Loving Ourselves First

As I browsed through some blogs, I came across this on feelgoodeating.blogspot.com:

"A fool in love makes no sense to me. I only think you are a fool If you do not love."

What a beautiful quote! 

I believe that love is one of the strongest powers in existence. I could go on to argue that love gives purpose to life. 

Love is passion.
   Love is relationships.
      Love is respect for self and others.
         Loving yourself and others and to be loved is happiness. 

To love ourselves is to take care of our own well-beings. 

Without that fundamental base of self-care, how can we expect to provide the best love and care for others? Far too often, there is an imbalance between the energy we spend in the outpouring of care versus the energy used to make sure we are at our well-est. 

Imagine if we held on to a fraction of the energy we expend doing things for others, meeting others' deadlines, and making sure others know we love them. 

To love and care for yourself is not selfish, but necessary.

Making sure we feed ourselves nutritious, yummy foods, keep our bodies strong and limber with proper stretching and exercise, maintain mental stimulation for our brains and honor our needs for rest and relaxation are all vital for us to thrive and reach our fullest potential. 

To believe we do not deserve the same love we share with others is nonsense. To dishonor our bodies, minds and spirits through neglect, poor quality foods, physical and chemical abuse, and negative self-talk only broods more negativity. 

We all deserve happiness; taking self-care measures to bring more light and positive energy into our lives puts us in a much better place to be able to share that same bright energy with others. 

So here's to cooking a good, hearty meal, getting to the gym, allowing room for more laughter and taking long, soothing bubble baths to ease ourselves to restful sleep!

Choose Happiness

At every moment, we are responsible for exactly where we are and where we are not in life, how we feel, what we have and do not have and how we choose to perceive our surroundings and situations. 

Responsibility sucks.

Hang on. Let’s adjust this thought. 

Responsibility is empowering.

To helplessly throw hands up in the air is admitting defeat.

Surrendering to feeling things that aren’t ideal, rolling over and pouting over being unhappy with where/how/who we are at the moment- living the “it is what it is” mentality in general, is a cop out. Don’t like it? Change it. 

Yes, the Serenity Prayer’s preaching of accepting that there is only so much we can control and letting go of that which we cannot is still valid, but far too often, we skew the ratios, doing ourselves a major disservice. 

Happiness is a right. Choosing to be chronically miserable is just that- a choice. For the most part, we are all equipped with the ability of choice. After all, is that not one of the fundamental features of pump it means to be human? 

Erring on the side of restraint, I will choose to pump the breaks on the preaching and leave it at this: 

Take responsibility. Figure out where your joy lies and take the first step towards it. We are more powerful than we allow ourselves to believe. There is power in choice. Choose happiness. 

Lessons from a True Fighter

A middle-aged, physically fit man sat on a laptop at a nearby table outside the Starbucks I frequently use as my office. I smiled to him as he gathered his things to move to a table that offered shade from the beaming sun- “I shouldn’t really be in the sun, anyways.” he said to me. 

It was then I noticed the bruises and scrapes along his cheekbone and framing his eyes. Immediately, he picked up on my concern, pointing to the wounds, explaining that his profession as a Mixed Martial Arts fighter with a rather impressive boxing background. 

I believe that there is something to be learned from every person that crosses my path, so I perked up my ears and searched for the golden nugget.

He explained he had just won a fight and rattled off win-loss statistics from his career as a fighter- already, he had gained my respect and awe. Though I was clearly impressed, it wasn’t the fights in the ring that packed the heftiest punch- not by a long shot; matter-of-factly, Howie “the Champion” went on to recount a battle he had won two years ago with stomach cancer.

He went on to say he was on his way out of the fighting game, asking me to guess how old he was.

“I hate this game,” I replied. 

“44,” he said, slightly defeated. 

I shook my head as he identified himself as “old,” knowing just by his energy that he was far from finished with his life’s work.  

Having already handed him my business card after explaining what I do for a living, he took notice that I practiced holistic health care, going on to say that it was a holistic-medicine-touting doctor (that charged a miniscule fraction of the cost of the NY highly-esteemed oncologist) out in California that he credited his life to.

BAM! Golden nugget.

At that moment I felt endlessly validated for my choice to opt for holistic health care in my hopes to heal all of life’s wounds. 

Costing him parts of his internal organs, he refused to let cancer collect his life. He exuded pure gratitude towards his decision to go the holistic route in his recovery, easing the hesitations of my holistic-healing life-path decision, as well. 

Before me, sat a true fighter, both in the worlds of MMA/boxing and in life. From his win, he wore the bruises and cuts with pride, but it was the light of life he exuded that spoke loudest. 

A Rambling on True Love from the Pit of My Hopelessly Romantic Heart

With nearly 7 trillion people in the world, it’s hard to believe in soul mates. Finding “the one” seems an impossible task, given the odds. I believe that there are several “ones” for every person; romantic matches of perfect compatibility are out there and we can all only be so lucky as to cross paths with one of them amongst the trillions.

