fifty three weeks

A year ago, I was packing the last of my things for my move.

So much has happened in the past year that I can feel my head begin to spin just thinking about thinking about it all. I remember my own rush to get things packed before supper - I didn't want to worry about anything on Hallowe'en. I just wanted to enjoy trick-or-treating with F. I can still feel the ache in my heart knowing I had to leave him behind for a while. I don't have words to describe that, even today.

I remember waking up on November 1 and packing the "big stuff" onto the back of Dad's truck, and sharing the drive to Halifax. I remember discovering my apartment door unlocked - and furiously looking for new apartments on the drive back to Cape Breton that night. You don't need to ask how angry I was when I found that same door unlocked shortly afterwards, though both episodes pale in comparison to the hissy fit I threw when I discovered that every single thing I owned was missing from my apartment the week I was due to start classes - just one week later. Sometimes, I honestly don't know how I stuck it out. And by sometimes, I mean all the time. I really must be crazy.

"It's just a year," everyone said.  "It'll fly by. A year is nothing."

In many ways, they were right. It was just a year that flew by. But it wasn't nothing. It was two broken hearts and months and months of heartache. It was tears and sorry and it was laughter and joy and excitement and pride. I didn't think this much could be packed into one year. It was wiping tears from the end of Mom and Dad's driveway to the ferry once a month, and sobbing in the parking lot of the apartment the following week after saying goodbye to F.

The last year has been pretty crazy. A year ago today, F and I dressed as a James the Tank Engine and a Fire Fighter respectively, and we had a fun night. He's not so into dressing up this year, but he rocked his costume at his Hallowe'en party yesterday but told me he's already done all the trick-or-treating he wants to do. Today - one year later - I'm wearing a tutu at the best job I've ever had and he's probably eating a bowl of fruit at daycare with his friends. A year can be huge. It can be life changing.

And it was.

"Too pretty to be sad..."

... and other things you should never tell someone immediately post-breakup.

I get it. You love your friend. You're upset that someone could hurt her, and you want nothing more than to make her feel better. I've been there, too. I've been the concerned friend, and I've been the heartbroken friend. It's hard to watch someone you care about hurt, so you try your best to cheer her up. Mend her heart. Show her how great she is.

But sometimes the things you say just aren't OK.

Your friend doesn't need to hear what a dirt bag her ex was. She doesn't need to hear how much better off she is, or how she was wasting her time. She needs a friend. She needs someone to hear her out, feed her broken heart ice cream and show up with Kleenex and nail polish for a girls' night in. There are lots of things you can say, but here are a few things you shouldn't say:

"You're too pretty to be sad."

"You're better off without him."

"He was cheating on you, anyway."

"He wasn't good enough for you."

"You can do better."

"There are plenty more fish in the sea."

"Don't waste your tears."

"Just get over him."

Perspective

Sometimes, our plans can change in an instant.

It doesn't matter whether we like it or not. It doesn't matter if we had all of our ducks in a row, and our heart set on something. Sometimes, things are out of our control. Not meant to be. Sometimes they are.

It's easy to drown in the sadness and frustration and anger that comes from disappointment and heartache. It's just as easy to float away with elation, forgetting to keep your feet on the ground. Emotions can feel larger than life, they can smother us with their intensity and we can lose our focus.

It's cliché, but true: In every ending, there comes a new beginning.

Though a chapter of my life that has been full of love, happiness and growth has come to an end, I can see another chapter on the horizon. I don't know what it has in store, but I know that it will be wonderful and beautiful and I will make it through the rough patch I currently find myself in.

Wherever you find yourself in your journey today, remember how blessed you are to be in that exact place. Count your blessings. You make a life with what you have, not what you wish you had. Let it go. Happiness, as always, is waiting.

Be strong and stay positive. XO

Dear 16-year-old self

Although there are some parts of being 16 I'd rather not ever revisit, there are a pile of things I wish I could go back and say to myself now.

Dear 16-year-old self:

Hi.

 You may not know me, but I know you. I know you very well. I know your ins and outs, the way your mind works and I know that you have two thongs hidden in a bag in the back of your closet. Don’t worry. Mom’s not going to freak out – in fact, she won’t even say anything about them when they land in the laundry basket. She’ll wash them, and you’ll find them in your underwear drawer. In ten years, you’ll hate them so don’t stress about wearing them. Seamless panties are better and way more flattering. TRUST ME.

I know you’re really worried about having sex for the first time with your boyfriend. Stop feeling bad about your decision to wait, because it’s going to change everything. Know that you made the right decision, and that you chose the right person to share that experience with. When you break up next year, you’re going to feel like you can never love again but you will and you do. By the way, you’re still friends in the future and you’re always going to hold him in a special place in your heart.

