Saturday, February 21, 2015

The day I took a hammer to my scale.

I am pissed off.

I am mad at myself and mad at the fitness industry. I am mad at fashion magazines and celebrities and every single fucking person that points out when someone gains weight.

Tabloid magazines that zoom in on famous people's cellulite, like they are not human and should starve to appeal to our fucked up vision of "beauty".

I have been eating a raw vegan lifestyle for two weeks now, because I believe that I can heal my metabolism through high volumes of fruits and vegetables.

The years that I have messed with my metabolism makes me want to hang my head. The starving and binging and purging and diet pills and spray butter. OMFG the spray butter. Chemicals and hatred and pints of ice cream and over exercising. For what? FOR WHAT?

Well, with high volume of anything, there is always going to be a reflection on the scale, and being that I have suffered from bulimia for like, MY WHOLE LIFE, I should not even OWN a scale. I have thrown them out and brought them back in over and over and over and over again.

Well,, I stupidly got on it this morning.

And broke. the. fuck. down.

And then, then I got mad. I got mad at myself for taking 90 steps backwards. Why do I, and so many people feel the need to PUNISH ourselves for eating, and for feeling pleasure.

I ran into a friend in the parking lot of the gym this morning and we discussed her eight year old "body checking" in the mirror. "Do I look fat?"

I broke out in chills all over my body.

When is this going to stop?
It is our responsibility as mothers, as women to stop this horrible cycle.
Enjoy your food. Enjoy your life.
Let's unite as a front and raise a new generation of non fat talking daughters.

I took a hammer to my scale this morning.

Living the raw vegan lifestyle- I have NEVER felt better. My face is clear (off all three different medications for breakouts) My panic attacks are gone (Off two medications for that) Every single "bathroom" issue is totally resolved. (Off fiber drinks and medications for that too)

I am happy, so fuck you scale.

I am embarrassed for crying over the number this morning.

I think, what if Allie was sitting in her bed crying over the scale number?

I would, absolutely die.

This is my opportunity to teach my daughters to love their bodies. No matter what size. We need to teach health, and fitness. We need not conform to what society names "acceptable."

3,000 + calories a day. Mostly carbs. Feeling absolutely incredible.

Today I am stopping for good this fat talk shit. No more scale, no more talking about weight loss or weight gain. Let's start looking at people for who they are, instead of what they look like.
Let's teach our daughters to stand up for themselves, to adore their little bodies, to shake their bums and be silly without fear.

Let's focus on fitness goals and feeling amazing. Let's teach our daughters yoga and meditation instead of condoning pints of ice cream and bags of skittles.

Let's teach them that exercise is not a chore, but something that should make their bodies feel strong.

And you know what? Let's be supportive of other women. Let's bring them up and encourage them instead of discussing their weight gain behind their backs.

Let's collectively stop talking about diets and weight.

Let's stop saying we are "bad" when we enjoy our food.
Let's eat an abundance of foods rich in nutrients and whole grains and drink water. Let's fuel our bodies with actual food, instead of chemicals.
Let us all eat real food, and love every single bite.

Your daughters are watching.
They are always watching.

You have a choice. You always have a choice.

Love yourself.

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Friday, February 20, 2015

Dear Jonah

Dear J,
Allie learned how to tie her shoes the other day.
I showed her the same way you showed me. It was yet another day that I wish I could put you on speaker phone. I wonder what you would have said. I wonder just how amazed you would be at your two nieces.
We would talk about how much they both favor you, Sophia, especially, sometimes when she looks at me it's like I am looking into your eyes.

She told me the other day she was playing with her friend "Jonah" I hope beyond hope that you were there with her.
This might get old, the writing to you, but I don't know how else to get these feelings out.

I sat in the closet yesterday smelling your clothes. You would think after almost seven years that part of the grief wouldn't hurt so much.

I just want you to know, I'd give every single thing I own, to be back with you for 1 minute. Underneath the blankets of our homemade fort, or in the grass playing tag, or having you guide my hands as we methodically loop the shoe strings into indestructible knots.

I love you. I miss you every single second.

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Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Ice storm 2015

Somehow in the midst of 70 degree weather, I woke up to a scene right out of "Frozen"

School was cancelled yesterday, which was great, seeing as though I really didn't want to venture outside. We did, though, manage to get out to sled ride in a laundry basket. Then, later on during the day I went out for a run.
I have been playing around with eating raw vegan, which has given me an abundance of energy. Today alone, I have already done two intense workouts, and I feel incredible.

Even though its freaking freezing outside, it sure is beautiful.

Once I get a routine down to a science I will post another day of what I eat, although I am sure it will raise a few eyebrows!


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Friday, February 13, 2015

The night I got away.

Last night I woke in a cold sweat. I couldn't exactly place where my anxiety was coming from. You know that moment in between dreaming and real life, but you can't quite grasp pieces of your reality?
It was like that.

I knew that I would get up early and write this story.
Because I have to.
Because maybe someone out there can relate, and know they are not alone.

When I was in college, I meant a boy on a train. He was older, and cooler, and stupidly I found myself falling head over heels for him, in a matter of moments.

We exchanged phone numbers, and I was was positive we would live happily ever after.