I look at those who have found their true loves and it’s hard not to be at least a touch envious. Despite the ever-growing popularity of divorce and the rarity of relationships lasting beyond a handful of years, I still believe in true love and everlasting romance. How sad I feel when people debate that life-long love is dead due to extended life spans and jet-fueled libidos! Yes, life is longer, making the commitment of “til-death-do-us-part” a bit more… committal, but with the right person, why can’t that be exciting? To spend that many more years with that special someone, to me, sounds like a deal sweetener, not a deal breaker…

Call me a hopeless romantic, call me naive or shortsighted. Last month, I’ve seen my parents celebrate their 34th wedding anniversary after being together for 4 years prior. I’ve seen the fights, the divorce threats, the ugly battles. I’ve questioned their compatibility as they are polar opposites on every thinkable spectrum (in fact, I still question that). Through it all, though, through the incredibly torrential ups and downs, they continue to be eachothers’ rocks and uphold their promises to be lifelong companions, partners through thick and thin… and I am so proud to have them as my influence.

With all the negativity I hear about viewpoints of anti-marriage and those that poo-poo on love, I resist the pull to be discouraged and smile on in the hopes of finding my happily ever after. When I panic that I’m not blissfully paired up yet in the midst of my 20’s, I remind myself that there really is not rush and that I could quite possibly only be just one-fifth through my life.. or less! Here’s to love!

Running in 91F Can Cause Temporary Insanity…

Two and a half miles into my four mile run in the 91 degree weather, I pulled back my pace to conserve energy and switched to a light jog, planning to amp it back up once I reached shadier grounds; the sun relentlessly beat down on me with no branches or shadows to blunt its power. At my slower rate, a car passed me by as I momentarily locked eyes with the driver. Instinctively, I created a back-story in my mind and concluded that he had been unimpressed at the slowness of my movement. I found I was mentally defending myself against this make-believe judgment, spewing back that I had run the first two miles at a much faster roll and fully intended to add some sprints at the last stretch. How dare he judge my less than optimal pace? How dare he assume I was a slow runner? The car was miles away by then.

Growing up, I was conditioned by constant feedback, both negative and positive, to gauge how well or poorly I was doing. Grades, piano recitals, play performances, art pieces… all meaningless until after I was told how wonderful or atrocious they were.  I developed a need for validation of my efforts, otherwise, they were pointless. Like any other habit picked up as a child, it was hard to unlearn and un-need validation for my hard work, but it had to be done in order to live a happy life and have healthy, non-codependent relationships.  

Running, lifting, sweating, changing my body and improving my fitness are all personal efforts of mine. I put in a lot of time, energy and all around hard work in to myself in order to practice what I preach and be the best possible version of me. These things are my own- not in competition with anyone (but myself) and not to impress anybody (but myself… sometimes!). If I shave a rep off of a set or knock a mile off of a run I know I can complete, I am only cheating myself out of my own personal goals. I’ve come to know my body. I know my personal bests… how much I was able to lift the last time… how far and fast I ran the time before (and I’ll be damned if this time I don’t match or break those records!). I need no one to tell me how hard I’m working and need no recognition as to if my workout was a success or not. I am my most honest, informed, and accurate critic and I need no one’s validation to confirm or tell me otherwise!

Old habits die hard. Sometimes they creep back when least expected and manifest in the most odd of ways. I ended the mental argument I had been having between the random driver-by and myself, swearing it must have been partially fueled by the sweltering heat. How silly I had been, giving any weight to the opinion of a man that was most likely just checking out to see if I had huge knockers (which I most certainly don’t… sorry to disappoint, sir). After regaining sense (and sanity), I picked my pace back up once out of the unshaded stretch of road and ended my run with a few interval sprints. As I took a lap around the driveway, I felt the endorphins flooding through my body and I relished in the wonders of “runner’s high.” Ahh… yes, that’s right… after the miles have been logged and the time has been checked, that immeasurable feeling right there that only I can experience? That’s what it’s all really about.

Insane Behaviors

There’s a bird that repeatedly flies into a window of my house in an effort to land on a potted plant on the other side of the pane (for the purpose of my point, it will be assumed to be the same bird). Day after day, this little bird will make the same ill-fated attempt, only to pick him/herself back up and try again the next day. I do admit that I admire the determination of this tiny, winged creature, but at the same time, I wonder why the lesson hasn’t been taken that this method not only does not work, but causes pain, time after time.

As I sigh at this definitively insane bird’s feeble tries to repeat the same thing over and over again, each time expecting the result to be different, I realized my own insane behaviors and their apparent silliness if observed from an onlooker’s stance. When will I learn that there is a better way to get to the plant on the other side that doesn’t involve crashing in to the window pane? When will I give up the comforts of my not-getting-me-anywhere-routines, feel the fear of change and take the uncharted course?

