Simply Someday

It's Anything But Simple, But It's My Life

Weighing Me Down

scale Much of my life seems to be weights and measurements these days. It’s not a bad thing, just a reality for me. I weigh my foods, look at measurements – is that 3/4 cup or 2/3 cups of yogurt? Half an avocado is how many grams? I weigh myself once a week.

I had always said I would never own a scale, I refused to be a slave to the number I saw staring back at me. I didn’t want to think better or worse of myself based on a numeric measurement. A scale can’t weigh my personality; how I love, how I play.

On this journey, I’ve come to realize that a scale is just a tool. It’s not my enemy, or a commentary on who I am as a person. It’s just a tool to help me, if there is a gain (and damn, there was 3 weeks ago) I feel motivated to figure out why and to change it. If it reflects a loss; I feel victorious, like all the hard work is paying off.

So this seems to be my new weigh (ha ha!) of life. I don’t mind, it’s keeping me on track, by using both the kitchen tools and the scale, things are going in a good direction. If I slack and don’t use them, I have found I over-estimate – more like wishful thinking!

15 lbs down, a zillion more to go, the number doesn’t matter nearly as much as how great I’m feeling.

Cheers! Happy Monday 🙂

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One Month In…

20130222-075913.jpg One month in and I’m still at it. I’m still eating properly, exercising(ish) and trying to live a better and healthier life. There’s been a few roadblocks, I got the mumps (yes, seriously) which put everything on hold for 2 weeks, and we had a mini vacation.

I have learned a bit in this last month, I learned I eat when I’m: bored, sad, angry, tired, happy, silly, etc… So pretty much I’m happy to eat ALL THE TIMES. This clearly isn’t good for me, my waistline, or my body. So I’m learning to eat when I’m hungry. I’m feeding myself at regular intervals, not just whenever. I eat 5 small meals/snacks a day. It’s keeping me full, and satiated throughout my day. I’ve learned I can make better choices if the better choices are available. I can’t eat well if I don’t have good food in the fridge. I’ve learned that for me, planning is key. If I just leave my meals up to spur of the moment choices I won’t eat healthy. I now spend a portion of my Sunday’s preparing food for my week. Having ready-made, easy to grab food has been so important to keeping me on track.

I’ve been using an app, (there’s an app for everything right?) called My Fitness Pal, I have been using it religiously to count my caloric intake, count my steps and log in any exercise I do. I have been very honest with it. If I eat something that isn’t ‘healthy’ I log it. I need to be accountable for my shitty choices and my good ones.

I’m feeling pretty good. Turning 40 for me was a wake up. I had several changes to make and I’m making them. I have the most supportive family, they are making all of this so much easier…the family that planks together stays together! It’s been a hoot doing zumba with Elliot and Pais in the living room, and watching the two of them compete in push up challenges. I’m so proud of us all. We are all sharing in this journey.

I’m hoping to blog more about my journey, my ups and downs, the good bad and ugly. Read if you want, don’t if you don’t. It’s all good. I’m doing this for me after all…not you.

*Successes

  • Wedding rings/clothes are loose
  • Enjoying exercising
  • Drinking more water

Cheers!

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  So, I’m doing this thing. If you read my last post you know how sad and frustrated I am with my body. I HATE what I’ve let myself become. I hate how I feel, how I look, how unhealthy I am. I’m 40 and feel 60, my body hurts to move, I would think of nothing of not eating veggies for days, or drinking water – just diet coke and coffee. I chose not to apply for my dream job because I am too scared of what others will think of me…did I seriously just write that? Well shit. That there is as honest as it gets.

Well the time has come to change me. My mindset, my eating, my activity levels, everything. It all has to change, and I’ve begun the process of revamping myself.

More to come…

 

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Dear Body,

Dear Body,

Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t hate you. I mean you’d never know it with the way I’ve treated you for the last 40 years. I’m a horrible owner.

The thing is though, I hate what you’ve become. It’s like you’re this garbage can, you continue to hold in all the shit I put into you. The shit food, the shit drinks, the cigarette smoke for 25 years off and on. The chemicals, the additives, preservatives, and red dyes…I put things into you that I can’t pronounce, spell or say.

