, I got myself out of knee braces before college—I knew my body well enough. And every time I overdid it—to prove something to them or to me, I don’t know—I kicked myself. I’ll never forget when I was challenged to do a pushup and there was that crunch putting me out for weeks.

2016 118lbs

February 2016, 115lbs. Occasionally lifting and cardio, mostly yoga, primarily clean eating.

Enter Yoga.

The teachers thought I had been practicing for years when it was only my second class. I had the lithe, thin body, the balance and flexibility. What I wanted was strength. I fell in love with yoga and the stamina I’d build, but it didn’t sculpt my body and I wasn’t building muscle. I couldn’t go enough considering my daughter at home, the hours I worked, and traveling 74 miles for work (one way), 4 days a week.

I went back to the gym.

In cycles.

Never consistent. Always at only a few weeks at a time before I’d go off again because life, work, parenthood. Gradually, however, I gained some weight back. Consistent nutrition at the forefront of the battle, always there beside me on weeks when working out didn’t quite happen. Over time, I gained weight, little by little—10lbs. maybe, big whoop. However, most of this can be contributed to the gluten free lifestyle after finding out I had celiac—it was a long learning process of what I could and couldn’t have.

Want to know a secret: a major deciding factor of me moving out of my parent’s house last summer had nothing to do with my career. It was a leading factor but it wasn’t the only factor. No, I wanted to workout consistently.

My parents don’t have Wi-Fi. 2019 and they still don’t have Wi-Fi out in the boonies. That spring, I started to look at other programs.

Yes, I was that desperate.

I mean, 28 and living at home, that was harsh in itself but throw in the crap that I didn’t have Wi-Fi or space to workout there and the inability to hit the gym consistently, and I was feeling weighed down (pun not intended). I wasn’t happy.

So I looked at programs to do at home—I needed guidance and plan because I had no motivation or desire to workout at home but I had reached desperation. I spent 3 months researching programs like Beachbody, BodyBoss, BBG and Sweat, Fit Girl’s Guide. I bought the BodyBoss method which I did love but wasn’t challenging enough and again, lack of space in the colder months. It was the only one that didn’t require Wi-Fi that I could do at home without weights. When I moved out, that’s when things improved, but it wasn’t the act of moving out that helped.

120lbs pre BOD

July 2018, 118lbs. starting my first Beachbody program: LIIFT4.

I signed up for Beachbody and it was the best decision I ever made. After 3 years of saying No to people because I dreaded the idea of working out from home or I wasn’t a big fan of the human sending me an obvious copy/paste message or I simply was unable to workout from home (parents’) without the Wi-Fi, I said YES. I had my own place and dove head first into this fitness community.

I fell in love with working out at home.

I know, crazy. I actually just admitted that.

I. Fell. In love. With working out. At home.

When I started my first program I had twig arms, a back that had me crying every time I did dishes, weighed 118lbs. – 123lbs. (I fluctuate easily), and was a size 0. A year later and that’s all changed.

Well, almost.

I’ve got biceps for days that love to pop in photos without me trying. Hell, I even have triceps I never knew could exist.

A back that after only 2 months of working out with this new program, I noticed didn’t have me crying in pain doing the dishes. In fact, I realized I was able to cook and do dishes every night without pain.

140lbs

Spring 2019, 140lbs. wondering where the weight is going if I’m not having to buy new clothes.

I now weigh over 140lbs. aka my prepregnant weight.

I’m still a size 0.

Except my ass and thighs about want to bust out of my jeans—my waistline is what keeps me here. If I move up in size, the pants are still too big and I have that uncomfortable gap.

It’s not the size that matters, it’s the weight gain. The musclegain that came with hard work, dedication, consistency, and persistence to eat healthy. From 11pm and 5am workouts. From the refusal to take rest days when my body didn’t need a rest day. It’s difficult to comprehend the muscle gain without talking about being in the same size clothing, otherwise people are going to focus on the scale and a “weight gain” in a negative fashion. Non scale victories—I gained my health here.

I know I’ve talked about it before—that weight gain was a mindfuck to overcome in today’s society—but it deserves to be said: fitness matters. Health matters.

Do I owe all of my 30lbs. weight gain to Beachbody? Hell no. I owe it to me. But we can’t discount what got me here. We can’t discount it worked. That it helped. That it provided me with tools to buildsomething from. Through the journey I learned my body needed more carbs to sustain through more workouts and that I wasn’t eating enough proteins—veggies, oh I was good there. Over the past year, I increased my food intake without feeling like I was overeating or doing it for the fuckers who accused me of an eating disorder. I did it for me, for my body.