As many motivational speakers say, we are our own biggest obstacles. When all excuses are exhausted and there is no one left to blame, take a look in the mirror… that is the person standing in the way. Fears of failure, being uncomfortable and the general unknown hold me back from trying a different method or route that may possibly lead me to the better, more desirable outcome. The most frustrating part of the whole situation is knowing that the way things are now arenotideal and in some casescause pain whether it be emotional or physiological. I am no better than the masochist bird, as my stubbornness keeps me relentlessly flying in to my own proverbial window pane.

I need to make the necessary adjustments in my routines in order to achieve my desired outcomes; I know this to be true. I know the changes that need to be made in my dietary habits, fitness efforts, sleeping habits and time management strategies. What’s funnier is that I know how much easier and enjoyable my life will be if I do make these tweaks, ultimately optimizing me regimes. How silly I feel weighing the pros and cons of the temporary discomfort in making positive changes versus the prolonged discomfort of remaining stagnant in my stale routines.Someone, please knock some sense in to me!

I’d like to think that as an evolved human being, I am intellectually advanced enough to make the choices that steer me from pain and unhappiness. At times like this, I understand that there is a difference between having an ability and using that ability. At the surface, choosing ultimate betterment over extended dissatisfaction seems to be a no-thought decision… perhaps the curse that humans must deal with in having this decision is the ability to think to much about it. The answer, then, is simple (and cliche): JUST DO IT! 

Tail Wagging Persistence

My dog has never harmed a living creature.. Not to say she hasn’t tried. She’s chased rabbits, sprinted after the elusive chipmunk and squirrel, pursued our backyard groundhog and even attempted to catch a bird in flight. I really don’t think her instinct is to kill- even when she had captured a grasshopper that had lost use of two of its legs, she only toyed with it between her front paws, never actually doing any fatal harm. To her it’s a game and the prey she sets her eyes on are just toys in perpetual motion.

At eleven years and seven months old, she still pounces after scurrying animals as we go on morning walks. Sometimes her attempts seem so feeble that I wonder if she’s acting more on instinct than intention. She will lift her rear towards the sky and ready her now-shaky legs to spring in to forward movement, her play-thing in the cross-hairs. Lurching towards the doubtlessly-faster-and-more-nimble-than-her creature, she excitedly goes in for the non-kill, relentlessly returning to me with tail in a high-wag. No matter how many times she’s failed, she never gets discouraged and never loses her willingness to try again.

I thought back to all the things in my life I’ve vehemently pursued and dropped when success hadn’t come after the first few attempts. I thought of the frustration I’ve felt when I didn’t catch what I had thrown myself after. I thought of the immense sense of discouragement that ominously grew darker whenever I let an opportunity slip away. All these negative feelings, brewing within me. All those missed chances that just might have gone right had I tried just one more time. Had I kept my proverbial tail wagging, regardless of a win or fail or had I not let one negative outcome effect my expectation of the next attempt… what could I have accomplished by now? How much frustration, anger and disappointment could I have avoided?

Understandably, my dog’s mental capacity is a bit different than mine. Blessed and cursed by a higher level of brain function than that of a house pet, it’s harder for me to hold no attachment to a past failure in order to try again with an equal amount of gusto, but there is always a line that can be towed between being logical fact-sorting realist and a hopeful life-of-a-dog-inspired dreamer.

Cognitively, I can change my method of attack in order to increase my chances of success on the next attempt, but I don’t have to feel so dejected with each unsuccessful try. Learning from my furry companion, I can be happy that I even went for it at all, wasting not even a passing moment on the negative feeling of having failed. Not once had I seen Biscuit drag her tail between her hind legs, even though her rate of success remains at a whopping 0%. Not once have I seen her stress out over letting the bird fly away or the squirrel scurry up a tree.

Perhaps she knows that there will be other opportunities, or maybe she understands that there is more to life than a failed moment (or fifty!). It’s possible she knows that regardless of if she catches the chipmunk or not, I will hug, love and kiss her, free of judgment of her poor hunting skills. Could it be that this dog with the simple mind knows secrets to life happiness that I do have yet to learn? In this case, it seems to be that way. She seems to have figured out how to remain enthusiastic about pursuing goals and chasing targets. She may never catch her prey in the span of her hopefully-long lifetime, but one thing is for certain: with a smile across her face and a nonstop wag in her tail, she will never, ever give up.

Pint Sized Buddhas

The love from a toddler is much the same as that of a puppy- unadulterated, uncalculated, in its purest pristine form. Their hugs and smiles have yet to be corrupted and (hopefully) come with no ulterior motives (minus the occasional affection-for-a-cookie barter). When a child says “I love you,” it is honest. It is said with no holds barred, worry-free of your choice to repeat those the three words in return (but, how could you not?!).