I hate that you are hard to move. I hate that some mornings I feel so much older than 40. I hate that I can’t run. I hate that I am embarrassed of you, that I try to hide you under layers and baggy clothes. I hate that I am afraid of exercising outside of my house because of what other people might say. I hate having to shop for fat girl clothes in specialized shops. I hate pretending to be fat positive, and body positive, when inside I’m cringing at what I’ve let myself do to you.

I hate that when I look into a mirror, I don’t recognize the person staring back at me. I’m not her. I would never let myself get this way – except I did, and it is me staring back.

I hate being naked, I hate showing you to the one I love. Showing myself to him feels like I’m revealing my worst secrets, I can’t hide what I’ve let you become.

I hate that my beautiful daughter has a mum who looks like me. I remember how I felt when my own mum was overweight. I remember the looks, I remember the snickers. Now I’m that mum. She shouldn’t ever have to hear or see what I did.

I’m so sorry dear body. I’m so sorry I’ve done this to you. I’m sorry I’m afraid to change. I’m sorry I’m not brave enough to go to the gym yet. I’m sorry I’ve fed you horribly. It’s so much easier to eat your feelings rather than deal with them head on. I’m so sorry it’s taken me 40 years to decide to change. I’m sorry I can’t run, I can’t jump yet.

I’m sorry I don’t know how much power you have, I’m sorry I’ve never pushed you hard or long enough to know what my limits are, or how far away they are. I plan on finding out though.

I plan on finding out dear body. I am going to push you, I am going to make you angry at me, I am going to punish myself for punishing you. I want you to feel strong. I want you to feel fit, I want you to feel whole.

I plan on making you work. I want to sweat, I want to feel muscles I’ve long forgot about. I want my face to be red, legs to feel like Jello, and I want to fight to breathe. I want to kick my ass.

Again dear body, I apologize, but I’m changing. I promise.

 

C.

 

 

 

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It’s Not All His Fault.

I played a part in blowing up my marriage.

I played a part in blowing up my marriage.

It’s been almost a year and a half. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking, replaying, rewinding, and re-working my marriage in my head. I know I am just as much at fault for its demise as he is.

This blog post makes me out to be a total bitch. I’m not. As much as I did to fail us, he did too. This blog is my way of making things better? Of apologising? Of showing him and myself that I have grown? I understand and own my mistakes, and that I will promise to do better in the future.

I’d like to think it’s all Shaughn’s fault. But it’s not. I played a heavy part in things. I realise it, and I wish I could apologise for all that I have done wrong. Do I think my marriage would’ve survived? I’m not sure. I highly doubt it. But maybe things would’ve been different, and I would’ve left the marriage with less hurt and resentment. Maybe Shaughn would have too.

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I think the most important thing I could have done in my marriage, in dating, even in our friendship would be to be honest with Shaughn about my feelings. So often I put up a front, I brushed things off, lied to him and myself about how I really felt about things. I have always felt that crying, needing others, asking for help emotionally was a sign of weakness on my part. I didn’t mind if others did it, I encouraged others to get help; but when it came to me, I refused to admit to Shaughn that I needed him.

In retrospect I think in my own delusional thinking, I was protecting myself. If I didn’t need him, I wouldn’t be hurt when things were done. I don’t think I ever had complete faith in our relationship. Again, I should have been honest with him about it.

My inability or unwillingness to talk about my feelings just pushed him away. I know it hurt him, but I really didn’t trust him. He did NOTHING (I repeat NOTHING) to deserve my mistrust. It is my thing. We have since talked about it, one drunk night on the deck, I think he gets it now. I know I do.

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In our marriage, I was incredibly resentful of Shaughn. I resented his job, his circle of friends, his hobby, the time he spent on his hobby, the way he freely spent money. I resented a lot of things. After we had Paisley, I resented so much more. Much of the resentment I felt after having her was unfounded. I chose to work from home, I chose to have a very small circle of friends, I chose to be the one who did the primary raising of our child rather than send her to daycare. Shaughn didn’t force me to do any of it. But I was pissed. SO pissed that he left the house to work every day, went away with his friends for weekends, had fun painting with buddies. I resented being the 24/7 parent. I resented getting up for work in the dark, finishing in the dark, and feeling trapped in my house. I resented that he was happy.

