Comfortable Discomfort

It's been a long year.

On New Year's Eve last year, J and I sat in our new home drinking wine and discussing how much we looked forward to 2012. We talked having another baby, his going back to school, F growing up, and buying a home in Halifax. I meant every word I said, I wonder now if he meant any of them. A month later, we had agreed to separate.

This morning was hardly the first time I've found myself looking back, comparing my then and now. It's not even comparable.

If I lay it all out on paper, the list of good things is a lot longer than the list of bad. In March, I scored a job I always thought I wanted - I was dining room manager at a popular restaurant. Me. Management material? My joy was shortlived when I had to leave due to personal issues in August, but I learned a lot and made an impression on the community.

I gave up my home - the home that I had spent hours and energy making my own - but I've settled comfortably and happily into my new apartment. I returned to school and for the first time in years, I made myself a priority. For the first time in my life, I've stopped denying myself the emotions I needed to feel.

The past six weeks alone were filled with enough BS for a whole year. The apartment fiasco itself was enough, actually. The stress of moving, the stress of leaving F, the stress of coming back to school... sheesh. I can't count the times I laid in bed wondering if I'd made a big mistake.

I didn't.

My blog has skyrocketed in the past month. I hit my six-month goal in less than three. I've been offered a contract writing position.

I applied for a Public Relations job for giggles, went to the interview for experience and collapsed into tears when I discovered an offer of employment in my inbox.

I've made wonderful friends. I've had great experiences. I've found myself again, and better, I'm reinventing myself. Imagine if I'd given up? Imagine all I'd be missing out on. It's easy to back out when things get tough. I know, because I've done it a million times. It's easy to return to what's comfortable, what we know.

It's important to get comfortable being uncomfortable. Life is uncomfortable sometimes. If it was comfortable all the time, we'd never progress. We'd never learn or grow.

Empty

I finally ran out of steam today.

This month has been one of the most emotionally draining I've ever experienced, falling only behind the month that I lost two family members and welcomed F to our lives. The move to Halifax would have been anxiety-ridden enough, but the series of upsets, next-to-impossible events that have occured and the absence of F has weighed heavily on me. In the past eight weeks, I have made seven round-trip drives between Cape Breton and Halifax. I've moved into an apartment, and then into another. I've had my life stolen from me, lived in a hotel for a week and managed to get to school every day. I have met about fifty new people, thirty dogs, walked all around the city, been out on dates, drank too much, slept too little, been up at 5:00am and spent hours on the phone with F, the police, my family, friends, lawyers and everyone in between. I even spent a week sitting on the floor watching my television, using my iPhone data plan for internet and drinking out of paper cups because I had nothing else. It was an experience, and instead of sitting down and relaxing for a little while, I pushed on through.

I forget to settle down, sometimes. I stretch myself too thin, sign up for everything and forget to take care of myself. I'll skip meals, skimp on sleep, try to carry more than I can physically lift and ultimately, I crash and burn. The worst part? I know it's coming. I know I need to slow down and sometimes, I even need to stop. I need to eat, sleep and relax here and there. I can't fuel my body on coffee alone, or run on four hours of sleep a night. I have sat in my classroom feeling shaky and foggy. I have spent afternoons curled up on my sofa watching a movie, unable to keep my eyes open and yet I'll go out for a glass of wine or meet a friend for coffee at 7:00pm. Don't stop. Keep going. Keep up the pace.

It has become a compulsion, an addiction and I fear the fall out I may face if I do slow down. What if I stop and can't start again? What if I slow down and fall behind? What if I sit, and can't stand up again? It's not even logical and it's driving me crazy. It's sucking the life out of me, and I can't possibly keep it up. I'm empty.

I know I'm not alone in this. We are all guilty of forgetting about our wellbeing. We get busy as parents, take our work home and push through our exhaustion for a bigger or better paycheque. We spread ourselves so thin that we lose our zest, our flavour as individuals. It all goes back to an inability to say "no", a fear of being inadequate and a sense of needing more for me.