Children are pint sized Buddhas housing the keys to happiness; each offers a world of simple lessons that we all at one point knew ourselves, but had slowly let go of as life grew less simple with every passing year. I’ve been lucky enough to meet a close friend’s five year old daughter who has taught me a lesson more important than any I could have ever learned in a classroom.

Her laugh is happiness personified and the broadness of her smile trumps that of the Cheshire cat. I envy that her bouncy up and down jumping that never fails to accompany her excitement is socially acceptable, as I would probably attract some odd glances if I did the same. She is a human exclamation point, having yet to learn to hold back her emotions or scale back her level of energy and her aura glows with radiant positivity. She wants for nothing except the occasional toy to add to a never-ending collection and the pureness of her heart automatically attracts love from every life she touches. If only the essence of this five year old could be bottled and mass distributed, world peace could finally be achieved.

When is it that the amount of laughter and smiles in our day becomes overshadowed by stressful brow-furrowing and concerned frowns? When in our lives do tears stream down our faces only from sadness and no longer from uncontainable joy? How sad it is that we must stifle our emotions in favor or socially acceptable behavior!

I am not suggesting that adults behave exactly like toddlers- unfortunately, that may land one in an asylum of some sort. What I do suggest is that we all reignite that dying flame of pure happiness and love within usthat had shone so brightly when we were children, but had been slowly burning out over the years. It may not be appropriate to physically jump up and down for joy over every last thing, but we can allow ourselves to feel the same happiness and express it in a tamer way. Letting someone that is truly dear to us know we love them should never be a point of hesitation because, honestly, who doesn’t have room for just a little more love?

Even though life does get more complicated by responsibilities and hardship,the simplicities of life still remain. The fountain of youth IS the essence of our own youths we’ve suppressed as time has passed. The child within is the love, happiness, excitement, and exuberance within us all. The most valuable lessons are often not found in textbooks or lectures. Recently, my most cherished lesson has come from a bright-eyed, highly-animated, curly blonde haired five year old that melted my heart to a puddle on the floor as she threw her arms around me and said “I love you.” 

The Day I Went Postal on the Scale

The first installment in a series unraveling “my story…”  This process’ purpose is for reflection on past experiences in order to dig out the positive messages and lessons from the negative rubble…

Most 13 year old girls obsess about 13 year old boys, dreamy tweeny-bopper stars, the latest school bus gossip and what flavor Lip Smackers they bought at the store. As trivial as these fixations were, I would have given anything to have been stuck on the Justin Biebers of my day rather than what plagued me for years to come…

Wake up… get on the scale

Use the bathroom… get on the scale

Eat breakfast… get on the scale

Come home from school… get on the scale

Use the bathroom… get on the scale

Abstain from food and drink for hours… get on the scale…

An estimated 2.7% of girls between 13 and 18 years old suffer from eating disorders. -National Institude of Mental Health (NIMH)

From the age of 13, I became a statistic. How much I weighed and how little I ate were of utmost importance; I subconsciously grasped for a semblance of control somewhere… anywhere in my life.

My body image issues began early on and, although the core issues surpassed the superficiality of looks, I became obsessed with the number on the scale. I allowed a primitive piece of equipment rule my emotions and bar me from happiness, as the number never seemed to satisfy. If the number was too high, I failed; if it stayed the same, my efforts to bring the number down were useless; if it were lower than expected, it fed into the weight loss obsession- there was no winning situation. By day’s end, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to have stepped on and off of that device of personal torture upwards towards twenty times. I was no longer a person- I was an object.

Fast forward to today…

I look back at the days where a literal tenth of a pound reduced me to tears.  Bringing home an A+ on a paper or receiving first chair as a 7th grade flutist in the 8th grade band held no importance;no matter what I had managed to accomplish in my day, nothing could define me more than that plastic measuring device.

I cannot pinpoint the exact moment that it happened, but a switch flipped within me, shedding light on the hopelessness of my attempts to let a needle on a wheel of numbers define my “goodness.” Although I still fought a long path to recovery after this moment, I thank my lucky stars to have relinquished the obsession with the scale when I had.

I don’t remember the last time I stepped on a scale. When I go to to the doctors’ for a checkup, I insist on facing away from the display and request the number not be shared with me. I don’t remember what the last reading said, nor do I remember the exact moment when I decided “never again!” I do, however, remember the ceremonial moment in which I took a hammer to the cheap “Health-o-Meter” scale, channeling every last frustration it has ever given as I bludgeoned it to smithereens. 

Now, as a personal trainer and a holistic health coach, I preach against the use of numbers to show progress. I favor measurements in terms of energy levels, mood stability and the fit of clothing (not the actual size). Due to erratic changes in water weight, the heaviness of muscle trumping that of fat, hormonal levels in the body, etc, I don’t see such a volatile number as a fair way to determine body composition or, on a deeper level, self-worth, at all. Scales are for fish, not for humans.

