Category Archives: health

Bring on the Backbone.

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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.

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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.

Swinging Puppet.

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There are two types of people in this world: those who swing when backed into a corner and those who cower. Every weekend I have a near breakdown. It’s supposed to be the time to unwind but instead it’s the time to get myself ready for the next week and come Sunday evening I want to cry. Why? I seem to think I’m not good enough.

At 27-years-young I’ve become a puppet. Work and living with the parents have my hands tied while my daughter has my feet firmly planted and unwavering. My days are spent pleasing everyone but myself and the idea that I have come to let life pass me by is terrifying. I constantly feel like I can never dedicate enough time to Evelynn while maintaining my work. Social life? You can forget it. One of the most dreaded questions I’m asked is, “So what do you do for fun?” I pause. I stare at my phone, I stare blankly at the person asking me, I stare off into space, I look around me dazed. The question never ceases to make me simply stop. Fun? Fun?? My kid is my fun; or my health (gym, yoga). Both of which I love…which makes it so much more irritating when they come back at me with, “No, like what do you do in your spare time?” Damnit, I don’t have spare time then. (Yes, I have been known to snap.)

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen friends in the last year.

Yes, it gets lonely. And depressing. And so I wonder, what’s wrong with me? I think I’m not good enough. If other people can make it work, why am I struggling so much? Why do I feel like I’m drowning?

I can’t handle whining and that’s exactly what it sounds like, right? Enter breakdown mode.

I have always had this mindset or philosophy that no matter how bad it gets for someone, it’s worse for someone else. And let’s face it, I have a constant reminder having grown up with a brother who can’t talk, walk, eat, or even roll over in his own bed. Whenever I felt backed into a corner or life was knocking me down, I came back swinging and hellbent on taking a stand. I’m not one to cower.

Friday night on the news was this story of a young boy, Jamarion, who had no arms but a dream to play basketball. On his first day in middle school, his coach took a chance on him—couldn’t deny a boy with such passion and drive from being on the team. As expected, the kid was a benchwarmer. He was ok with that. He just wanted to be part of a basketball team. Then he got a chance to play and scored two three-pointers, one of which was at the buzzer.

Fucking ridiculous.

But it gets better.

Interviewer: “If I could wave a magic wand right now and give you your arms back, would you want them?”

Jamarion: “I don’t need them.”

Amazing.

…remember my feet? They’re firmly planted and unwavering, with Evelynn wrapped around them. She’s the only one I worry about pleasing. My hands? The tie can be unbound, the strings snipped and fashioned into new ropes. I’ll wrap my hands in them to protect from bruising—what can I say? I’m a swinger.

Rummy Queen. 

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Today’s workout was tough. Actually, it seems to have been a rough week for me, and people noticed. I’ve been in an odd funk the first few days this week; though I woke up refreshed today only to find it again this evening. And yes, it does partially have to do with dating….or lack of. 

The past few weeks of not dating were refreshing. Somewhat. I got back into fitness way more than I have been in months, migraines mostly went away, I gained some weight (all muscle), and I did the 4:50am multiple wake ups to get into the office. Basically, I kicked ass. 

But this week I realized I’m letting them win. By giving up, I’m letting it all get to me in the worst way. I might be focusing on better things but if I’m turning all guys down and refusing to date anyone because I was hurt or don’t want to face another rejection, I’m letting myself down. 
I kept thinking, what is wrong with me? 

Am I not pretty enough? (Oh god, I seriously wondered that.) 

Am I boring? (Awkward I got in the bag, I know.) 

Am I crazy? (Highly likely on that last one considering I’m willing to blog about this shit….but you can’t be a writer if you aren’t willing to be vulnerable <– best advice I was given in college.) 

Is it the single mom thing? (Okay, bye now.) 

Why do I keep going for these dudes who stand a girl up without notification–until weeks or months later–or lie about what they want? Am I such a terrible person my karma is that bad? (I thought karma and I were tight.) 

