Breakthrough

photo via efhcenter.com

"My breakthrough came when I stopped feeling sorry for myself and took responsibility for every part of my life.  No more pity parties. I've gotta love me more than anybody else loves me."

~Mary J Blige

In July 2010, I made the decision to take control of my life.  I was tired of being sick, tired, and generally exhausted.

A year later, I wrote this post about my progress to that point.   I was feeling pretty good about where I was at that time.  Full of hope and plans to move forward.

At the end of that year, I turned 33.  The hubs and I had been working for two years to be able to get ready for our IVF attempts.  82 pounds down, and I knew time was not on our side.

So, we took that leap and learned what we did.  And hope failed me.

I took a break.  I took a break from my blog, knowing that I needed to learn to deal with my own realities in private before I could begin to put things on "paper."  I took a break from reading and reviewing.  I took a break from nearly everything except going through the motions to get through the day.

I had my introspection (heck, I'm still having it), and I realized I had two choices:  continue to wallow or accept life as it is and move forward.

I may be sarcastic and cynical at times, but at heart I'm an optimist.  I know that things will get better.  There might be more hills and valleys before it does (and there have been), but I trust God to get me through those things that I cannot even begin to process.

Part of moving forward for me means getting back on track.  In the nearly two years that have passed, I have lost two more pounds.  The idea exists that if you go a year without gaining weight back, then you've been successful.  Since I actually lost more weight, I'm counting that as success.

I decided to stop my excuses and, taking Mary's suggestion, to take responsibility for every part of my life.  The first two?  Exercising and eating.

1.  "My knee hurts too much, so I can't exercise like I want to."

Whatever.  While I did enjoy running, the reality remains that ANY kind of exercise is work to me. Add to this that while I really don't have some of the common side effects of obesity (Thankfully, I have somehow managed to avoid high blood pressure, diabetes, or high cholesterol), the orthopaedic concerns were fully driven by my weight.  My knee issues are partly hereditary   However, my healthy weight mother has managed to hold off the knee surgeries at age 50+. Me?  The first one came at age 29.  Had I addressed my weight sooner, maybe I would have been able to hold off the corrections for longer.  Even if I couldn't run/walk/cardio load my bottom half, the fact still remained that I have arms and a midsection that needed work.   Getting some of that weight off might have helped me to ease the load on my knees.  My responsibility...my fault.

So, six weeks ago, I got rid of the excuse.  I decided to have my right knee corrected the same way I had my left one done five years ago.   While it's healing, I am working on my arms with dumbbells and working on my midsection.  I'm following my physical therapy like clockwork, ensuring the knee will be able to take the workload I'm throwing at it come June when we take a family trip to Disney.


The result? I have managed to get stronger than expected faster than anticipated.  Walking in Disney?  Piece of cake.  

2. "I don't have time to cook, so I have to grab what I can." 

Again, whatever.  I was doing what was easy, not what was good for me. It was easy to blame work, child, or life schedule on an inability to plan for what I needed to be eating,  In truth?  I was choosing to not plan.

It just so happened that a couple of weeks before my surgery, I was introduced to a wonderful woman who had lost a great deal of weight on Medifast (over 100 pounds since August last year, to be exact).  An unexpected financial offering allowed me to be able to make the investment. That wonderful woman is now my Health Coach, helping me on this journey.  With Medifast, I only have to worry about one meal a day.  The other five are Medifast provided.   So, the food excuse?  Gone. I check menus if I'm going to eat out, so I know where and what I can eat.  And thanks to the tutelage of Tom and Rachel when I first started this journey, I have been able to make many recipes that I love Medifast friendly.  It ensures that I don't get bored with the meal I'm making for myself.

On Friday March 8, I officially hit 100 pounds lost.  And not just close to 100 pounds:  I was EXACTLY 100 pounds smaller, to the 1/10 of a pound.  There is something so completely empowering in taking back control of my life and my health.

I'm not going to say that I don't find myself trying to make excuses again.  It's a habit that was long cultivated, and it's a habit that will take a long time to break.

But that hope?  It's there. With each step that I take, I'm getting stronger and stronger.  I know that it's completely in MY hands to change.

My Responsibility.

No More Pity Parties.

Love For Me, By Me.


My Breakthrough.