My challenge is simple, and I hope you will join me:

Choose one day a week as your day. Do the bare minimum that day. If it's work, go to work. If it's school, go to school. Make simple meals: take something out of the freezer, or make it leftover day. Stay in. Set your bedtime one hour earlier. If possible, turn off your mobile phone - even if only for one hour. Take a bath, read for pleasure or meditate. Do a quick, simple yoga practice if you can. Light candles. Rest, recover, rejuvenate. It does not make you a failure. It doesn't make you selfish, lazy or weak. It makes you aware of your limits and gives you the opportunity to heal.

Stay strong and be positive!

XO

Road Closed

Do you ever feel like something is holding you back?

Is it you?

We all have barriers in our lives. It's an ugly, unfortunate and downright maddening fact for many of us. The barriers we face are as diverse as the people facing them: from money and social status to family responsibility and our age, we perceive these sets of circumstance to be roadblocks for which there is no detour - just a closed road. But, are they really that bad, or are we letting them stop us in our tracks? Are they keeping us from achieving our goals, realizing our dreams and reaching the level of success we want for ourselves? Are you letting something hold you back?

Don't.

Yep. I said it: don't let whatever is holding you back stunt your success. Turn that shit around, or better yet, don't let it get to that point. Don't spend all your money on shoes and bags you can't afford and then bitch and complain that you live in a crappy apartment or you have an unreliable car. Have I done that? Yes, I have. I know that and I've learned from it. Don't treat your body like trash and whine about having acne and a spare tire rocking out above the waistband of your favourite jeans. Be proactive. Don't treat your friends and loved ones like they're unimportant and then cry about not having a support system. We're our own worst enemies, you know.

And we shouldn't be: we shouldn't diminish our abilities and knock our confidence to the ground. Do you know why we shouldn't? It's not because we are probably definitely being too hard on ourselves. It's not even because we're forgetting to give ourselves a little bit of credit. It's because there are a million other people out there who are totally happy to tell you how shitty you are.  And I'd be willing to bet they're wrong.

I was told, flat out, that I shouldn't advertise my singlemodom. Why, you're probably asking? Because it apparently makes me less hireable. It means I'm going to miss a lot of work and that work will never be my priority. Do you know what sucks the most about hearing that from an instructor's mouth? I've let being a single Mom hold me back. I've used it as an excuse for everything from giving up on my dreams to not having a social life for the last year. Not anymore.

Whatever this self-imposed barrier you're facing is, cut it down to size. It doesn't define you. How you turn it into a strength - into a propellor - is what defines you. Cut the power to those flashing caution lights and bowl that blockade over like it's your job. Oh, wait. It is.

Reopen that road, or better yet - Build a new one.

Trembling

Do you remember your very first day of school?

I'm sure I don't, but I'm equally certain that it was not a big deal to me. My teacher was my next door neighbour and I knew my five grade-primary classmates already. The bus would have picked me up at 8:30AM, and dropped me off at home by 2:30PM. Twenty-odd kids from ages five to twelve, split between two classrooms attended that little school and I knew them all.

It wasn't until grade five when I switched schools that things got scary. New people, cliques, popular kids. These were the things of fairy tale, not my reality. On the hour long bus ride to and from school I learned about the hierarchy of bus seats, how to write neatly going over bumps and the importance of flopping your backpack on the seat next to you if you wanted to be alone. I was twelve years old before I knew what a bully really was, but I survived it with plenty of tears and broken hearts, laughter and friendships along the way.

Yesterday, I had my first day of school (again). It's the third time I've had a first day at a new school since the terrifying experience as a twelve-year-old. The only thing that's changed is my pants size and my age, really. And my major, from journalism to disabilites and back to public relations. It might even be more terrifying than it was then. I planned my outfit for two days, touched up my makeup in the parking lot, popped a mint in my mouth in the hallway and plastered that fake-confident smile we all have when we feel like we're going to puke but need to look cool. My dad came in to check it out too, which was a delectable cross between mortifying and wonderful. At least if I had passed out, someone would have been there. Besides, no one saw us.

Nine other women sat in the Student Lounge awaiting the commencement of Orientation. Some looked to be about my age, two were a fair bit older, and some looked to be a fair but younger than I. Nobody said anything. I smiled and said hello, but no one responded. So there we sat in silence, ten grown women awkwardly looking around at one another, casually picking up our class schedule from time to time and looking at it with little interest. Finally, we were rescued by the Co-President of the college. She was perky and funny and talked to us like we were little kids. It was great. We were given a tour of the campus (which, by the way, is GORGEOUS) and handed a "free" backpack. When I jokingly pointed out that it was the most expensive backpack I'd ever owned, one girl frowned at me either because she thought I was an idiot or she didn't get the joke.