I loved myself then like I do now. I wasn’t happy with my body but I was happy with my mind. I wasn’t happy with my body because I wasn’t at my healthiest or strongest. Now, I’m 2.5 months away from entering my 30’s and I can confidently say I’m at the healthiest I’ve ever been.

I can play a full game of soccer at midfield—the position with lots of running—in 85 degree sun and heat. I can do a plyometric based workout (granted, some modifications still necessary). I can carry a napping Evelynn along with all our work and school bags, no problem—I like to live that one trip life. I can drink water during a workout without puking. I can eat a meal within hours before a workout and not get sick.

I can do unmodified pushups.

Four years ago, it hurt to sit my ass was so boney. Now, I’ve a nice cushion that won’t be stopped from them booty gains.

143lbs beach

June 2019, 143lbs. 

And I know I’m going to piss somebody off here, someone is going to remark to me, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you’ve never been fat,”—it happens every time, I’m disappointed to say. Well, honey, Fat is a derogatory word, just like Skinny. I prefer not to associate with either term.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t look at size. It’s crazy and some people, again, will try to call bullshit on me but when I look at other people, I don’t take in their size. It is not relevant to me and doesn’t register. I don’t believe it’s what matters. I don’t compare the size or shape of my body to other women. I compare it to how I feel. I look at health, the muscle gains, if there are bags underneath my eyes, if the girl looking back is in pain. I no longer look for the bones or the curves.

 

I am no longer bones. But I loved every one of those bones. Those bones are still here, just not as visible. Those bones kicked ass, persevering. Those bones started my first workout of Beachbody a year ago. Those bones paved my way to freedom and today’s muscle gain. And I can’t wait to kick off the newest program Beachbody has to offer next week.

I’m back to me.

But fuck Skinny, give me Strong.

Jun28

Float butterfly.

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I spent most of this morning in tears and I am not one who cries. Caught between the pain and feeling emotionally run down, unsatisfied, I cried because I was crying.

Did I mention I don’t cry?

I cry when I’m in very intense pain. I cry when I’m overly pissed and have no outlet because I’m not someone who calls someone to complain, I don’t scream, I don’t punch anything, I don’t crawl into bed. I work through everything. I work out for therapy.

I do not sit and cry. When I do, it’s for five seconds, three streaming tears I can wipe away with one hand, and one trembling lip I can easily—kind of—in six seconds.

But I don’t wallow.

I’m the tough love, get over yourself, keep going, play the hand you’ve been dealt or find a new game—life, after all, is a game—but I don’t quit. I don’t throw in the towel, I don’t let life bring me down. I persevere. No matter how hard things might get. I don’t believe in wallowing in self-pity because the thing is, someone somewhere has it worse.

My mom believes it’s partially due to seeing how much my brother has suffered and missed out on in life. And she ain’t wrong.

Some people have called me naïve. Some people assume I don’t know hardships. Some people believe I’m inexperienced in life. This is a naïve thought that can only be derived from either negative people or people who are unwilling to believe you can overcome struggles or rise out of the darkness.

Others believe I’m just strong—stubborn and strong will-powered. These people are not wrong.

I am strong. I am stubborn. But as my lovely boyfriend also pointed out the other night when I was suffering in pain from a neck issue derived in a soccer game, I’m human. Or as he said, “it’s nice to know you’re mortal and human like the rest of us even if you’re like superwoman or supermom.”

So here’s the truth: you can be strong and get knocked down. And here’s my reality: I refuse to stay down. Even when I’m an emotional wreck for a morning. It just means I need to change my stance.

Get knocked down. Change your footing. Duck the blow. Float the fucking butterfly.

Apr30

Keep Going.

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You can excuse yourself and still never give up. It’s not about your excuses, it’s about pushing, perseverance, resilience, and CONSISTENCY. Even if it’s hitting pause or slowing it down.

Hit pause. Slow down.

Then keep going.

My biggest pet peeve with past coaches was when I was having a blown asthma attack and they would yell at me to move my ass and stop giving excuses. I could run a 6-minute mile with an asthma attack at the end forcing me to walk a stretch before finishing strong. I made up my sprints after others were done and the attack passed. I had limits, I worked with them and I pushed them when I could. However, my coach’s expectations because I was a “child” were beyond unrealistic. I never pushed myself for them or because of them, I’m pretty sure I fought with them more than anything. I pushed for me.

I also hated when coaches would ask me, “What’s your excuse today?” because my physical therapist, for example, didn’t want me doing cleans with my shoulder—I always later dislocated it. It never changed: my therapist was very clear I was not to do that movement. I was hypermobile with little strength. It was a move I’d have to strengthen with other exercises, not something I would just jump into for a physical test, and nothing ever weightbearing. Tearing something was a big worry.