My anger came out in words. Cutting words. I would try to make him feel guilty for leaving us if he went away, or if he wanted to spend time with his friends. I regret much of what was said. I have a quick tongue, and I know that my words were unfair and not justified.

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I often withheld affection.

I wanted it. I wanted to be held, I wanted to be kissed, I wanted to feel wanted. I didn’t get that, but instead of trying harder, I gave up. I stopped hugging him, I stopped kissing him. I wouldn’t hold his hand. I guess I was so sad from feeling like he didn’t care, that I figured I’d just dish it back. I was cold. I know there were many times that he needed a hug, particularly as our marriage was in its last stages, while we were still living together, but separated. I know he needed touch, and I just couldn’t do it. I was using it as punishment for all the times I needed him.

I feel incredibly guilty about this, not just because it’s not who I am as a person, but because as young as she was, my daughter witnessed it. She had parents that barely touched other than the mandatory “Lets keep up appearances” hug before he left for work each morning. I would physically cringe when he touched me towards the end. I couldn’t get over myself to just hug him.

On a side note, things are different now, and we do hug. Often. There is no more cringing, and “family hugs” are the norm.

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I mentioned my words. I use words like a weapon. My tone, my cadence, my volume. I grew up in a family where yelling was too common. To me it has always been second nature. I knew that Shaughn didn’t grow up that way, I knew he detested it. So I did it. If I wasn’t getting his attention being nice, I knew sure as hell I’d get it by yelling.

I knew exactly which button to push, and I did. I would push and push until he broke. I just couldn’t walk away from an argument. And if he walked away from me I followed. I NEEDED him to resolve things, and if he didn’t, I was going to. I wouldn’t give him, or myself space from each other. I had this need to be right, or agreed with. In my skewed sight, walking away from me was rejection.

I know it was incredibly disrespectful, rude, and uncalled for. I’ve since tried VERY hard to curb it.

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At some point in our relationship we stopped having fun. We became an old married couple (O.M.C.) in our thirties. We didn’t go out. We didn’t have dates, We didn’t do stupid, fun things ‘just because’. There was no reason for it. And I didn’t push it. Again, it was something I wanted, something I actually did ask for, but after being shot down one too many times, instead of insisting on it, I gave up on it. I gave up.

I don’t think either one of us wanted to be the O.M.C. but we had virtually nothing in common except our daughter. We are polar opposites, we have different taste in music, hobbies, food, fun, friends, movies. Shaughn never wanted to hang out with other couples, I wanted to have fun.

We tried a few times to go out on a date, I remember the last one. It was my birthday just before we split up. He took me to a fancy Indian restaurant (My fave) and we barely said 2 words to each other. At the end of our relationship, the only thing we could talk about was our kiddo. It was the only thing we really had in common.

I feel bad that I didn’t try to find more common ground for the two of us. I’m sad that our relationship was reduced to conversations about our daughter. I always believed that we would eventually find something we could enjoy together, we just never did.

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I know relationships take work, a common thread with me, and this relationship is that I continually gave up. I gave in, I stopped fighting, I chose to be passive. I chose to not speak up, I chose to be mean, vindictive, and angry. I used passive aggressive behaviours to punish Shaughn.

I know what I did wrong, and I am so very sorry for all of it. I hope I have learned,and grown. I’m sure at this point Elliot is running for the hills away from this crazy chick (and I can’t say that I’d blame him).

So there it is. At least part of the story. My side. I know there is more. And then there is Shaughn’s story. And MY interpretation of what he did to contribute to the dissolving of our marriage.

But this is about me. Not him.

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“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
― Haruki Murakami

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Keeping Regular

willieWillie Nelson once said “I like myself better when I’m writing regularly”.

I’d have to agree with him. I like myself better when I take the time to sit down and put my words down.  However mundane, witless, or boring; I just feel centered, more in touch with my life.

Like any person, I don’t generally take the time for myself. I don’t spend the time I’d like to spend writing.  There is always something to be done, or finally at the end of the day I feel like my brain is mush. I don’t know how I did it as a student. It seemed no matter how tired, hung over, or even drunk I was, I still managed to write and get kick ass grades. Somehow I’m guessing I would score far less stellar marks. Far. Less. Stellar.