I loved the faculty and while I'd really like to make friends, it's not about making friends as much as about making myself. I'm happily pursuing a long-term relationship with me, my education, talents, dreams and every other aspect of what's yet to come. So far, I've been hitting it off pretty well. I might be bashful and trembling now, but pretty soon I'll be galloping through the paces.

Packed

Packing.

The last ten days have been, um, interesting. You so easily forget the little bits of emotion you've hidden away in your mind, in your home and its contents. As I took paintings off the walls of my house, I also ripped the bandaids that have been covering the wounds left from my break up, from watching my life crumble around me. I waited too long. I should have dealt with some of it sooner, maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much. Every corner of that house was filled with emotion so great I could feel it buzzing around me, step by step.

Each room packed with memories, both good and bad. Filled to the brim with love, happiness, sadness and anger. Have you ever noticed the way emotions can intermingle in a space, laying dormant until you return there only to be completely overwhelmed? That has been the last ten days for me. I have laughed and cried, loved and fought in that house - I put my entire being into that house, turning into our home. New floors, painted walls, new furniture... it was financially and emotionally draining, physically challenging and worth every minute, or so it seemed. As I looked at the bare walls this week, I felt like I'd had the wind knocked out of me. All that hard work, and for what? For me to hate being there so much that I'd packed up our clothes and moved back to Moms? For me to be so afraid of the way my life turned out that I had to get out?

Hidden behind floor lamps and rich, red drapes were unspoken fears: Am I making a mistake? Should I be letting this go? Every dish, towel and blanket I packed had a memory - however big or small. The blankets we bought as a couple, the ones we received as wedding gifts. When the urge to cry became so great I could feel the tears threatening to spill over, I'd make a joke or walk away. I'm just so tired of being sad.

The truth is that right now, my life has a brighter future than it did a year ago. I have me back. I own my goals, my fears and my happiness. I always should have. It's easy to let ourselves go in relationships, easy to settle into the domesticated ebb and flow of parenting and marriage, but it's really hard to get it back once it's gone. Don't let it go. Let go of all the negativity, the sadness and anger of a lost relationship and relish in the joy and freedom of finding yourself. Reinvent yourself once, or twice or a million times, or stay the same.

Try, fall, and get back up and try again. That's what life is about.

Good Families

You've probably read Good Families Don't by Robert Munsch.

This post really has very little to do with that book, outside of this line: "Good families like ours don't have farts. What would the neighbours say?" 

I can remember my mom reading it to me as a kid, and then to my brother. He thought it was hilarious, naturally: what little boy or girl isn't sent into a fit of giggles over the word fart? I can't remember if I found it hilarious, but the line above really haunts me today. The truth is that good families DO. Good families have all manner of "farts", those little bits we don't want the whole world to know. They have arguments, disagreements and full-blown fights. Pretty well every family has the weird aunt, uncle or cousin that they absolutely dread at holiday parties. Good families have bad things happen to them, they have a member or two who they don't necessarily get along with. Good families have mental illness and addiction, too.

I know mine does as sure as I'm sitting here. I've been diagnosed with mental illness. *Looks around* Wow - the ceiling didn't just collapse, and the sky is still up there. Mental illness doesn't make a family "bad" or make a person "crazy", and yet we all avoid discussing it like it's some form of contagion that's going to tear apart our perfect little world. Can we get over that already?

I'm tired of the way my own depression has been swept under the rug. "It's normal to feel down" or "You could never let things go" are the two comments I hear most often. Yes, it is normal to feel down. It is normal and healthy and only to be expected that you experience feelings of sadness, loneliness and anxiety from time to time. It is not normal when you can't cope with them. It is unhealthy to bury them underneath everything else so you can get up and get moving every day. And, letting things go isn't as easy as dropping a hot potato - sometimes, things eat away at you inspite of your best efforts to move on.