This boy had his game down to a science, it wasn't long before I really, really, really liked him. He kissed me tenderly on my birthday, and said all the right things.

Well, then he stopped calling, and I found out he had a girlfriend the entire time, and I felt stupid, and used, and it certainly was not the way to begin my first month of college.

Time passed, and I saw him a few times in the elevator. I always smiled pleasantly at him and pretended that he didn't matter.

He usually hung out a few dorm rooms down from mine, with his friends, and again, I pretended like he was invisible most days, but after a while, he tried to make conversation with me and I was nice.
I was always, always, nice.

The details of what happens next are hazy so stay with me here.

One night there was a knock at my door.

It was late, and my I can't remember where my roommate was.
It was him standing there, drunk. Like ridiculously inebriated.

I started to shut the door, but he smashed it open, grabbed me, slammed the door behind him and pushed me to the bed.

I remember, I kept saying repeating "No" to him and he kept saying all the bullshit guys who are assholes say to girls.

"But, I really like you, You are so beautiful! Please!"

Then something in me snapped. Like warning bells going off in surround sound.
And I fought him.
I kneed him in the balls and slammed his face into the wall, and finally manged to push him out of my room, locking the door behind him.

This section is so short, in comparison to the adrenaline that was coursing through my body.
It felt like HOURS, It was like trying to get an elephant off of me and push it out the door. While writing it, I had to stop myself because I kept rushing, not wanting to be back there in that room with him.

Last night, as I laid in bed, I was remembering this, and I have not thought about it OR spoken of it in YEARS.
I never told anyone.
Because I was afraid I would look stupid.
I should have called campus police. I should have caused more of a scene.
I never told anyone, but I am telling you now.

Today, he is a convicted rapist.

And even though I spent years blocking this out, there was a time when I was backed into a corner and I fought like hell to get away.

If it's you that can relate, I am sorry, if it's you that couldn't get away, my heart explodes for you.  I was lucky, and I know that.
Safe Helpline
This is a good place to visit if you are looking for resources for help.

Thanks for letting me share.

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Thursday, February 5, 2015


Allessandra has always been a challenge when it comes to food.

And not surprisingly, she is my least healthy child.

Yesterday I went to facebook for healing prayers from my friends and friends of friends.
For three months we have had bad luck when it comes to her health. Perhaps it's the school room the other children in her face, the sneezes the boogers, the carpet, the lunch table. Who knows?
All I know, is that since November this child has been sick, and we still are without health insurance.

It took me three months to get angry. Health is my thing, so I am healing Allessandra the same way I healed myself.
With food.

Except she hates health food.

But she does like some fruit, and she watches me juice every morning.

She chose Pineapple, strawberries, cucumber and beets. ( I told her she needed two veggies)

 I know this is a little silly, but I get a lot of satisfaction that both girls can identify a beet in the grocery store.

The juicing solution came to me this morning as I was waking up.

 Heal her, the exact same way I would heal myself. 


 Just flood her little body with nutrients.

This drink is incredible for healing and decreasing inflammation. Immune booster and the beets alone are ridiculously cleansing.

And she finished it.
I was floored.
I made two more mason jars worth and put them in the fridge.
Let's see if we can finally get her well.

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Tuesday, February 3, 2015

A futile attempt of composure

Parenting is really fucking hard.

"Why do kittens die, daddy?"
I stop short, listening carefully, Josh continues to flip pancakes, "Everything dies after a while, sometimes cats live for a long long time and sometimes they don't."

A couple hours ago I had snapped a picture of Allie and Sophia with giddy smiles on their faces, at the vet because Gumball looked pregnant.
Gumball, our kitten that we have only had for three short months.
The sweetest kitten you have ever seen. That did this, the very first day she came home with us. She never hid, she never scratched or hissed. She was an angel.

We brought her to the doctors in a princess chest. The first thing the tech said was she looked pregnant, and stupidly I sighed with relief.

Then, she wasn't.

Not only was she not pregnant, but she was extremely sick. I heard the word, "incurable" and then I broke down in the tiny vet room, in front of my kids, the vet and two techs.

I cried like Jonah was dead all over again.

Like, without warning a tidal wave had crashed over me, and I was standing in the corner of the room like a disheveled child.

..I had prayed to God that this kitten would be fine, begged him that she would be fine, why would God take away my kid's favorite thing?

 Probably a huge overreaction in your opinion, and I understand that, but in the moment holding my emotions inside was a futile attempt of composure.

I tried to explain to Allessandra and she seemed content knowing that gumball would be taken care of by grandpa and my brother.

"She's going to heaven, I will really miss her."

It was a choice of mine to hold a little funeral for her outside. A decision that I would later regret- because Allessandra, perhaps finally understanding the finality of the situation, cried because Gumball would be cold outside, underground.

Parenting is really fucking hard.

Gumball used to follow Sophia around, and sleep on her head. They bonded the fastest, and this morning she wondered where her cat was.

The space above her head that is usually warm, was cold this morning.

That part, the missing part, is what crushes me.

I want to go back to the place, where they don't know that the things they love can be taken away from them.

But like I said, parenting is really fucking hard.

RIP sweet baby.

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