Tag Archives: priorities

This Year > Last Year

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It’s amazing the difference twelve short months can make. Just 365 little days…
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Last May, I was about 40 pounds heavier and a bunch of inches thicker. I was four pant sizes and two-three (depending on the store) shirt sizes bigger. I couldn’t dream of shopping in “normal” stores, save for the maternity section or the occasional tunic or dress that I fashioned into a form-fitting shirt (Yes, really. I did both).
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Last May I was uncomfortable wearing t-shirts and wouldn’t dream of wearing tank tops. No one wants to see all that flab flapping around. When I did finally start to wear tank tops, it was the biggest deal. I remember calling my mom as I stood at the big box hardware store wearing a sleeveless dress. I was nearly in tears I was so proud…and so terrifyingly self-conscious.
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Last May I didn’t leave the house without my hair and make up done, my outfit acceptably perfect. Why give the world another reason to judge me? I may be The Fat Girl but I would never dream of being The Ugly Fat Girl.

Last May I struggled to run for 30 seconds. I stuck mostly to the elliptical at the gym, because I was afraid of how unattractive and out of shape I’d look trying something new. I didn’t make eye contact and I stayed in the back row of my darkened spin class—the only group class I would attempt.
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But now?

This May, I’m still stuck in a seemingly never-ending weight loss plateau, but I’ve lost over 60 pounds in about a year, I’ve tightened and toned my body to the point where I sometimes like what I see in the mirror. I haven’t given up. I regularly shop at normal stores in mostly normal sizes. Sometimes, I even need to grab a smaller size.
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This May, I cry in dressing rooms because I can’t believe I fit in the size 14 shirt not because I have to grab the 3X.

This May, I’ve run a 5K race, with a goal of doing five more this year (three are on the calendar!). I’ve gotten my heavy body up on a paddleboard…while wearing a swimsuit. I’ve taken (and love!) a boot camp and a weights class—where I’m constantly uncomfortable and pushed to my physical and self-esteem limits.
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This May, I rarely wear makeup when I’m not at work or going out socially. I’ve stopped caring what I look like in the best possible way: I still want to look cute, obviously, but I no longer spend an hour getting ready to go to Target on a Saturday afternoon.
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This May, I wear t-shirts. And tank tops. And dresses that show off (most) of my legs.
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This May, I explore the world around me. I try new things. I put myself out there socially (something, I admit, I’m just starting to feel out). I’m less afraid of others, less afraid of myself.
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This May, I’ve mostly made peace with myself. As is, right now. Fat and all. The scale doesn’t define me, your opinion of me, and what fat girls should and should not do, doesn’t define me. I define me. And I like me. I’m proud of me.

This May, I can’t wait to see who I am next May.

I Make My Own Sunshine

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Today was exactly what I needed.

My behavior over the past month and a half has mirrored this Minnesota spring: gray, bleak, not a lot positive going on. On a rare day, we get glimpses of sunshine and warm air and I have a day where I workout, eat right, and feel like progress is being made. Every few weeks, like today, we get yet another snowstorm. The ice falls in sheets, the snow is whipped into a frenzy by cutting winds, and I sit inside, unmoving, feeling sorry myself, making countless poor choices.
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I need sunshine and green, I need fresh, warm air…and I need to stop making excuses, get off my butt, and get back on track. But all of that seems impossible as I stare out my window at the frozen muddy ground blanketed again in thick white.
Photo 18There’s been a fair amount of drama and change at my work lately that I’m—thankfully—not directly involved with. Now, I truly love my job, mostly because it provides me with the flexibility to focus on my weight loss (you know, when I actually used to do that on a consistent basis).

But if there’s one thing I hate, it’s workplace politics, drama, and all that other nonsense that leaves the average American bemoaning their career choice daily on social media outlets. I’ve been in that position before and it’s the most miserable, scary, self-defeating place to be. No, thank you. I’ve come way too far to go back to there.
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So as I was working from home this morning, avoiding the mid-April thundersnow as the locals were calling it (seriously, snow coupled with lightning and thunder), more drama filtered into my inbox. I immediately felt that same pit in my stomach that I’ve felt in the past. It infuriated me like you wouldn’t believe.