We've all seen that person standing in the "Self Help" aisle at Chapters, trying their best to be inconspicuous and feigning surprise at their being there should someone they know comes along and see them reading the inserts. There's nothing wrong with self help. But sometimes, self help doesn't help. I know that first hand. When I was overwhelmed with the negative feelings that came from the breakdown of my relationship, I didn't cope. I got busy. I volunteered and exercised and tried to rebound. My irritable bowel syndrome became so unmanageable that I had to mircromanage my diet. I went back to work and I buried myself in the responsibilies of managing a dining room. I threw myself into making friends, making a healthy lifestyle and putting on a brave face until it all came crumbling down around me, the fascade of a happy person.

I found myself sitting in the doctor's office waiting room, fearful that someone would recognize me. I sat shaking on the inside, tapping my foot and forcing myself to hold back the tears that were threatening to start up again at any moment. After spending 24 hours completely hysterical, I felt like the only thing keeping me from bursting was my skin. I sat in his office feeling out of control but worse than that, I felt embarassed. I'm almost mad at myself for feeling embarassed. I know better. I went to school to work with people who feel out of control. I pride myself on open-mindedness and my desire to help people. But there I was, eyes red and swollen from crying, feeling absolutely crazy. My family doctor walked in and hit the nail on the head within minutes. He's been there - he survived divorce.

"You need someone to talk to. You need to work on your coping skills. You're going to get through this, but it's obvious you're dealing with depression here."

He was right and I felt instantaneous relief - someone understood, finally. Someone realized that I wasn't feeling sorry for myself, I wasn't trying to dwell on the negative. I haven't had the opportunity to meet with my therapist yet, but I've made progress already - I've found better coping skills. This blog itself is a coping mechanism. I've been able to pinpoint both the negative feelings and the cause of them. I love being a mom, but I also felt burdened. I had been tired, sad, angry and resentful because John was free to do as he wished and I was home raising our child. I have felt worthless and undeserving of happiness. I have felt things I don't even understand - and that's a part of my depression. Some days are really great and some days are really not, but I try every day to put on a brave face for Finley and my family.

Mental illness is more than feeling sad. Everyone with depression doesn't sit around crying all day. Everyone who suffers from an anxiety disorder doesn't sit behind drawn curtains biting their nails all day. Mental illness hits all over, regardless of age, wealth, occupation, race or gender. Mental health is important - it's as important as your regular physical or pap smear. You shouldn't feel dirty or ashamed if you feel like you need to reach out to someone, so don't.

Be strong and stay postive.

Keeping Up

Do you ever feel like you're trying to live up to something you can't possibly match?

I do. Every. Single. Day.

My best friend and I were discussing the way we compare our lives to others'. It's stupid and does nothing but leave us all with a bad taste in our mouths and a sense of failure. Keeping up with the Joneses is useless - Keeping up the with the Kardhasians, on the other hand... get on that shit (kidding, I promise!).

I always though that I'd have my whole life figured out by now. HA! Not bloody likely. I don't even know what I'm doing on Friday, for crying out loud. Do I have a plan? Yes. Thank God plans don't always work out. I say this with a hint of sarcasm, because my plans haven't always worked out and while my life sometimes feels like a tornado, it's pretty awesome.

For the record, at 25 I was planning on being famous, beautiful, married and living in a big house. The good news is I'm halfway there, except the married part was kind of a bust. But, for the first time in my life... I feel beautiful. I've finally given up on micromanaging every aspect of myself and my life. I've got stretchmarks like it's nobody's business. I'm not tall and thin like I planned on being - yes, I planned on growing taller. Well, I wanted to be. I wouldn't say I'm famous, but I know at least one person who thinks I'm a rockstar. Hopefully more than one person feels that way. NOTE: I am not the one person.

Why did I feel like I needed to have my shit together at 25? I've got less than two months to get it sorted out if I'm going to, and that's highly unlikely. Are there people who have their lives together at 25? Yup, and they're really lucky. Am I envious? Maybe a little - I'd like to feel stable right now, but more than that, I want to explore every aspect of me. I want to figure out exactly what I want to do - I don't want to be guessing it.

I'm only just stomping out my little path. It's crossed loads of other paths, and there's still a lot of paths for me to cross. It will go uphill, down hill and around the hill. I will get stuck, and probably lose a shoe here and there, but I'm going to rock every single minute of it!

Fifty years ago, I wouldn't have had the opportunities I have today. My path would have been a lot smoother and would probably have rails along the side to make sure I didn't fall off. But guess what?