I don’t care about your excuses. We can work with your excuses. Excuses are part of life.

I’m a mom, sometimes I have to excuse myself from activities because I LOVE being a mom and that’s worth more. It’s an excuse to others; it’s my reality. My greatest achievement. Sometimes, I work long hours. Again, not an excuse when chasing dreams. I won’t try intermittent fasting despite health benefits some people claim—I have very, very low blood pressure. It’s not safe for me. This is not a method I will use for “more energy” because for people like me, it can do more harm than good. I’m gluten free because of celiac disease. Some people get annoyed that I have a limited menu and restaurant options to choose from. Confession: I like this restriction most days, it forces me not to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru when their fries are calling. I will accept this excuse all day—it helps hold me accountable.

It’s not about your excuses, it’s about what you do with them and how you allow others to perceive them.

Do they hold you back from what you want or do you overcome them? Do you let them control you or do you embrace them and push through? Do you find ways to make things work, no matter how many attempts it might take you? Are they a status of your life or are you using them to reconcile missing out on living your best life without trying to make things better?

That is the only excuse I care about. Stop missing out. Stop holding yourself back.

If you live a life with no excuses, honey you’re not living. At some point, you will embrace what someone else considers an excuse because you are damn proud of who you are. You are a mom and for one night, going to your son’s soccer game means more than stressing over getting a workout in that day. Take the day off. You are a sister and haven’t seen your family in months, take the weekend off. Eat all the homemade meals. Your wrist kills and can’t handle doing a pushup. Work up that strength. Take time to do it properly instead of further injuring yourself.

Confession: I have the Ann Arbor Art Fair butting right into Faster Horses for a long 4-day weekend this summer and I don’t plan on working out one bit for those 4 days because I will not stress myself out over scheduling and I will not stress myself out over using the communal gross showers. Instead, I have had my workout schedule planned all the way through that weekend since before April. That’s right, my March through July workout schedule is already set. Some might see that fun weekend as an excuse to ridicule—honey I’m grabbing on to it with both hands, it’s my reward for my dedication and consistency. It’s my reward for persevering.

If you live a life with no excuses, then all you’re doing are the motions without the why behind them. Eventually, years will pass and you will realize you wanted to take that one saturday off for donuts and beer festival with great company, lie on that beach one weekend to read one more book, skip a class to see Garth Brooks perform one last time. You have to prioritize what makes you happy with what makes you healthy to enjoy the most out of your life. Do you want to hike mountains or claim the couch cushion? Do you want to watch your daughter’s first ballet performance or train for your half marathon? Do you want to do yoga at sunrise or drinks to celebrate someone’s birthday at sundown? Prioritization and organization. You do what you can, and slowly you build it up and increase what you can do.

So hit pause. Maybe rewind. Maybe a little replay with a new DJ. Maybe slow down, reevaluate and reposition. Know the difference between giving an excuse and giving up, and know when an excuse can turn into giving up.

“Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald.

“Keep going.” – ME.

 

Apr22

Just this once.

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Confession: I roll my eyes every time someone says, “No Excuses.”

It’s not a concept I can get behind. I 100% support it if it’s the mantra one person uses to keep a promise to themselves and to reach their goals. If it makes sense to them for them, I’m all about it. Otherwise, I snuff my nose at the phrase when someone uses it to motivate others, as if they’ve walked in their shoes.

I don’t participate in the whole nature vs. nurture debate because as far as I can tell, it seems pretty obvious both impact your journey and every day you make choices. Ever go down that whirlpool of, what if I left my house 5 minutes earlier? What if I took this street instead? What if I hadn’t chosen this college to attend? What if I hadn’t stepped into this coffee shop? What if the DJ had chosen to play a different song? What if I didn’t buy this bottle of wine? The questions can be endless. Does the outcome remain the same? I think it’s most remarkable when looking at twins—they have the same environment but their thought patterns can be different.

Nobody is the same. Nobody thinks the same. Nobody faces the same experience, in the same manner, at the same time, with the same history for them to process the experience the same way. When I hear statements made like “No excuses” or “If I can do it, you can do it,” I become speechless. I stare at the words or the person speaking them. I have no response. These are not my mantras.

I never tell someone they can do something because I did it. It’s not that I don’t believe they can do it—they can—it’s because I believe they can do it simply because I believe in them. I was brought up through experiences that made me strong—strong-willed and stubborn—and with an outlook that if I want to make it happen, I can. It’s that simple for me. It might take time, pain, and many failures, but if I want to overcome something, I can. However, I also understand that life happens that could derail these plans and goals.