Constantly a work in progress, I have morphed my sense of self far away from what my weight is. The people I affect, the changes I create, the smiles I cause are all much more indicative of self-worth than any number would ever be able to tell. The day I destroyed my scale was not the day my battle ended, but it was absolutely a landmark moment in my life in which I refused to be defined by such a worthless measurement. Even though the illness falsely made me believe I had everything in perfect order, going ape on the rectangular white scale with the bold black and red numberswas the moment I reclaimed some actual control over my out-of-control, food/image/perfection driven life.

Simply Happy

Graced by another gorgeously sunny day, I hiked up to a breathtaking lookout point, sat on a rocky flat for an hour and a half in great company, talking and laughing as we watched tiny lizards chase each other and other hikers come and go. It was a near perfect Sunday, beginning with my favorite group fitness combat class followed by an afternoon hike at a reservation I used to frequent as a child. I left my cellphone in the car, bringing only my keys with me- I really needed nothing else. The simplicity of great conversation (that left my cheeks sore from constant smiling), stopping to scratch behind the ears of dogs (whose wagging tails hinted that they were as happy I was to be out in the sun), and a sturdy pair of sneakers (that I had found at a phenomenal price that made even my frugal mother proud), reminded me of just how little it takes to be truly happy.

In keeping with the simplicity of today and yesterday’s posts (and in an effort to get to bed for my full 8-hours), I will cut this post short, as I am content with the  absolute in-complexity of simple happiness. Before technology, expensive “stuff,” and the myriad of things meant to “enrich” our lives, all we had was the company of others and the beautiful world around us. Every person has the tools and capabilities to be happy… it just, then, becomes a matter of choice to embrace the right to enjoy that happiness. :)

SMILE! :D

My Car

Scratched, rusting, faded, dented- my car isn’t exactly show-room material. After spending an hour out in the sun (which I loved), washing my car, I took a good look at my handiwork and realized that I now had a shinier scratched, rusting, faded, dented car. No amount of soap and water was going to transform it into a top-of-the-line, luxury convertible…

When I was 18, I decided I would buy myself a car with the hard-earned, carefully-saved money in my savings. I wanted to be able to drive somewhere without asking to borrow someone’s car and with the thought of moving out lingering in the back of my mind, I knew I had to shell out the cash. I know I could have asked my parents for help, but the independent woman developing within me know that this was my responsibility.

Off I went to the dealership, knowing the bare minimum about cars. In hindsight, I was ripped off greatly with the price of my used Camry, but til this day I don’t get angry about it. I probably would have gotten a much better price had I brought along someone more educated in purchasing cars. I also neglected to ask for a car history report, which proved to be a huge oversight as the day after driving the car off the lot, it died at a traffic light, needing a brand new alternator (which I successfully demanded the dealership pay for!). I really was the prime example of a stereotypical female unversed in cars.

My overpriced, beat-up sedan carpools the two boys I take care of during the week, totes groceries from the store to the house, transported all my belongings during the one year I moved a total of six times and brings me everywhere I need to go on a daily basis. It suffered bumps on curbs, a sideswipe from a deer, three fender benders, a dog mistaking the back seat for its front lawn and an unfortunate run in with my own garage door. 

Especially living in an area where luxury vehicles are the majority, myfunction over fashion car seems not to fit in to the motif of this town. “Glamorous” is not a descriptive word for my car- Its top doesn’t roll down, the interior is a dingy cloth instead of soft leather, and the floors are covered with extra pairs of sneakers, crumbs from the kids’ snacks and stray packages of disinfectant wipes. But, six years later and still having payments to be made, my car continues to do exactly what I bought it to do. Maybe one day, when finances aren’t so tight and my bills are easy to cover, I might have a fancy new car, but for now, as long as this car that I paid for all on my own safely brings me from point A to point B, that’s all that really matters to me. 

Letting Go

When I was younger, I was once grounded for brushing crayon shavings to the floor while coloring in a coloring book. My mother epitomizes the classic overly-stressed out workaholic. To this day, her stress level becomes so overwhelming that it spills over in to other areas in her life, causing her to “sweat the small stuff.”

Flash forward to present day- I was in the kitchen with my dog, giving her non-shedding coat a gentle brushing. To this, my mother scolded me as if I were tossing around fistfuls of hair from the furriest Himalayan, aiming for her dinner plate. I calmly continued to brush Biscuit, all her fur staying rooted to her. I looked up at my mother’s tightly pursed lips, her head shaking in disappointment. She asked why I deliberately stress her out, to which I honestly answered that it was not my intention to do so, whatsoever. As I picked at the tiniest bit of fur that had collected on the brush and placed it into the trash, I said, “Some things really aren’t worth stressing out over…” to which she stressed out over. 