I think part of the reason I do this whole stop and start thing to my writing is, I stop when things are going well, writing has always been my ‘therapy’ and when life is good, I don’t need it. I tend to turn to my blog when things are shitty, sad, or I’m angry. Right now, I’m none of those things. Life is wonderful. Really fucking good actually.

Elliot has been here since June, he’s actually back in Wisconsin for a few weeks visiting Family. There’s a new niece, and people who’ve missed him tons! Joel has been here since May, my daycare is full and my Paisley is awesome. She loves school and is doing great.

I’ve talked about making our third bedroom an office/writing area for us, I’m really hoping to do it soon. I think if I can get my ass away from everyone else and all the household distractions, I may actually sit and write more often. Here’s hoping.

So my goal for the next 2 weeks is to spit out 3 blogs. It’s time to get this train back on the tracks.

One more quote. This one by Cyril Connolly:  Better to write for yourself, and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.”

That Cyril Connolly was a smart lad.

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Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes….

Things are a-changin'

Things are a-changin’

It seems like no matter which direction I look in these days; change is happening, whether I like it or not.

I’m relatively easy when it comes to change, I tend to adjust, and go with it. This last year has been one change after another, the decision to end my marriage, the decisions that needed to be made for my cancer diagnosis, changes in my job, my family, my brother moving in with me…it’s been like rapid fire.

Now, I am facing two more big changes, both are exciting, and scary.

Shaughn completed his third interview with Toyota today, a job that will offer him more money, full benefits, and a pension. It is also a job that will (by choice) take him away from his daughter. While I am very excited, about what this means for him, his future and our Paisley’s future, it also brings with it many unknowns. By choosing to move to a new city, he will be much more limited in the amount of time he is able to spend with her. This will have many trickle down effects, and I’m not sure that it’s the best thing for her. She is just now, a year after our separation starting to exhibit some behaviours associated with her father moving out, I fear that they will be exacerbated further when their time together is cut shorter.

Right now Shaughn has full access, he has his set times to have her, but often will hang out with her in-between his allotted time. I think it’s wonderful. He has always been a hands on Dad, they often spend time building things, doing crafty stuff, going to the park and researching My Little Pony shit. It’s such a special and sacred relationship, I am just afraid it will be lost.  I question if I am being selfish, but no, I don’t think that’s it, I have nothing to be selfish over, I’m quite happy to be mummy 24/7 with the occasional break, but I have family and friends to fill in the gaps. No, I really am concerned about their relationship and it’s continued growth.

Alas, things change.

The second major change I’m facing is also a familial change. My lad is moving up from the states and will be living with us. This is scary and exciting at the same time. Another huge life change!

Elliot and I have been together long distance for 8 months, with him living with us off and on for close to 3 months. I’m beyond excited to have him here, I’m done with this long distance crap; although it has afforded me the chance to learn and grow…(read more about that here:https://simplysomeday.wordpress.com/2013/04/22/where-my-heart-is/  ) I’m ready to ditch the 6000 text messages and FaceTime chats.

It’s been almost a year since I’ve lived with a partner, It’s been a year of doing things on my own, on my terms, how I want them done. I’ve had a year to be selfish, and concentrate on my needs and wants (and Pais’) without having to really consider another person. We often have PB&J for dinners, on the weekends we try to sleep late and maximise every minute we have together, I can use my favourite snuggly blanket because I’m always cold, I can sleep in my WHOLE bed, not worrying about kicking the person beside me! SELFISH!

As much as I’m joking, I am nervous about sharing myself again, opening myself up to vulnerability, throwing my whole life and heart into an ocean and hoping we can swim; not just tread water, praying we don’t drown. I know in my heart that things will be good. I know we’re in for rocky times like any relationship, but I also know that there are so many wonderful things in store too. I can’t wait.

This move has brought up feelings in my extended family that I am not thrilled with. I know certain people disapprove, and when others find out they will more than disapprove, but really; I’m an adult, and frankly I don’t give a flying leap what others think about my relationship or how I live my life.

So bring it, bring the changes, bring the unknown, uncertainty, the doubt, the second-guessing, and bring the joy of change. I’m ready for it.

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