I’m a single mom with a good career who stays active—not every single mom gets lucky to have the support to do this. The amount of times I’ve had to call in to my previous job and now my current job because of Evelynn being sick or me having a migraine, and me keeping that job, blows my mind. Every time I’ve made that call I’ve worried it’s going to be the nail in the coffin, and I envy couples who can share these days or have a stay at home parent to more easily accommodate—not everyone has this. Some employers are very strict about time off or working from home, some jobs don’t accommodate working from home, then there’s the folks who live off tips for income.

I refuse to tell someone that just because I can find time to dedicate to my fitness, they can too. The reality is I struggled a lot. There were days I had to make compromises instead of excuses. Currently, I live on the rule “I get one day off from working out in the week, use it wisely.” If I have to take more than that, I refuse to double up the workouts for that day because they weren’t designed to be doubled up, they were designed with a rest. My bonus cardio workouts I don’t ever include in the formula—those are bonus for a reason and not part of my program.

And sometimes life gets in the way. I had to overcome a lot to tell myself, “No, you are doing this now.” Thursday night, I didn’t want to workout but I had to ask myself, “Do I want to take two days off this week from the program? Will I be happy with myself if I do or will I beat myself up for it wishing I had just pushed play?” I knew Saturday I wouldn’t be able to do the cardio flow workout that’s scheduled because my parents don’t have wi-fi. I had already scheduled it for Sunday, my normal “rest” day (if I want to take a rest day). I knew two days off I would regret. So, I buckled up and got it done. And to be honest, Sunday night when I got home, I didn’t want to work out at 7:48 p.m. either.

Saying No to sweets and Yes to healthy options, wasn’t easy. It came with learning that the unhealthy food came with unhealthy feelings. I love burgers, LOVE burgers, however, I learned that while a burger made me want to skip my to-do list and pass out or down 3 drinks and then deal with a hangover the next day, a salmon with roasted asparagus and seasoned red lentil noodles portioned right made me feel well-nourished and like I could tackle the day.

I’m not a fan of going out every weekend. I love waking up, sipping on my coffee, getting in a yoga flow, and just flying through my to-do list, even if it’s reading an entire book and chilling out the rest of the day. Why? It makes me feel good. Hangovers—not so much.

Not everyone can do this easily. Saying “No” and “Just Doing” mentality didn’t happen overnight. It happened after months of practice and consistency. It happened when I figured out my why—whyI wanted to eat healthy, workout 6 days a week, and focus on my health. Why it was important for me to say No to that which didn’t help me and Yes to that which made me happy—I also had to determine what made me happy.

Do I still have slip ups? You bet. After being stood up so many times the first few months of the year, I gave up puppy chow for lent. I was eating popcorn for meals so much that I gave it up for lent, too. Lent kicked my ass into gear when I knew what I needed to do but also needed a little extra motivation. Reality was I could have portioned the puppy chow and popcorn somehow into the balance of my diet, but I don’t like eating that much sugar and junk cereal. If it makes me happy and I had 87% control of the rest of my health, it’s fine to indulge (my theory for my body). However, I didn’t want that 13% to revolve around puppy chow popcorn every day. I like the occasional donut, bacon for breakfast, extra pancake with the maple syrup, dairy free butter on my sweet potato, red meat, White Claw, and there’s the whole lack of sleep thing some nights. I like my balance options.

Balance doesn’t exactly fit into the whole No Excuses mentality. Does it? I can’t see it.

The amputee who runs a marathon. The person who was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of their life but was able to beat all odds and walk again. These have been deemed No Excuse examples. These are strong will, strong mind and body. There are individuals who dedicate everything to overcome an obstacle that has a less than one percent chance of beating and yet are still unable to. I think you can do anything with a strong mindset and will power, but you also need the right tools and support, and sometimes those tools are dependent entirely on your body. I will not use No Excuse because I will not degrade the hard work of individuals who give everything but still get nothing. I will also not degrade those individuals who did beat unspeakable odds and made it happen for themselves—that’s extraordinary, not the normal. Saying anyone can do what they did seems to defeat the odds they beat, and simultaneously insults those who weren’t able to do so.

That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go all in.

Go all in like you have the winning hand. Go all in like you have a straight flush. Chances are, you’re winning but then, sometimes, you might just end up in a game where someone else holds a royal flush. That’s life. You know what happens? You get dealt another hand.

Like poker, you don’t know what hands others are dealt. Simply because you have a winning hand now doesn’t mean your initial hand was applaud worthy or your first game brought attention.