I don’t want to deal with the bullshit. I don’t want to live to work, as the saying goes, I want to work to live. I want to create, run, see, touch, feel. I want to travel. I want to be a stay at home momma or finally open my own little bakery/café. I want to be happy. I want a big, full life that doesn’t necessarily begin and end in a cubicle, or a life so big that it makes dealing with the cubicle walls a non-issue…

And that chain of thought was like the Universe kicking me in the butt, saying, “Duh! That’s what this whole journey is about!”

My life is not tied to career aspirations. Worrying over promotions with 2% pay raises, passive-aggressively whispering about co-workers behind their back. Ugh, NO. I used to subscribe to all of that, but now I don’t see a point in any of it. Life’s too short and I have too much I want to do and be.
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I want my life tied to family, friends, and living on my own terms. That’s what making a life is all about to me. And that all happens (fingers crossed) when I lose this weight, find my confidence, and get healthy—body, mind, and soul.

And now I’m ready again. I’m ready to make some of my own sunshine–this grey Minnesota weather be dammed.

Entrepreneur

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I’m in the business of making my life. I’m building an empire here, something that won’t be easily defeated. I started with nothing but heart and determination. No capital, no savings, no team to work with, nothing.

Building a business requires the hardest of hard work. It requires you to be a self-starter. No one’s going to hold your hand and pull you up to the top You have to get yourself up that damn mountain. By the bootstraps and all.

You have to hustle. You have to move like you stole it. Put your blinders on, keep a single focus on the end result. On getting that business in the black as soon as possible. There’s no letting your stakeholders down, no letting yourself down. You don’t get another chance here because you’ve invested everything you’ve got into this business of making your life. It’s a now or never, do or die situation.

The first quarter of 2013 was spent getting everything in order, closing the books on the tumultuous year that was 2012. Yes, I saw profits. My efforts paid dividends, but there was also a great deal of self-doubt, of uncontrollable uncertainty, of working with the wrong people in the wrong circumstances. Now, I’ve got my answers, I have my market research. The rest of 2013 will be spent expanding my brand, putting in late hours at the office, sharing my success story, monopolizing the market on how to build a life.

Shutting everything else out to just go.
Work. Build. Be.

I'm in the business of me, living the fullest life possible.

Facing Fears

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url-1If there’s something you’re afraid of, feel the fear and do it anyway.

This is the mantra I’ve been trying to live by more and more lately in both big and small ways. My self-esteem has long been MIA. As I’m starting to inadvertently recognize myself in moments of change and growth, I’m pushing myself to purposely push myself—put myself out there, try new and scary things.

To wit, last week, a friend convinced me to try a boot camp class at our gym. My understanding of what boot camp would entail boiled down to this: a ridiculously challenging hour of moving my body in new and uncomfortable ways in front of people I don’t know who would judge and stare. AKA one of my least favorite ideas ever.

For the most part, this class was exactly that. It was crazy hard—burpee after burpee after burpee (side note: at one point, my friend turned to me and said, “Lord, I hate burpees.” To which I replied, “Me, too. But you know what I hate more? Being fat.” Amen!) Also, I’m a sweater (as in, I sweat a lot. I’m not a warm shirt made of wool), and that was embarrassingly obvious during the course of this class. There also happened to be a fair number of men in this class. Thankfully they weren’t all that attractive, but they were men nonetheless. And the lights were on in this class, and the walls are lined in mirrors, and I’m not one who easily blends in with the popsicle stick gym girls. I felt incredibly on display and incredibly uncomfortable.

For about five minutes.

Everyone was there to work hard. They weren’t there to look good, to flirt, or to stare at one another. We were all there to sweat and challenge our bodies. And that we did.

While I definitely struggled with a few of the moves, so did everyone else. But, unexpected bonus, I had moments of feeling proud when I noticed myself running faster than skinnier girls and  picking up heavier weights than some of the guys.
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As I was walking out after class, a girl stopped me and informed me that she had been admiring my body during the class. Okay… She started talking about how all the women in her family are shaped like me, with the big butt and hips. She continued on for a few moments, making me feel more and more uncomfortable. Then, she stopped and said, “Basically what I’m saying is that once you reach your goal, you are going to have the most bangin’ body. I know plenty of women who would kill for what you’ll have.”