Speaking of love, Mom loves you, and she was right: one day you’ll understand why. You see, you’re going to watch your heart running around before your eyes in only a few short years. You’re not really going to be ready for it, but you’re going to love every minute of it.

Stop trying to grow up so quickly – your adolescence and carefree days are gone before you know it.

Stop calling yourself fat. You’re not. Don't listen to the people who make you feel badly. They're as ugly on the inside as they make you feel on the outside. Make sure you don’t skip breakfast – it’s important and while beauty trends are going to go from super thin to curvy and back again over the next few years, don’t forget that healthy is always in.

Make sure you tell everyone you care about just how special they are. You never know when or how things will change.

Don’t stop writing and don’t stop dreaming. Those dreams are going to become a reality and you really are going to be a writer when you grow up. If you don’t believe me, just read this letter again. You wrote it.

Perfection is overrated. Get that through your head.

In less than ten years, you will have cellulite, stretch marks, wrinkles and hormonal acne on your chin. It’s not the end of the world. You’re a tiger and you earned those stripes, dammit. ...Except maybe the acne – but Witch Hazel is your friend and those super expensive acne treatments that are full of harsh chemicals are going to screw up your skin. Don’t waste your money. Seriously, you need it to buy toys for F.

Never say never because you’re going to survive things you thought you couldn’t and do things you don’t necessarily want to. Don’t forget: if you have to convince yourself to be with someone or convince that someone to be with you, it was never right in the first place. Let it go. Happiness is waiting around the corner.

Give Great-Aunt Mayme an extra hug. You’re going to live in her house in a few years, but it’s going to be short-lived. You’re going to feel her presence forever. Smile every time you see a Habs emblem – it’s Doug telling you he loves you. Papa lives in your baby’s heart, and when you look in his eyes you’ll see Papa shining through.

Becoming a Mom is scary. Enjoy every minute of it because he’s going to run out of time to spend sitting on your lap before you’re ready to let go of his hand. Speaking of Moms, make sure you thank Mom for folding your laundry and don’t bitch at her for asking you to put it away. You’re going to miss that. Trust me.

Double speaking of Moms – your biological mom is still out there, and she hasn’t forgotten you. You’re going to find her soon. Hang in there.

Hug Dee, because you have no idea what he’s going through. He’s going to be your best friend in a couple of years – stop rolling your eyes, it’s true – and you’re going to cherish him in a way that you didn’t know you could.

Your boobs are going to be a little saggy in a few years. Take that bra off while you still can, girl!

Don’t forget to forgive yourself every now and again.

Nothing is going to hurt more than sucking up your pride and going home, but you’re going to realize how lucky you are to have Mom and Dad. Go give them both a hug. Say I love you at every opportunity. They deserve to hear it, and you’re not too cool to say it.

High school isn’t forever. The people who are mean to you now will be mere memories soon. You’re going to meet your true friends and they’re as whacky as you are. Oh, and that red-head in the Nike sweater? Yeah, girl... you win him over in a few years. Hold on - he's worth the wait.

It may not be easy, but life is good. Enjoy it.

 

Apologetic

Christmas: it's right around the corner.

Shit.

Please don't get me wrong, I love the holidays and I love my family even more. I truly enjoy shopping for their gifts, wrapping them with care and seeing their happiness and excitement as they open gifts on Christmas morning. I love feeling near to them, sitting around the table laughing and sharing stories with wine pouring and food in adundance. It's a happy, joyous time and yet it makes me incredibly sad.
 
Ever since my breakup, I hate being around couples... including my own family. At my Grandma's birthday party in the summer, I stood out like a sore thumb. Not only was I going through a lot emotionally, but I had lost the spark of myself. I hung out along the periphery, weaving in to talk to cousins and aunts for a moment only to weave back out and sit on my own. I didn't eat because I was so anxious around my own family that I was afraid I'd throw up. The occasion reminded me of how sad I was, how alone I felt. Even though I'm very happy with my life right now, it made me miss having someone special in my life. It was magnified again at Thanksgiving, and I know Christmas will be doubly tough. It will be the first Christmas without him.
 
I know I'm not alone in my post-split avoidance of couples, partially because I've been the friend in a happy relationship wondering where my newly single friend is hiding out. We all do it - we keep to ourselves because we don't want the reminder that our relationship just went down the drain. But, it's not a one way street. A lot of my coupled-up friends were unavailable or unwilling (I'm not able to say which) to help me through that time. Some had a lot going on in their own lives, but some of them didn't. They just checked out, and they might be surprised to learn that I have the lock on my door now.
 