Speaking Truth

Thanks to Holli for letting me share :)

When Holli posted that tweet about a week ago, I was struck.  The day before, I had finally worked up the nerve to write my last post.  It took so much for me to break the silence in the limited way that I did to begin to address what I have spent the last two and a half weeks trying to ignore.

What has resulted from that suppression is anxiety levels that have my OCD so out of control I am on the verge of panic attacks. Insomnia is rampant because all I can think about is the laundry list of things that need to be done in my house and at work.  I have been able to eat very little because my nerves are on edge.  I am focused on everything else that is around me to not have to focus on what is going on inside me.  My lack of control over what's going on has only served to create a circular problem:  the more control I try to exert, the less handle I have on it, the more anxiety I have, the more control I try to exert....and around and around it goes.

And so, this post is meant to take a page out of Holli's book and speak my truth out loud.  I have been testing it a little with people around me.  I can't say that it has been easy for me, because I am engaged in an internal war.  Okay, I realize that sounds a bit melodramatic, but I'm going with it anyway.

When Z was two years old, our attempts to use Clomid (which had previously resulted in two successful pregnancies) failed.   We decided to take a break and reassess what we wanted to do.  Last year, hubs and I decided to take our infertility treatments to the next level and visited a fertility clinic.  We wanted to see what our options would be.

After some fairly invasive tests for me and some very embarrassing ones for him, the road ahead for us was paved with three letters:  IVF:  in-vitro fertilization.   Since this post is about my truth and not IVF details, I will save that one for another post.  I think those dealing with it need to hear about it, but for now, I need to finish what I started.

On 9/6, after completing our second IVF round (the first one obviously failed, or this would be a COMPLETELY different post), I waited for THE call.  I had gone to Nashville to once again donate to the vampires (I mean, really, do they need THAT much blood all the time??)  I kept checking my phone, making sure I hadn't missed the call while the phone was on vibrate during my meetings.   

And then the call came. 

Hope, so dangerous.  So scary.

While I had the smallest glimmer of hope, I kept trying to prepare myself for what could be my reality.

What BECAME my new reality:  I cannot have any other children.

The IVF failed.  The science failed.  And I feel like I failed.

I feel like I failed my husband and my son.  I know I did everything I could: followed the protocol to the letter, stuck myself so many times that a pincushion had nothing on me, dealt with all the side effects, and dropped trou so many times I was ready to ask for dinner first.   I also know that I am blessed to have the child that I do, as so many others never have that joy.

And knowing all that logically isn't helping me one bit.

My husband is the oldest of nine children and has wanted more (just a couple more, even just one more), and my son has asked so many times about when he is going to get a baby brother that I am out of vague responses.    And I don't know how you tell a five year old "never."

So now, I am trying to deal with the hand I have been dealt.  I am struggling with wanting more than God has given me.  I feel guilty for being selfish, and I never want my son to think that he isn't enough. 

He is MORE than enough.  He is a bright, beautiful, amazing child, and I am lucky that God has entrusted me with his care. Every day, he follows so many of our traditions.  He asks me "Do you know what I need now?"  Then he falls into my lap for cuddles.   At bedtime, he asks me to give one of his stuffed animals extra hugs and kisses to get him through the night, and I become Mommy whatever-he-chose. The sound of "Night, Night Mommy Kangaroo" is ringing in my ears as I write this, and it will carry me through the night.

And I still want more.  I want more for him, more for his dad, more for me.  I see my mom and her siblings band together to do what is best for my papa, and I am pained by the thought that he might have to deal with any of our health issues in old age by himself.

I know the only way to move past this moment and to focus on our future is to own all my feelings and "to stay out of my own way."

And, at the top of it all, speak the truth and "let the truth speak through me."







 

A Dangerous Thing

image via http://www.bradleygauthier.com

I am starting to believe that Frank Darabont might have been right:

"Hope is a dangerous thing.  Hope can drive a man insane."

Being a natural planner (read: control freak), I like to be prepared.  This creates an ongoing struggle between me, hope, and faith.  Focusing on hope and faith do not allow me to focus on control.  It means I can't have control of my own agenda.   