My point in all of this is twofold: first, people don’t think about you nearly as much as you think they do. And if they are thinking about you, it’s not necessarily always negative. Maybe they’re just admiring your soon-to-be bangin’ bod.

Secondly, and on a related note, always, always do the things that scare you most. Whether it’s a boot class at the gym, tackling an overwhelming project at work, or finally being able to make eye contact with strangers (more on that later), simply taking some sort of action rather than continuing to worry and analyze always pays off. Always. 

Yes, I Am

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url-2Often, Amanda, simply showing up is enough.

Because the friends, abundance, and health you now dream of possessing have long been in place.

Because the coincidences, surprises, and serendipities that will transform your life already lie in wait for your passing.

And because little else could speak louder of your belief in success than physically putting yourself in a position to receive.

It’s fun to stay at the YMCA,
The Universe

P.S. Not to mention, Amanda, we can hardly wait to see that look of shock and delight on your little human face.

Picking Up The Pace

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urlYou’re going to miss the slow times and quiet days, Amanda. Your anonymity, stealth, and small circle of friends. Plodding along at your own pace, working in spurts, and wondering where your next break will come from. Even your uncertainties, doubts, and fears will be missed. 

It just works like that once massive dreams start coming true. 

You’ll manage just fine,
    The Universe

P.S. Oh, there can still be slow times, quiet days, and all the rest, Amanda, but you might have to buy a wig.

Fat Is…

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Being fat is alot of things.

It’s frustrating, infuriating embarrassing, a turn-off. A barrier, a burden. Isolating and ever-present. Uncomfortable.At the same time, it’s entirely too comfortable. You find comfort in the uncomfortable. Over and over, until the days melt into years and you find yourself looking back, wondering what in the hell happened.

100_0566When you’re fat you learn to deal. With a lot. You learn avoidance and coping mechanisms. You laugh at yourself before someone else can. You learn to shut down emotionally, as your body begins the agonizing process of shutting down physically. Easy becomes your middle name–and not in that way.

You crack jokes about getting your cardio in while shimmying into new jeans in the fitting room. True story.

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109_0726You sit at home, alone, surrounded by grease-stained packages and wrappers, empty plates and bowls, waiting for the stomach ache, and even more, the empty ache, to subside.

You mull over and over your own little mental scrapbook of moments. Mainly moments of full-on humiliation. Like the guy who texted his wife about how huge you were as he sat next to you on the airplane, breathing on you, taking more than his share of the armrest.
232323232fp53253>nu=9--;>-63>239>WSNRCG=34343553-232-nu0mrjDSC02494_editedOr the time you fell through the rickety wooden chair at a family wedding, the noise of the splintering wood reverberating loudly across the marble hall as all eyes turned to the fat girl sprawled and red faced on the floor.

You recall breaking your foot in 10th grade and allowing it to be the excuse that ends you tenure as a high school athlete–the only thing keeping the beast in check.

You live with the constant and soul-crushing disappointment you feel in not having the typical adolescent experience, in not giving your parents the experience of raising a typical adolescent. No prom, no breaking of curfew, no steady stream of boyfriends nervously ringing your doorbell.

That poor, poor horse...

That poor, poor horse…

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You can never fix that, can never go back. You can never give that back to them. Or yourself.

You worry that disappointment will extend to your future. You may never walk down the aisle with your dad. Never give your parents grandkids. Never get to raise your own typical adolescents.

When you’re fat you feel all this, you live all this, day in and day out.

232323232fp53246>nu=9--;>-63>239>WSNRCG=3434357-;932-nu0mrjYou. Alone.

And you become numb. You float along, achingly, miserably content in your non-existent existence. Comfortable.

But nothing changes if you’re comfortable…

Being fat is alot of things. But mostly, it’s easy in the worst possible way. Easy to continue on the same extra-wide path you’ve cleared for yourself. Easy to lie still, unmoving, afraid to breathe, think, or speak lest you stir up the pain.

Though, while life may be a lot of things, for a fat person, it’s never truly easy. Not in the ways you want.

So you’ve got to push. Extra hard. You’ve got to stir things up. Take the impassible, difficult roads. Make yourself consistently uncomfortable.
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Because change happens in that uncomfortable space. Your life is waiting in that uncomfortable space.