I like my path. I like a little mud on my shoes. That's why they invented rubber boots, duh!

Standing up

This post is a little bit angry.

You have been warned.

When I first started this blog, I mainly wanted to treat it almost as a diary only with less tears and smudged ink. I wanted to unleash how I felt, get my fingers moving across the keyboard and record my thoughts, feelings, fears, and aspirations in a way that was as positive as I could possibly make it. I wanted to be able to come back and look at the posts in a week or two, and feel better - even if no one else ever looks at it.

I recently made the deicision to go back to school. When I moved in with my now ex-husband, I gave up a lot of my dreams and goals. When we got pregnant, I gave up my social life, my friends and my identity. When my son was born, I made a half-assed attempt to get my education together. I loved the program I was enrolled in - working with persons with various (dis)abilities. I have always been fascinated with autism - stemming from my bus-buddy, a young man seven years my junior who had autism. Gabriel was smart, sweet, and incredibly talented. He would often sit and tell me about a movie he watched or video game he was playing in such detail I imagine it was still playing in his mind's eye.



Who wouldn't make sacrifices for a face like that?

When I left college to research a better fit for me, I helped my husband go back to school. We were married, had renovated a home and were even discussing getting pregnant again. When an opportunity to go into Public Relations - a career I have always wanted - presented itself to me, I sadly had to turn it down. It wasn't feasible. Fast forward six months and my husband and I had separated, I was alone and struggling on a shitty salary, in an OK job, feeling completely unfulfilled. This was NOT the life I wanted for myself. So I decided to make the life I want for my son and I.

First, let me say that I am being a little bit selfish and that I think it's OK. I give up my own sanity on a daily basis, so I figure selfishly wanting a better education, career, home, car, wardrobe, and POSSIBILITES can be allowed - mainly because that selfishness will spill over into the selflessness of being able to give my son all of the things that I want for him: an education, the opportunities to enjoy afterschool activities like sports, vacations to cool places, a safe home, a happy mom.

Evidently, all of this makes me a bad mom. Yep. I'm a bad mom for wanting to better myself.

Going back to school means a big sacrifice. It's in another city, four hours from our present home. Daycare is expensive and hard to get into. The waitlist is about a year. So I put my name in, accepted my seat at school, went apartment hunting and accepted that, for the first time in my life, I will be living alone. My son will primarily be staying with my parents.

I felt really great about this decision - who is going to love my son more than his grandparents? They raised me in a home filled with love, and while it's not the ideal situation, I'd rather my son be with them in a safe home, where he will be engaged, loved, cared for, spoiled, supported and disciplined according to my standards than for him to be in a daycare with strangers and twenty-five other kids, getting less one-on-one time, being exposed to behaviours and language I'm not comfortable with and missing the people who have been with him almost every day since he was born.

Many of the people I have spoken to about my plan have responded with love. Words of support and congratulations, wistful "I wish I would have been as brave as you are", empowering "you deserve this" and warm "you'll do great, no matter what" comments have made a hard decision a lot easier to take. All of my good feeling was spoiled in a single sentence, from a bitchy "frenemy" from high school.

"Wow, so you're just leaving him behind like that?"

Cue the entire world of good feeling and excited anticipation falling down on my head.

Yes, I am leaving him behind. It's a temporary fix - kind of like the temporary fix where we moved back into my mom's place because my ex doesn't financially support us. Or like the "temporary fix" where she's been living with her parents, with her kids, for four years.

But I am NOT abandoning him. I will drive home every weekend I am able (weather permitting), and I am renting a two bedroom apartment so he can come and stay with me often . As soon as I find an affordable daycare that I feel comfortable having my son attend, he will move in with me.

I didn't become a mother under the circumstances I would have liked, but I am blessed to have this little boy. I love him, and I want what's best for him. An unhappy mom who never realized her dreams is not what's best for him. A mom who's working a minimum wage job and barely getting by is not what's best for him.

So, to every person who feels that I am a bad mom for making a tough decision that they don't have to make:

Walk in my shoes for a day. Feel the hurt that I feel in my heart day in and day out. Experience the fear I have for what the next year of my life is going to entail. Feel the loneliness I live with, knowing that I really have no one I can talk to who truly understands what I'm going through. After you've done that, go ahead and judge. Call me a bad mother... but you might be surprised to know that your opinion has changed.