Don’t get me wrong, my mother is a lovely woman that actually has a wonderful sense of humor, once she allows herself to use it. But, she has a high-pressured job and takes her role as matriarch of the household with utmost seriousness; relaxation has always been a rarity in her life. To put a positive spin on the situation, seeing my high-strung mother snap over the tiniest things that hold little true importance, reminds me that to stress about every little thing really does no good. Her tendency to snap over menial things has NEVER resulted in a positive outcome and always would have worked out better had she handled it with a lighter heart.

Stress is an inevitable part of life and learning to manage and handle it is an important skill. Just as I pick and choose my battles with other people so as to not be in a constant state of fight, I pick and choose inner battles, learning the art of how to let go of the things that don’t matter as much as they initially seem. To me, hearing news of a loved one in a horrific car accident merits stress… but, a few stray crayon shavings or brushing my dog as she lies comfortably in the kitchen floor? I’m pretty certain I can let those slide with a smile.

Bye Bye Happy Pills

Part of being human means to feel human emotions. Each, whether they be positive,  negative or neutral, is a gift to be appreciated, no matter how difficult some may be to feel. I am thankful to be able to experience a full range of emotions from extreme, violent rage and utterly depressive sadness to joyously delightful excitement and sheer happiness (preferably not all at once nor in immediate succession).

Today marks a big day for me- over the past two months, I have taken it upon myself to finally taper off an antidepressant I had been on since my early teenage years. Despite my mother’s pleads not to, I innately felt it was the right thing to do; ten years is long enough to have this chemical in my body.

I went about this pragmatically and cautiously. I gradually decreased the dosage a week or two at a time and paid very close attention to my body and mind. Initially, I felt waves of anxiety come and go and as a knee jerk reaction, I thought it must be an adverse reaction. I feared that my body had become so dependent on this chemical that my brain would never be able to functionally create its own serotonin balance.

“Breathe!” - I demanded to myself (something everyone could do more of). I realized I had been psyching myself out and creating a self-fulfilling prophecy by expecting the worst to happen. I noticed that I was so afraid of feeling anxious that I was, in turn, creating more anxiety within myself! I was cyclically damning myself and if I ever wanted to successfully be free of taking those daily pills, I would have to trust that my able body and mind would be just fine without them!

Long story short, today was the first day completely off of the antidepressant. Over the past few weeks, my smile never left me and my anxiety never crippled me. It may be the reverse-placebo effect of knowing the medicine is not in my body, but I feel like I am thinking clearer, feeling stronger and laughing harder.

I think back to when I was first adjusting to the highest dose of the “happy-pills” I was put on and hated the numbness it made me feel. I remember hating that I couldn’t cry if I wanted to, couldn’t act on my anger if it was necessary, couldn’t feel the whole range of happiness/sadness/frustration/rage.

Sure, the depression was gone and I am thankful that the medicine did its job, but the anti-emotional side effects were something I was not willing to accept for the rest of my life. I want tears to stream down my face when I watch a sad movie, I want to be so excited about a new opportunity that I leap in the air, I want to feel.

It’s often said that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. For ten years my emotions were suppressed in favor of a clinically stabilized state-today I reclaim my right to my ups, my downs, my smiles, my frowns, and everything in between.

**Disclaimer: I am NOT a physician and would highly recommend anyone who is thinking about discontinuing medications to consult with their physician/psychiatrist as there are adverse side effects that may occur if not done correctly**

Linked by Exercise

The room was filled with buzzing energy. Sweat glistened off every body in the crowd. The music pumped through the speakers as hips shook, swiveled and shimmied. It was a diverse group- aged early 20s to mid 60s, tall, short, petite, heavier set.. all was accounted for and no matter who they were or how they looked, each and every person was smiling ear to ear, letting the music move them…. all on a Friday morning.

As everyone on Facebook knows, I was at Zumba instructor training all day yesterday. The eight hour long event embodied everything that I love about the fitness industry- a room filled with people all there with a common goal, a shared interest, a similar passion- to challenge personal limits and to spread the exciting energy of moving the body. Even though it was a studio filled with strangers, we all were connected through a special bond that needed no explanations nor introductions.

It truly is a testament to the nonjudgmental attitude a health/wellness professional attempts to maintain. The benefits and love for fitness never discriminates based on shape, size, race, nor gender. Every body, as long as it is human, is meant to move and when exercise ups the heart rate, those feel good chemicals stimulate the brain, bringing levity and happiness to chronically stressed and depressed lives.

Every day that I’ve worked on building my wellness business or challenged my body with exercise, I am reminded how thankful I am that I found my calling in fitness and health. It was always a fear of mine to have a job that I dreaded clocking in for and in this industry, I never once had to face that fear. Doing what I love makes “work” not feel like work at all. Through this passion, I’ve met some of the most wonderfully motivating and positive people and found a second home at my gym (that I’m certain everyone is tired of me raving about) that at times feels more familiar than my own house.