When we're in a happy relationship, do we avoid our friends who are coping with a breakup because we're afraid of catching the "break up bug"? FYI, it's not contagious. While your friend might be miserable and devastated at her own relationship coming to an end, she almost definitely doesn't want to see yours crumble too. If she does, you need a new friend. But if you're ignoring her because you don't want to deal with her pain, she needs a new friend.
 
The hurt of losing your relationhip is magnified by the friend who is blissfully in love, finding excuses to pull her significant other into conversations over coffee ("Dan hates pumpkin spice lattes, how cute is that?" *puke*). In the back of your mind, you hope your friend is being lovesick and completely unaware that the mention is a mini-stab to your broken heart. If she's not, you really need to find a new friend. Tell her how you feel, or avoid more hurt feelings and try to change the subject.
 
To all of the friends I avoided: I'm sorry I couldn't be happy for you while I was feeling sorry for myself. To my best friend: the person I couldn't be a friend to because I was too wrapped up in my own sadness to realize that you were having a hard time coping with stress in your life: I'm really, really sorry. I love you, and I hope we never come to that again.
 
To all of the friends who were coping with a breakup while I was falling in love, I'm sorry that I was the girl who couldn't discuss tampons without bringing my new love interest in the conversation. I know I've done it, and I know now how much it hurts. I'm more sorry than you'll ever know. I would also love to shoot tampons at all the guys who've broken our hearts in the past, so call me with your availability for that. I'll bring the wine.
 
To the "friends" who have walked out of my life when I most needed them and waltzed back in when it was convenient: I hope you never experience that kind of cruelty, even if it's no more than you deserve. Friendship isn't about getting together when the sun is shining: it's about making fun of how terrible you both look when your hair is plastered to your face in the rain and snow, while wearing Santa Claus hats and singing Chipmunks songs.

Oh, and forgiving one another for those "nights that don't exist".
 
End Rant.

Ripples

If you've ever heard the song Over You by Miranda Lambert - specifically, the first verse and chorus - you have a really good idea of how my year has felt:

"Weather man says it's gonna snow/ By now I should be used to the cold/

Mid-February shouldn't be so scary/ It was only December, I still remember/

The presents, the tree/ You and Me

But you went away, how dare you, I miss you

They say I'll be OK, but I'm not going to ever get over you"

 

And there it is, in less than 60 words. The song goes on to describe the grief of a woman whose husband has died. Truthfully, it would have been easier for me to move on had J died, and that might sound like a terrible thing to say, but at least I would have known that it wasn't his choice to not be with us.

 

Christmas is less than two months away now, and I can remember Christmas shopping with him last year. I can remember rushing to try to get into our new home before Christmas. We moved in December 23. We had my parents and Nanny for Christmas brunch, spent time together as a family. We were trying for Baby number two. Our Christmas family photo was the image of a young, happy family. By mid-February, it was just a memory.

 

I felt like I'd never get past that hurt. It washed over me like a tidal wave, a tsunami of emotion that knocked me flat on my ass every minute of every day. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't eat. Without F, I think I would have disappeared. The hurt is still with me today but it comes in little ripples, like when you drop a pebble into a pool of still water.

 

They were right: I got over him.



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.

Walking Away

It's been just over a year since happy photos of J and I were taken on our wedding day. I avoided these photos like the plague for months. I was driving home from town one day, not too long ago, when our song came on the radio. Instead of turning it off like a normal person might do, I tortured myself by listening to it. It hurt.

Five years of my life went into that relationship. At twenty-four, that's a long time. It's 1/5 of my life. I loved J in a way that I had never loved before, but I know in my heart he was never the one. We were too different - and not in the ways that make a relationship successful. It wasn't a matter of I was neat and he was untidy, or him shy and myself outgoing. It was our interests, our values, our friends. Most importantly, it was our wants in life and our outlooks on relationships.

Five years lead up to this moment. It was torn down in six months.

 

It's hard for me to fathom that I could love him so much, that I could give up so much and get so little in return. I don't think I ever asked for much. I wanted a partner, a father to my son. That was all. I didn't need the diamond ring, a fancy wedding or a nice car. Just love, support and a life together.

With F - one of my favourite images holds the most heartache.

I never anticipated that we would split up. I never anticipated that some of my friends would turn their backs on me - including those who were a part of our wedding day. It never occured to me that my son would have his own family turn their back on him.

I could spend a lot more of my time worrying about these things. I've lost friends. I've lost people I loved - like J, his parents, siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews. They were my family. I will always care for each and every one of them. Knowing that those relationships have been smashed and can never be put back together is painful, but there comes a time when you have to know when to walk away. I had to.

Losing J was hard, but a lifetime of sadness would be a lot harder. With this post, with this day of thanksgiving, I am going to really walk away. Leave all the bad feelings behind. Let go of my guilt.

Maybe I'll just so happen to walk across the path of the one I've always been waiting for.

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.

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.