I will grant you, it is nice to consider that I could make my own choices in all things.  I could choose to make my family healthy.  I could choose to make the struggles in my life and in the lives of those that I love go away with a simple wish.  And that might work if I remain altruistic through my entire life.  And if that was available to everyone, what if altruism went out the window and greed and retribution were allowed to seep in?  Yeah, not so nice to think about it that way.

As of late, hope has failed me. There are new aspects of my life where I can no longer cling to the hope that things might be different. What I want to happen will not, and I must accept my new reality and move forward.

After suffering both a heart attack and stroke, my grandfather is vastly different than he was just over a week ago.  The strong, independent, outspoken man I have always known is now in need of help and patience.   While I could hope that one day he will heal and be exactly like the man I have known my whole life, reality says that while he may get better, he will be changed.  We all will be.

A few days prior, I was forced to face another new reality.   That wound is still gaping and raw around the edges.  The pain of that reality is so fresh for me that it is hard for me to speak of it outside of my close circle.  Even then, I struggle with the words.  Each time I try to reassure those who love me that "I'm going to be fine,"  I wonder if I really am.  I know that I will have to be eventually.  I will have to accept what is and move on and make adjustments.  I know it will take time and patience, and patience has never been one of my strengths.

And this leads me to why hope has been and could continue to be dangerous.

I want to cling to what was, to a time when I didn't have answers and hope was still feasible. Hope allowed me to imagine a different reality. It allowed me to envision a different future for myself and my family.  And while that hope allowed me to function at that time, it didn't prepare me for the reality that was to come. 

So now, when I would normally be moving solidly into Plan B (or C or D or...you get the idea), I'm not able to do anything.   There are no plans that I can make or lists I can check off that will change the reality for my Papa, my family, or myself. 

And I feel lost.  

I know that in time I will take the lessons learned and be stronger for them.  My brain can logically tell you all the steps, all the motions, and the eventual outcome.  Because, for all my realism, I am still an optimist.  I still count on God and those I love to get me through and to provide me strength when I am at my weakest. 

And some day soon I will have the audacity to hope again.

Just not today.



 

In Limbo

photo via gamerant.com

By nature, I am a planner.  I have a lot of difficulty with watching and waiting.  I have never been one to sit back and see how life turns out.  I prefer to have much more control over my direction than that.

Lately, however, I am working through something that requires my patience.  No matter how much I would like to rush through the planning, create new actions for what isn't going according to plan, and rewrite my agenda, I am being forced to wait and see.  The difficulty for me in this is harder than I anticipated.  At present, being caught in limbo is stifiling. 

Before we started the "project," I knew I would need some kind of stability in the uncertainty that was to come.  It happened to work out timing that my parents had asked us to attend their church.  I will leave the bulk of the discussion of that journey for another time.  Suffice it to say, I have recently found myself floundering. 

With the recent return to worship and the impending process we were undertaking, I did what has always worked in the past.  In addition to clinging to my family and my amazing husband, I turned back to the one source of strength that has sustained me. 

I turned to God. 

I haven't spent much time discussing faith, mainly because I have grown weary of trying to justify why I believe what I do. I love who I love.  I trust who I trust.  I have faith where I have faith.  I worship in the way that brings me peace, hope, and balance. 

And so, I have been praying.  Praying for strength.  Praying for direction.

Praying for patience. 

Through the first part of this journey, I have clung to the promise that I would never go alone.  While I wait for His plan to unfold, I find myself seeking His face in my moments of frustration and weakness.   I strive to accept the fact that, as a control freak, I have absolutely NO control over the outcome.

I think John Waller has said it better than I ever could.  Destinychurchmedia posted the below video on YouTube, aptly reminding me that it all happens in HIS time.  Not mine.

And so, I wait. 

I wait.

I serve. 

I worship.

And I pray.



Sans Gluten: The Food: Part One

photo via bzzagent.com

***Disclaimer's the same: this is MY plan, worked in conjunction with MY doctor.  Not to be substituted for real medical advice to fit YOUR needs with YOUR doctor.**


For this post to make sense, you might want to check out this post first.  I will also be making an additional split to this series: food will be broken into a couple of posts.

With the blessings of my doctor, and some ideas from my mom, I went in search of a diet change.