It’s not wonder: I’ve always been one to live in my head. I’m constantly thinking–I blame the writer in me. But I’ve also always had an immense belief in will power: if I was scared of dating a guy because I was scared of them hurting me, I’d tell the fear to go to hell and if I get hurt then I’d pick myself back up. That was my philosophy. It’s one thing to stop seeing someone because you’re not into them or it’s not what you’re looking for; it’s something entirely different to quit seeing someone because you’re scared of falling deeper for them, or falling at all for them, and them not returning those feelings. I’m sick of hearing the latter as the excuse told to me when guys flip a sudden switch to not see me or they stand me up. 

(But like hell I’ll quit being awesome 😉.) 

Do they think it’s believable? Is it ever? It’s like saying “I’m really scared of someone stealing all my money so I’m going to turn down the well paying career job for a less than minimum wage temporary gig.” No. Doesn’t happen. I’m calling bullshit. 

Just like I’m calling bullshit on me refusing to date. I’m dabbing. I’m open to the concept. I refuse to let this all get me, let them tear me down. I don’t lose. 

Life is one big risk, right? It’s like rummy, you don’t have to show your full hand, you don’t even have to go all in to win. But I always do and I always win–that’s why they call me the rummy queen.

Green Grass.

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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.

High On Me.

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I ate my feelings two weeks ago for the first time in my lifetime. It was the equivalent of one full pint of Hagen-Dazs coffee ice cream (as if there’s any other option) over a Criminal Minds episode and no fucks given. About that decision, at least. Can’t say the same about the event leading up to it, though.

I blame my boss for jinxing me: A couple days before, I had off-handedly mentioned to my boss, “well it’s this or The Bachelor.” He seems to find my dating life hilarious. At this point, I do, too. I’m not sure what had brought the topic up but he was definitely against the idea despite my telling him it would be free publicity for the company. And I’m not sure why it came up because Lord knows I’d never agree to such a thing—dating a guy who is dating 24 other women. I might watch the show and have for years—it makes me feel sane!—but I would never subject myself to such treatment. 1) I don’t get along with most women. 2) I’d end up committed in an insane asylum or wearing orange for the rest of my life. 3) I’m not that sociable. 4) Not trying to be famous—I go by a penname! 5) I don’t do airplanes. 6) I prefer to think that if a guy likes me, he’s not going to make out with some other chick 3 minutes later. No thank you, I’ve got a little bit more self-respect than that would require.

Moving on.

I know I’m a smart girl, I don’t need the affirmation, but my god am I a fool. Trending: me finding guys who don’t respect me. That night of the Hagen-Dazs tongue drowning marked yet another episode of getting stood up. I had passed double digits sometime back in early fall. It was a low low despite expecting little. Also trending: me getting stood up.

It’s hard not to make the jump and wonder what is wrong (yes, I’ve wrote about this before & more in-depth) but it was more than that. It was the accumulation of consistently putting myself out there, being the one who travels the 40-90 minutes to meet a guy (one way) only for the guy to be a complete asshole within a couple days.

The being lied to—an implication of complete disrespect—constantly by different guys has drained me. That’s the part: consistently, by multiple guys. It’s made me question my ability to read guys. How do I keep putting myself out there? How can I continue to believe any guy in the future? I try like hell not to bring previous fears and issues into any dating and relationships, but my god is it difficult.

And my god do I have the worst guy radar.

A couple days later I spent 48 hours or so in bed sick. Talk about forcing you to live in your head. The worst part of being sick is how it can trigger overthinking. Naturally, I got to sleeping, but then I got to a whole hell of a lot of thinking when I couldn’t sleep no more.

A lot.

Too much.

And I realized I don’t want to date. I’m so sick of guys, so turned off by everything, the idea of dating is depressing. A nightmare. A clusterfuck.

A living hell.

I’m at a point where I don’t believe promises and hate making plans with a guy. I make back-ups. Half the time I don’t even plan on someone watching Evelynn.

Yeah, definitely think I’m done.

I want more kids but after everything that’s gone down with Evelynn’s dad, I’m not sure I want a man beside me in the future. (Lord Jesus, please don’t let me be crazy.) It’s not that I want to make a career out of being a single mom, the hardships and loneliness are a total drag some days and nights, but I would choose to stick with my fierce independence for a lifetime than be mistreated for three seconds.