Uphill

The repetitive movement of running sets a perfect stage for meditative serenity. The steady tempo of foot-to-pavement strikes in cadence with the sound of air filling the lungs and circling out again. In this mental peace, thoughts come and go freely- an ideal environment to absorb any lessons being sent my way.

On a recent, particularly hilly run, the world presented me with teachings so pertinent to my disposition at the time that it was clear that life happens with purpose- it is not all random. About two miles through, I looked out in front of me to a stretch of road that seemed nearly vertical. I felt a flighty sense of panic as I momentarily considered the options of turning around or choosing a different path. I suddenly recognized this defeatist attitude as a reflection of habitually quitting when faced with seemingly large challenges. As the past has proven, failing to follow through when things get tough only presents me with pangs of regret and self-disappointment.What would my life be like had I not cowered when obstacles obscured my visions? How difficult would it really have been to tackle the proverbial mountains in my way?

If I chose to avoid that steep hill by turning around or choosing an alternative path, I would have compromised my deliberately planned route. I would have robbed myself of the inevitable sense of pride that would have come from following through with my original plan. The choice was obvious as I realized that, amongst distracting myself with reminiscing and lesson learning, I had been steadily making my way up the hill, anyways. With the simple motion of placing one foot in front of the other, focusing only on the next step immediately in front of me, the hill that seemed so intimidatingly impossible at first was disappearing behind me as I edged towards the top.

Before the next song even came on through my iPod, I had passed the peak of the hill, my hamstrings and calves enjoying the rewarding downhill slope that followed. How silly I felt to have even considered changing my path, all to avoid a (relatively small) uphill stretch of pavement. It was then I realized that the (only) way to take on, tackle and overcome any challenge is to take it one step at a time. Any hardship has the ability to be paralyzingly intimidating when looked at in its entirety; but breaking the daunting hill down and focusing only on what is manageable in the moment strips it of its debilitating powers, making anything seem 100% possible. 

Serenity

Every which way, there is a lesson to be learned if you’re ready to receive it. The other day I was in the supermarket, walking down the breakfast cereal isle. A mother was shopping with her son sitting in the cart and I happened to tune in mid-conversation.

“Mama, you ain’t the boss of me!”

I glanced over at the child, thinking to myself, “what a brat!” What this child said next was so profoundly deep, even in its simplicity, that it transformed him from a snotty little boy to a miniature Buddha- “You ain’t the boss of no one, only yourself!” Immediately, my scowl turned to awe as I looked at him, wondering if he knew the depth of the words he just spoke.

Regardless of if he meant it on a deeper level or not, the little boy’s words stuck with me for the rest of the day. He may have just been back-talking to his mother, refusing to do something she had asked him to or continuing to do something she asked him to stop, but the weight of those last words I heard him say stopped me in my tracks as if he were saying it for me to hear.

No matter what he meant by it, I interpreted his words as a simplistic version of the Serenity Prayer- a mantra I strive to live by.

“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference”

We can easily drive ourselves insane trying to conduct our worlds around us. We can get frustrated when things don’t go our way or when people don’t change to adapt to our likings. These frustrations will plague us forever, though, if we truly think we can control them- we can’t! The absolute only thing that we, as mortal beings, have control over is ourselves! Once we realize this ultimate truth and take responsibility for it, so much stress dissipates as the self-imposed weight of the world is lifted away.

It is empowering to know and claim control over yourself. Blame, anger, disappointment- all dissolve once the realization is made that the choice of how to react to something and how to handle it is claimed by you.

When I feel defeated and think that nothing will ever go my way, I reassess what is making me feel this way. More often than not, there is another angle from which to look at the situation in which I can reclaim control. I may not be powerful enough to control anyone else around me, but I sure do know that I harness the almighty power of controlling the things I do, the words I say and the way I react to my world around me.

Body Viving and Dropping the Ball

Saturday 4/28

It’s no secret that the gym is a favorite place of mine. Saturday, I rushed out to my gym at a particularly early 8:45 in the morning to make it to a featured master class, Body Vive. Inevitably, there will be many future posts on things I am grateful for pertaining to my gym, but on this day, I learned how thankful I was to be able to laugh at myself.

When trying new things, there is always a learning curve where mistakes will be made and perfection is not expected. Thank goodness! Growing up, I constantly felt the pressure to never make a mistake and carried the expectation to be perfect (now, I understand my parents’ intentions were to push me to reach my highest potential, not to cause me stress… yet another thing I am thankful for, in retrospect). This forgiveness to err that I’ve adopted towards myself was much called for during Body Vive’s 55 minutes of new steps and movements.