I quickly learned one of the biggest problems with trying to eat GF:  there are SO many forms of gluten hidden by different names.  Finding Wheat as an ingredient?  That's the easy part.  What about blugar, semolina, spelt, frumento, durum, kamut, graham, einkorn, farina, couscous, seitan, matzoh, malt, barley, and triticale?  All those wonderful premixed seasoning packets (a staple for novice cooks like myself)?  They use flour to bind the seasonings together...so, gluten. 

Before I headed to the store, I decided to check out my cabinets to see what I had that might fit the bill. Since I  had already been working to cook more of my own food and watching out for prepackaged, processed stuff, as well as reducing my carb intake due to the PCOS, it turned out that I had a great amount of spices and seasonings that could be used for cooking.  

It just so happened that the weekend I started my GF eating, I was craving chili.  I was heartbroken to learn that the chili seasoning I normally used was riddled with wheat, again to bind the other seasonings.  Not to be discouraged, I just went searching for a chili seasoning I could create myself.  Chili powder, garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, salt, and pepper.  As I ate the first bites, I was so delighted to find that mixing the seasonings myself gave the chili new life for me.  It tasted so much better without the premixed, prepackaged seasonings.  

via deboles.com

The next week, I went in search of pasta.  What is it about the idea that you aren't going to ever eat something again that makes you crave it?  It's obviously a psychological response that I could pay someone to dissect for me, but eh, why not go with it?

So, De Boles was the first I tried.  Made with a mix of multiple grains, I figured that this would be a great starting place.  Yeah, not so much. I followed the cooking instructions to the letter.  What happened was not so yummy.  The penne broke apart after only a couple of minutes cooking, and the texture was beyond me.

via tinkyada.com

Not to be deterred, I went in search of another brand.  It was then that I discovered Tinkyada.  It's primary base is brown rice flour.  Gluten free and only containing one type of grain, I figured this might work better.  The package touts the ability to NOT overcook it.  Their recommended way of cooking (energy efficient as well) is to boil for two minutes and then let the pasta sit in a covered pot for another 20 minutes.  The result?  Perfect al dente spiral noodles...and a fix for my pasta craving.

via bobsredmill.com

Since I'm not a short order cook, and  I try not to have to cook several different meals for everyone, I thought I'd test out a GF pizza crust on my five year old. A GF eating coworker of mine mentioned Bob's Red Mill GF products, specifically their pizza crust.  It takes some time to prepare, as it contains yeast that has to sit for a couple of minutes and then, once the dough is mixed, it must be left to rise.  My only complaint is the lack of instruction.  The package literally states "a few minutes" when timing the yeast.  Since I am not a gourmet, a little more instruction would be nice.   In any event, the resulting crust is thin and chewy, which I love.  It was very, very good.  The five year old didn't care for the texture.  You win some...

Food is still a work in progress.  At the moment, I have been substituting GF items for some of my previously non-GF ones.  I know there is SO much more that could be uncovered.  I do have to start slow on the changes, as I want them to stick.

Even when I wasn't suffering from cluster migraines, I did still have a nagging pain at the back of my head. This pain has lasted for months, even after daily maintenance medication.   After less than a week, that pain was gone.  That would have been enough to make me never go back.  But, there was more:  two weeks into GF eating, my PCOS meds had stopped making me sick to my stomach, and I was waking up feeling more rested than ever (and requiring less sleep).

I can only imagine that other new GF eaters fall into the same trap I did about a week into it: failure to read the labels.  One fateful morning, another coworker mentioned beef jerky:  hello craving.  So, I ate some.  Within 20 minutes of eating it, the pain in my head was back.  At that point, I flipped the package over.  I know it could have been the preservatives, but there it was:  Product Contains Wheat.  Wheat?  In beef jerky?  Really?  And then I remembered:  seasonings = binding agent.  Well crap.

My other challenge has been eating out.  I don't know what has been used to cook the items I eat, so it has been a tough adjustment there.  I obviously avoid any bread items.   Sometimes, it comes by trial and error.  I don't know until I eat it, because ingredient information isn't always readily available.  

On the up side, this has led to a lot more at home eating.   At home eating means less money spent.  

Coming up:  more good eats...and more results.