Enter our company meeting one week after the piglet episode, where we were asked to come up with at least one personal goal and one professional goal. I love my daughter, I love my career, but I’m not in love with where I’m at in life. So I got to thinking about becoming a fucking ninja at social media and creative and marketing, and how I could set myself up for making the whole single mom thing work really well.

And then I kicked ass all week.

A coworker kept asking me why I was smiling—I was happy. I stopped trying. I got off the dating sites—flipped those fuckers the bird. (Seriously, why do guys think it’s okay to be entirely inappropriate. I could gag.) I put everything this week into three things: Evelynn, work, health (fitness).

It’s weird. I’ve been on a high all week and it has everything to do with me. It’s true what they say: fall in love with you and your life. Maybe the rest will come but I’ve got other dreams to chase, dating can catch up to me later.

Will Power, Baby.

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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.

Notch On Confidence

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My father taught me to believe in myself. Told me I am my last line of defense. What other people think of me will never compare to what I think of myself. Most people who know me will tell you I’m a confident borderline cocky gal—they’d be correct. There are two things guys routinely tell me when we first start talking: I curse like a sailor and I’m one hell of a confident woman. Dating is ripe with insecurities and I’ve always been one to bulldoze right through them, ignoring any doubts or voices of “you’re not good enough for him.” But dating as a single parent is a whole different ball game—it highlights those doubts and those voices shout in echo.

Single mom dating: It’s no longer about me and guys are quick to remind me of it. Some, ask for “time” to determine if they can handle it—the prospect of being a dad, the possibility of becoming attached only to break up later (empty glass much?). That’s a cruel letdown. How about we skip to the end and just call it quits? I like my time, I don’t like it wasted. The worst are those, “I wish you weren’t a mom” or “Why do you have to be a mom? You’re so freaking perfect.” Umm….bye. Anyone who wishes or wants my kid gone gets the immediate boot. It’s devastating. How can the girl who is the very light in my life be the one element guys quote as the thing turning them away? It’s painful. It’s heartbreaking.

It’s downright laughable.

It’s going to lead me down the path of singlehood for my remaining days by choice.

And before that, it might knock that ego down a notch because there’s no way that ray of sunshine can turn someone away.

So I list all the other acceptable reasons why the guy is turning me down, and let me tell you, I am one hell of a catch:

  • I live at home with my parents (not my first choice, but it’s the best choice for my daughter and financially—what I tell myself daily to make myself okay with it).
  • I don’t own my own car anymore (sore issue, let’s not talk about it).
  • Just this year I got the “serious” career gig (about damn time).
  • Eating gluten free means I’m high maintenance diet wise (hell, my diet and eating choices are high maintenance).
  • I’m not pretty enough (well, no comment—see last blog post).
  • I’m not fit enough (but I am quite athletic—now there’s a line to skate).
  • I’m boring (false, I’m witty to the point of psychotic).
  • I’m dumb (false, quite smart).

And oh hey there, hello again you cocky bitch, you’re back. (I told you, psychotic—I’m going to end up with cats and I HATE cats.)

Every month there’s a time period when I swear off guys. As the months go by, I should change it to, “there’s a small window of opportunity when I’m willing to give dating a chance.” That’d be a more accurate description. The last three weeks I’ve been living in the Swearing Off Guys time frame. I’m ready for the switch. Again. I just hope it doesn’t place me in an asylum or grant my daughter her wish of a pantry misconceived as a shelter for cats.

Be You Unapologetically.

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Tomorrow Taylor turns 20. That’s insane. I always get asked what is wrong with him or more specifically, “What does he have?” But doctors don’t know, there isn’t a clear diagnosis, and people tune out his issues, not grasping the severity and losing interest or becoming uncomfortable. Instead, I’m telling you this:

Stop smoking. You have clean lungs you don’t need suctioned multiple times a day to breathe. You aren’t hooked up to an oxygen monitor—yet. It’s an insult to a little boy who has never smoked a cigarette in his life that you freely walk around with that white stick between your lips and between your fingers and crack jokes about having a smoker’s cough.