 

F and I, being silly.

 

 

I never once complained to be perfect. Finley goes to bed late, watches TV, and sometimes to avoid a fight, I let him skip brushing his teeth. But I love him and cherish him and you can never take that from me.

Steps in the Right Direction

Sometimes, deciding which way to turn can be difficult.

We are constantly faced with choices - some are frivolous, like what jeans to wear, while others are life-changing. Making the decision to stand up for what I wanted was difficult - telling my husband to make a choice was earth-shattering, and letting him go was the hardest thing I have ever done. But, in the end, I made the right choice that day.

Today, some of the choices I make include what to eat for breakfast and whether or not I will stay in my PJ's all day. Real glamorous, no? When I look at my Mom and Dad, I see two people who make the "easy" decision, day in and day out. Changing your life, your routine, your patterns is hard. I think that is why both of my parents lead the lives they lead. My Mom never finished school, and never went back. She didn't realize any of her goals, but she drives my brother and I towards goals sometimes we don't even really have.

In the past, I've let others set goals for me, and I've worked towards them. "Go to University! Make something of yourself!". That didn't last. Why? Because it never felt like it was mine. Setting goals is almost as hard as working towards them. What is it I really want? How am I going to get there? Is it realistic?

Learning I was pregnant was a surprise - I had been told by more than one doctor that I probably would not get pregnant due to cysts on my ovaries and polyps on my uterus. My iron was low, my periods irregular. It hurt to hear, but I had accepted it. I'm adopted - I would have happily adopted children. My boyfriend (now my ex-husband) was supportive as I tried to work through the emotions of possibly never having children. He was significantly less supportive when we learned about my pregnancy.

A smarter woman would have walked away then, but I was young and afraid so I stood by waiting for him to come around. To many, it looks as though he did but in reality, he never stood by my side. Almost five years later, I had enough.

The right path isn't always laid out in front of you, I've learned. Sometimes you have to climb over or dig beneath debris... other times you have to pound it out with your own two feet. It is almost never the shortest route, but it's bound to be the one with the best view at the end.

With F, enjoying a boat ride!

 

Being a single mom isn't easy. Infact, sometimes I feel like it's damn near impossible. We lived in our house all winter on one income, trying to heat it, power it, clean it, fill the fridge all the while my ex was out partying, buying himself a new truck and meeting his current girlfriend.  It's a fight day in and day out. It is lonely and confusing and scary and totally worth it. The road is covered in bumps and lumps, I've fallen down and had to climb back up but at the end of it, I have a great little boy who loves me and knows how much I love him.

Big Girl Shoes

There seems to be a notion that when life gets tough, we need to put on a strong face, pull up our trousers, or wear our big girl/boy shoes and face the world. What a nasty notion! Sometimes, I think we need to avoid the shower, wear sweatpants that are too big and feel sorry for ourselves.

OK, maintain your personal hygiene - but enjoy those sweatpants, because nobody can take you seriously when your ass looks like that.

Every day is a little different, and a little bit the same it seems. I wake up and I have coffee. Usually, I have breakfast but sometimes I forget. I play with my son, I work out. I shower. Sometimes, I even go out into the world and socialize! Even though my life without J isn't that different than it was when we were together - especially since he worked away - I always feel this void.

I had a confidence when I was with him, false or otherwise, that people actually noticed when I went out. That went away for a long time, but last Sunday I think it came back. FINALLY!

Last night, after supper, after having worked out already for an hour, I put on my running tights and shoes, grabbed a sweater, the stroller and my Mom and went out for an hour long walk. Had I been on my own, I might have run for part of it, but we walked and we talked. And even though I tried to express some of my feelings to her, it was pretty useless.

My Mom really loves me. I know this because she puts up with my ridiculous life, supports my decisions, and sometimes she even throws words of encouragement out there. In spite of all of that, my Mom has never been depressed - and if she ever has, she's forgotten what it's like. "Get over it", "Forget about him". As if it's that easy.

She's also never been through a separation. She and my Dad have been together since the Stone Age. She didn't have to face people who'd celebrated their wedding and tell them the news, she never had to raise a child by herself, lose friends to "picking sides". I did, and I'm living through it every. single. day.