Sans Gluten

photo from bzzagent.com

***Disclaimer:  I am NOT a doctor.  I felt it was important to point this out right from the start.  On my weight loss journey, I have tried many different things.  With each change, I am in constant contact with my doctor.  She knows my history and can monitor how changes in what I eat can impact other changes in my body.  This post is NOT intended to be substituted for the advice of a medical professional.  Talk to your doctor.  If that doctor isn't listening, then find one who will.  That's advice I feel comfortable giving.***


I feel like I spend a whole lot of time on this blog talking about my weight, my exercise, my diet.   I keep wondering when I am going to get it.  When will this get easier?  Can I ever slack off?  Nope.  Not Ever.

I have also posted previously about my struggles with PCOS, infertility, migraines, and fatigue.  About four weeks ago, health and diet collided.  One afternoon, my mother mentioned seeing an episode about Celiac Disease on Dr. Oz. She mentioned how they talked about how CD can impact fertility, as well as a myriad of other things.  Doing some research, I found that many of the symptoms of CD are ones I dealt with almost daily.  Most of them are gastrointestinal in nature for me...and that is about as gross as I will get in the details. (Feel free to visit the Celiac Disease Organization if you are that curious)

As I mentioned in the disclaimer, I reached out to my doctor. While there are some initial blood tests that can be done to check for the possibility that you have CD, I learned that my insurance company doesn't trust those tests and requires an endoscopic procedure where the villi in the intestines are removed and tested.  Ummm, yikes on that one.  Additionally, because I don't have some of the more extreme symptoms of CD, I really wanted to see if there was a more conservative option.  We went to plan B:  What if I just worked to adapt to a gluten free diet?

Me, ever the researcher, went to the interwebs.  I wanted to see what products were available, figure out what Gluten Free really meant.  My only impression was that it was expensive.  As a couponer whose goal is to save 65-70% on my groceries, this was concerning.  There are sadly few GF coupons available.  I know, because I looked.  But, since I coupon for the other items we use, I was able to shell out a little more (I still created a price list for GF items, both locally and online).

Rather than make this excessively long, I am going to split it into three posts.

First: This one, which is background on the change.

Second: The food.  Things I have found, both good and bad.

Third:  The Impact.  Has it helped?  Is/Was it worth it?

I hope you stick around to find out.

Two Sizes Too Small

photo from aoltv.com

I admit it.  I have a case of the Grinch. My normal abundance of Christmas cheer is nowhere to be seen.

While Christmas isn't my favorite time of year under the best of circumstances (that honor is reserved for St. Patrick's Day), I do normally look on this time of year with at least a little anticipation.

This Christmas is different.  I didn't rush to put up my tree.  I haven't volunteered to listen to Christmas Carols (although I have been forced to listen to them under duress).

For a while, I couldn't really put my finger on why I was feeling this way.  I normally am chipper and have childlike excitement about Christmas, particularly when seeing my son's eyes fill with joy after Santa's visit.  It is in my son that I found both my reason and my fix.

You see, Z turned five this year.  It has been such a bittersweet birthday that I have battled with being thrilled about it.  On one hand, I LOVE watching him grow and develop into his own person.  I see so many pieces of A and myself in him, and then I see pieces that are purely Z.  The world though his eyes is just an amazing place.  There is so much to learn, so much to discover, so much living to do.

For me, this is the reason for my melancholy.   While I love watching him grow and develop, it also makes me sad.  With each passing minute, hour, day, month, and year, I know that is a little more time that is slipping away.  I would not trade even a second that I have spent with him:  I just want more of them.  Greedy?  Probably.  Possible?  Of course not (time waits for no man).

photo mine

Z also provided my cure.  This past weekend, we took him to see the lights at Opryland Hotel.  There are three main conservatories that are decorated for Christmas.  As Z walked around, eyes aglow with wonder, pointing and shouting "See Mommy!!,"  it was impossible not to have a lighter heart.  That overwhelming, childlike joy was so contagious.

I remembered what someone told me once.  She said that "sometimes we spend so much time worrying about what we don't have that we forget to be thankful for what we do."  I want more time with Z, but it will do no good to spend time worrying about how fast time is passing and forget to relish the time I DO have.

And as I watched him run this and that way,
I remembered the beauty in childlike play.
I made a choice to push worry away,
And my heart grew three sizes that day.

Merry Christmas!!