Stop wasting your day on the couch. You have two functional legs. You can walk. You can run. You can hop, skip, and jump. Build a snowman and take your kid(s) sledding, and then sled yourself. You aren’t confined to a wheelchair. Take the stairs without complaint when there’s a line for the elevator. Stop bitching when someone beats you to a good parking spot and you have to walk the length of the lot—you can do it! Stop complaining about boredom and endlessly flipping through stations and not having anything to do—you have the world at your fingertips. You don’t have to have your parents roll you from side to back to side routinely throughout the day so you don’t get bedsores.

Step outside. Again, you have the entire fucking world at your fingers tips. You get to witness the seasons change. You watch the leaves fall and spring bring rebirth. The only time Taylor goes outside is from the house to the vehicle and from the vehicle to the hospital, and then from the hospital to the vehicle and from the vehicle to the house. Breathe in the fresh air. Soak up the sun. Bathe in the heat. Dance in the rain. Jump in the leaves. You can breathe fresh air without being seized by a fit of coughing, do it.

Stop being stagnant. If you aren’t happy with your life, move. Take four steps back to make five leaps forward if that’s what it takes. You have the ability to change your life. It starts with a dream and is implemented by action. Just do it and buy the Nike apparel if it motivates you to do so even more.

Lose or gain the weight. I’m against body shaming but I’m not talking about the lack of or robust of curves you may have. I’m talking about obesity and anorexia. I’m talking about overeating or starving yourself. This little boy is fed through a G-tube and at about 5’5” weighs only 68lbs, maybe. He used to love ice cream—eat your sweets without feeling guilty. Make it happen by eating healthy 80 percent of the time. If you complain to me how you’re overweight or need to lose weight but fail to make changes in your diet and physical activity, I will tune you out. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about your high blood pressure and high cholesterol as I watch you eat a pound of bacon while binge watching Netflix. I don’t want to hear about how you’re a perfect candidate for heart disease but are lucky enough to still be walking when there’s a boy laying in a bed all day every day who is unable to take the steps to make the changes. But you can, and you choose not to. Stop it. See above, stop wasting your day, stop wasting your breath, stop complaining about boredom, and start moving. Be active.

Be you. Be you unapologetically. In a healthy and positive and do good manner, be you unapologetically. Taylor loves people. He loves interactions. He loves attention. But he can’t talk and he can’t communicate, making it hard for many, myself included, to relate to him. If he were to go out, you’d stare at him and his differences and he would smile at you. He’s a hermit due to his condition with a social butterfly inside waiting to be released. It won’t be. He’s cocooned in his room. The few times he was taken out to restaurants in his wheelchair, he was happy. But his happiness becomes the noises patrons get annoyed at, wondering why his parents won’t shut him up so they can enjoy a meal in peace. Eat at home. Your judgments shouldn’t enter the world. Leave them at your door, in your own home. Since Taylor’s last big surgery back in 2012, the one that landed him in bed and on oxygen with lungs that needed suctioned, he hasn’t been out to a restaurant. My parents don’t want to disturb other patrons and be in the midst of negative attention. I don’t doubt they would love to shout, “Fuck you all, this boy deserves to be in public without scrutiny”—I sure would, I can be unladylike and not-at-all classy like that—but that’s an unnecessary confrontation. Shave half your head, cover your body in ink, wear stripes with polka dots, sing at the top of your lungs at the grocery store, and be silent when you don’t want to say anything and talk endlessly when you have a lot to say. You can go out and express yourself. Do it. Don’t let society hold you down. Stand up and be you, unfiltered.

Tomorrow Taylor turns 20 and we are at a loss at what to do in celebration. This is a huge milestone—him surviving two decades. We never expected this. We were told not to expect this. We could easily not do anything, treat it like any normal day, and he wouldn’t know the difference. But that idea is absurd. Outrageous. Insulting.

He can’t blow the candles out on the cake he can’t eat—there will be no cake.

He is sunshine, how he smiles despite his troubles, his pain, his suffering. Don’t put out another’s light, make it brighter with your own. Celebrate. Go out and appreciate your life for him. Breathe, run, be you. Fucking shine.

 

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Pictured: Taylor with his niece Evelynn. Told you he loves company, & she loves giving it.

The False Fad.

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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.