While sometimes I'm a little tempted to sit under the blankets with a glass bottle of wine, let my hair get a little greasy and wear sweatpants two sizes too big and watch sappy movies with a box of Kleenex, I've found that putting on my Big Girl Shoes has been significantly more therapeutic.

When we're sad, we have a few choices and I've tried them all. The first path was feeling sorry for myself. That was a bust. The second path was hiding my feelings - worst decision ever. I had a total meltdown. The third path has been picking up the pieces, and fighting to get my life back.

Since January, I've learned that no one else is going to take care of my happiness and my health. Sure, there are lots of people who are concerned about it - but I am the only person who can take the reins in my life. I am the only expert on me.

While I'd like to think my Big Girl Shoes look like Carrie Bradshaw's droolworthy heels, they're more like beat up Toms or a fuzzy pair of Uggs, but they're helping me take the steps I need to take. And that's fabulous enough for me!

Next time you're feeling overwhelmed, try this:

Sit on the floor in a quiet room, legs folded and eyes closed. If you can't sit on the floor with legs folded, sit upright in a chair, knees together, ankles together and feet on the floor. Tilt your head side to side, forward and back, and return to center. Take several deep breaths. Think of what makes you happy. Visualize yourself strong, happy and healthy. Smile. Hug yourself. Open your eyes and look in the mirror. You can get there. It may take baby steps, it may take many steps... but it's a path worth every step, and you can guarantee that there is a lesson for every step of the way.

The First Step

Any time I have ever run into a brick wall an obstacle, however big or small, my entire family always suggested taking things "one step at a time". Being of the overzealous type, I stubbornly figured I could leap over things without consequences. Admittedly, I have come back like a bad dog, tail between my legs and brokenhearted many, many times.

"She has to make her own mistakes," they would say, "Live and learn". Looking back, I feel like shaking myself for continually making the same mistake over and over. I am my own worst enemy most of the time, but I'd like to think my ability to see this counts for something.

A year ago, I walked down the aisle, made promises and vowed vows in front of God, family and friends. Today, I'm sitting alone in my bedroom, separated from my husband and feeling like I can take over the world. The first few weeks were horrible. I lost my appetite, my zest for life and I felt like a ghost of myself. My son was the glue that held me together.

One day, in the midst of feeling sorry for myself, I had decided to clean up the TV room. Plates were piling up, the floor was unswept, coffee mugs were everywhere, toys on the floor. It turned into a clean up of my entire house, one end to the other. In the process of cleaning, I came across a box filled with Wii accessories and games - namely, Zumba. I stood like a bump on a log staring at the game. He had bought it for me. I thought seriously about throwing it out, but decided to put on some tights and a sports bra, and give it a go. I fell in love.

The following week, when I went to the grocery store I stocked up on eggs, fresh vegetables, milk, and tofu. I had fed my broken heart enough crap. It was time to treat my body right. And guess what? It helped me heal.

As I lost weight, I gained confidence and respect for myself. I felt strong, jubilant and alive again. The best part? I could turn on Zumba, blast the volume and just dance. Sometimes my son joined in, sometimes he watched and other times, he ignored me altogether. I fed my body the way I fed my son and my stomach aches lessened. So did my heartaches.

In the midst of our busy lives, it is so easy to put our health and wellness on the backburner to attend to the "important" things, like our careers and our homes. We work towards strong, healthy, caring relationships with our partners, our parents, our children anad our friends - but what about with ourselves?

I loved J very much on our wedding day, and a part of me always will. Were it not for our relationship, inspite of it's many downs and fewer ups, I would not have F. I would not have become the person I am today. While I am wary of saying our marriage a mistake, I am able to say that we were both trying to do the right thing for the wrong reasons. I don't believe we were ever meant to be together, but we tried. Am I sorry we got married? A little, but what I'm really sorry for was forgetting who I am, who I want to be and what I want and need from life.

The first step towards getting yourself to where you want to be does not have to happen from a dark place, like mine did. The first step might seem like the biggest one you will ever take, and it will feel that way, but as you make your baby steps, you'll find them growing as you grow and transform into the person you want to be.

Me, 20 pounds down in April. Now, in September I am down 38 pounds and feeling amazing!

Be strong, stay positive and love yourself.