An ex tried using the No Excuse mentality on me to have me do a push up. He didn’t believe me when I said my back was poor and my shoulders were even worse. That I hadn’t yet built up the strength. What happened? I did the pushup, heard a crunch, a flush of what felt like extremely warm liquid heat flowed through my shoulder blade area and I was in pain for days. I should not have done that pushup. Now, after a very scripted workout regimen and complete focus on form along with gradual increase in weights I’m lifting, I can do consecutive pushups with no pain. I didn’t get here because someone manipulated me into doing it by saying, “You want to do them again? Do them right here right now, no excuses.”

Sometimes those excuses aren’t excuses, they’re someone’s reality. Just because it’s not your reality doesn’t mean it isn’t someone else’s. I 100% believe in moderations, and if someone complains to me about not being able to do something without trying and failing at all odds, then I might push back on them. I won’t ever tell them, “Well, you said you wanted it, no excuses. Run 5 miles.” No, it’s, “Well, if you really want it then let’s make it happen.” Mindset. They know their body, they live in their body; I do not.

Let’s play the hand we’re dealt. And next hand, we’ll shuffle the deck because our hands will constantly be changing throughout our lives. Know when to fold and when to go all in—I hope you go all in every time, there’s always the next hand. But sometimes, just sometimes, the risk of losing is greater than the chances of winning. Sometimes excuses, aren’t something to slyly look over.

What does it sound like when I push someone or myself when working out?

Is it painful or are you just sore? Burns so good. That’s you living honey, keep going. This is less than 5% of your day. That’s all you have to give me. You get the other 95%, I get these 60 minutes, your body gets these 60 minutes. Five percent. Give five percent of your day every day to fitness and you are already on the ready to a healthier you. Progress baby. If it’s not burning, if you’re not working for it, it’s not working for you. Push harder. You can do this. If you stop now, will you look back and say, “Damnit, I wish I would have finished out these last 3 reps?” Don’t regret exercise, feel satisfied. If you need to drop down a weight, drop it but let’s finish it up. Let’s finish this strong. Those lungs are breathing, those legs are burning because they’re happy to live and they’re capable. You are capable. And if you’re not feeling capable to give more today, if you know you won’t regret stopping now, you will be capable tomorrow because you pushed yourself today. 

Sometimes, I’ve been known for just yelling, “Go, go, go, go! Almost done ladies, let’s do this! 5 more to a healthier you! 5-4-3-2-1 YESSSSSS!!! You did it! How fucking proud of you are you??”

Pushing that hard isn’t for everyone, and sometimes, even myself, I’m so dead by the end of the workout it takes me twice as long to finish the reps because I refuse to do proper form but I don’t want to give up. It’s not No Excuses, because for many in that predicament, it might be best to end it and no risk damage or injury. For me, I know my limit, though, and it’s a, “Do you feel like you will die? Do you feel hurt? Or are you just fatigued and need to slow down? Will you be happy with your performance when you’re done?” And damnit, I love the finish line.

Not once did I say, “No Excuses” to push forward or to go all in.

I have a habit of saying, “Just say no” to people despite knowing it’s not easy. Don’t want the extra slice of pizza? Just say no. Want to make it to the gym tomorrow after work? Just go. Want to eat more veggies and less fried food? Just do it. It’s an easy concept but not easily done. I know this. And while it’s not always easy for me, I would argue it’s easier for me because of how I grew up. I saw sacrifices made, I saw the value of health and an active lifestyle, I witnessed the reality of cutting cold turkey is the easiest process. Watching Taylor, not having the experiences or luxuries that others had, I grew up gaining different values and a high respect for health.

Finding out I was celiac and couldn’t have gluten anymore, I had no choice. I had to give it up for my health or I faced bigger issues than fatigue, migraines, underweight, constant nausea down the road. I found out that when you decide something firmly and you do it, you just do it. There’s no other process. I found out that while I was a single mom but I also later decided I was going to chase a career and make both a priority, that I just had to do it. There’s no other option. It was either I wanted it and let it be a pipe dream, or I chase the fuck after it like I owned my dream and make it into my reality. I just did it. Some days I don’t quite make it, and that’s okay. That’s human nature not to have 100% perfect all in days—some hands we have to fold on.

It’s not, “Just say no” or, “Just say yes.” It’s, “Just say no this once” or “Just say yes this once.” Because once you show yourself you can do it this one time, you realize you’re capable of doing it. The second time is easier until what you thought was unimaginable becomes second nature and routine. And for the very few times you fall off, you know it’s easy to get right back on again the next opportunity you have because you’ve already proven to yourself you can.

Turn “Just this once” into your habit.