Your Business

"What other people think of me is none of my business."

Wayne Dwyer may have been on to something when he said that. It's a fabulous way of living - and it's a statement that I wish I could totally get behind. But, like many things, it's easier said than done. I try not to get caught up in the opinions others have of me, but sometimes... just sometimes... it's a good idea to hear them out.

I am my harshest critic, you see. And I'd be willing to be that I'm not alone in that. We all dwell on our shortcomings from time to time, we magnify our flaws in our heads and we beat ourselves up unnecessarily but relentlessly. I apologize to others, but I never apologize to myself. I make myself the villain, even when I know something was out of my hands. I convince myself that I'm the problem, not the other person or not something greater when a relationship turns sour. And then I simmer in it.

Today, my landlord dropped by to let me know some tenants who have been causing the rest of us a lot of grief had been given their notice of eviction. The small talk ensued and he asked about Red. It was unavoidable, I guess, so I explained that things hadn't worked out. Simple as that. I mentioned that I was looking for full-time work and that I knew everything would be fine, in time.

"Well, dear, nobody needs to worry about you," he said. "You're the kind of woman who stands on her own two feet. I don't know you very well, but I know that. You're going to do great."

With that he left, and I smiled to myself.

That's precisely the type of woman that I want to be. It's the type of woman that I was raised by. The type of woman that I would be proud to become; the type of woman I want to raise my son. And apparently, that's the type of woman that I am.

I just didn't know it.

And the truth is simple: we are all the type of person that someone else aspires to be. Someone admires your courage, or your strength. Somebody admires your intellect or your style. Perhaps they are too shy to tell you.

In the time we spend telling ourselves that we're not quite there yet, we forget to celebrate how far we've come. In the time we spend admiring others, we forget to take a good, hard look at ourselves.

Wherever you are, whomever you are and however you got to this place is amazing. A gift. And you are fucking AWESOME.

Keep that in mind. You're welcome.

Thinspiration

Skinny or Happy: Pick One.

This was the beginning of a shocking conversation between a good friend and I.

She chose skinny.

I stared at her completely incredulous. Really? I couldn't even believe it, so I asked her to explain her reasoning and warned her that she'd be finding our conversation anonymously written on my blog. "Well, I really want to lose twenty pounds, and I know I'll be happy once I do." Have I thought that in the past? Yes. Yes, I have. The reality is this: The size of my jeans doesn't make me any happier. It doesn't make me a better person, make my problems go away or pay my bills. All that being skinnier means is that I'm smaller.

Just last week, I victory danced in the Gap fitting room hallway infront of my Mom, my son and two complete strangers because the size 2 pants were too big. As I strutted out of the fitting room in the size 0's, I felt like a million bucks. "This is better than winning the lottery", I joked. Am I proud of my new physique? Of course I am - it took a lot of discipline and hardwork, (although, admittedly some of the weightloss came from an inability to eat thanks to grief and stress) and those pants made me feel really great. I joyously wore them to school on Wednesday, and excitedly told my uninterested encouraging father about the whole size zero amazingness. Only four days later, I looked in the mirror today and told myself I looked fat.

Wait a minute - my reasonable self knows that I am not fat. I've had a baby and wearing smaller pants now than I did in high school. I should be patting myself on the back and shouting it from the rooftops, but instead I berate myself and momentarily obsess over what I've eaten. My time, energy and certainly my sanity would be better spent on something productive, like cleaning my house or saving the world. As I tried to explain my stupidity to my friend she looked at me with what I imagine is the same dumb face I had on mine only moments before. No way, she swore. Not her. If she was twenty pounds smaller, all of her problems would be smaller too.

Finally, I gave up. She's sure that being skinny will make her happier. She also [hopefully jokingly] told me she'd be happier if I got "fat" again. I was never actually fat. I was 147 pounds standing at five feet four inches. I was hardly overweight. I think her saying that was twice as startling as her revelation that she'd rather be skinny than happy. Is that what we've come to as society? As women?

Am I happier now at my current weight than I was before? Yes - but it's not related to the size of my pants at all. I'm proud of the accomplishment, but it hasn't made me a better person. It hasn't changed who I am or made my problems go away. Truthfully, losing the weight has only gone to show me that if I set my mind to something and work consistently at it, I can accomplish whatever I'm faced with - but reasonably, I knew that before.

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.

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!

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.