Regardless of my unfamiliarity with the class, I took a spot, front and center, directly face-to-face with the instructor, my Body Vive ball within reach. My first thought was “Gosh, I hope I don’t drop that ball and make a fool of myself!” Of course, the self-fulfilled prophecy that it had become, not only did I drop my ball once, but lost it a second time! Initially, I felt embarrassed as I chased the ball as it rolled passed other less-butterfingers-prone Body Vivers, thinking I was probably the only klutz that lost her squishy, purple ball. I laughed it off and fell back in to formation.

A few steps later, we were instructed on a new move that had us turning in different directions, in (what was meant to be) unison. My feet fumbled beneath me as I mis-stepped, mis-turned, and mis-Vived.  Much to my delight, it seemed most of the room joined me in my confusion as we crashed into each other and bobbed when we should have weaved. At that moment, I unclenched my useless grip on attempted perfection and released it with a wave of laughter. Truth of the matter was, most people in the classroom that morning were just as new to the program as I was. I was NOT the only one making mistakes, stepping left when told to pivot right. But, I was the only one that thought my self-described epic errors made any difference!

After I realized the normalcy of my mistakes, I allowed myself to laugh at my missteps. I was able to enjoy myself as much as everyone else was enjoying the wonderful class and got an added ab workout from all the laughter. If I can’t laugh at my own mistakes, then I impose a sentence on myself to take life far too seriously. I guess you could say that on Saturday morning, in my first Body Vive experience, I learned a valuable life lesson to be grateful for the ability to laugh at myself, all stemming from dropping the ball- twice!

Lessons From Teenagers

For the past 16 months, I have been a nanny/mother’s helper to two teenage boys. I must admit, it is a cushy job- No diapers to change, no disastrous messes to clean up after and, lucky enough, both boys have hearts of gold with stellar behaviors. The only nuisance I have to deal with every once in a while is to break up the occasional fight over whose turn it is to walk to puppy (to which I often end up taking responsibility for, myself). 

Over the short period I’ve known and cared for these kids, I have seen them take on new challenges and grow through them. I watched as the younger boy graduated from middle school and entered his first year of high school. I observed as his older brother stressed over SATs and college prep, went through hours of driving lessons and, most recently, got his drivers license.  

No doubt, I am grateful for the job I have that supplements my income as I grow my YOUfit brand, but today’s post is about more than the gratitude I have for this part time job. Seeing these boys five days a week for hours each day, I feel like I have become part-time mom to them. This in itself continues to reveal valuable lessons on a daily basis, but today my eyes were opened to something I was told I could never understand until I had children of my own…

The older of the two boys was given instruction and permission by his mother to drive to the store to pick up a birthday cake for his brother. Instinctually, I wanted to ride along with him to make sure he would be okay. Not wanting to insult or undermine his newfound ability to drive, I resisted. My next thought was to discretely follow him with my car, remaining a mile behind, unknownst to him. Again, I resisted.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that he was a highly cautious teenager. I would not have to worry about his wreckless driving- it was the other nuts on the road I was worried about, after all. As he grabbed the keys and checked for money in his wallet, I found myself demanding his undivided attention as I instructed him to “be careful and make sure to text me as soon as he got back home to let me know he was ok.” At that moment, I recognized my parents’ words coming out of my mouth…

When I first learned to drive, I rolled my eyes every time my dad always sent me off with a reminder to be careful. I brushed off the importance of letting my mom know when I got to the mall okay. I was a typical kid! But, here I was, feeding this teenage boy the same exact parental lines I had scoffed at just years ago. Suddenly, they didn’t seem so laughable.

I got to the gym, where I still am now, and watched the clock. I went to and from the locker room, checking my phone for a text that said I could stop worrying. Thirty minutes passed… nothing. An hour passed… still nothing. Finally, I called him to ease my nerves. Oblivious to my concerns, he casually picked up his phone, thankfully alive. I breathed a sigh of relief, gave him a half hearted scold for not texting me when he got back to the house, hung up and finished my workout. Sure, kids will be kids, but eventually, we all grow up and, hopefully, if we’re lucky, we get the opportunity to see things from the perspectives of our silly, overbearing parents.

Today's Gift

With 10 minutes left in the day, I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss today’s gratitude blog. I’ll keep this extra short and simple as I am certain it will come up again in the future in much more detail.

“Tomorrow” is not always guaranteed but when it does come, I seldom express my gratitude towards it. When I wake from a full night’s sleep, I feel refreshed by the energy of a new day. No matter if the day before had brought me anger, fright, heartache or sorrow, having fully recharged my batteries overnight, I can move forward and leave those emotions in “yesterday.”

This is not an excuse to put off til tomorrow what can be done today nor is it an excuse not to live in the present- I avoid procrastination and embrace the now to the best of my abilities. This does not mean there is no place toappreciate the gift of a new day. So tonight, as I lay my sleepy head down to rest, I will kiss today’s challenges and troubles goodnight and leave them behind as I drift off towards tomorrow.