Enoughness, Part One.

 

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I would be sipping a La Croix, of course.

 

I’m going to blame all of this on Harry and Meghan’s wedding.

And on Lifetime television, which is to blame for so many, many things.

Also, on my children because why not?

Perhaps the dog was involved too.

So, last night as I was sitting on the couch, trying to write an article about prayer and other highly spiritual matters, I flipped on the television (I know. It’s not the best practice to have the tellie on whilst trying to write but it was 8 pm and let’s face it, I wasn’t aiming for a Pulitzer at that point. I was hoping to stay awake and also somewhat intelligible, all at the same time. Thus: Project Runway! It keeps me awake because Heidi’s voice is just scratchy enough in the background to keep the synapses firing. I don’t really watch, folks. I just listen to them cattily eye each other’s work while I type away, until the runway show where they’ve created a wedding gown out of tinfoil and dog food (and yes that has actually happened on that show)

Oh wow. I just put a parenthesis inside a parenthesis without really realizing it. Perhaps I should get back on track. Not even gonna fix it though. I’m gonna own my nutball grammar. That’s how I roll.

Back to me and the couch and scrolling through Lifetime. There it was: that terribly accurate movie about Harry and Meghan. It was just sitting there, in my cue, with the actor/Harry looking all handsome and red-headed and British and royal but yet still rebellious AND sensitive all at ONCE. Yes, also, Meghan actress was great. But HARRY. That’s the stuff, right there. And so, I clicked on it.

But, as so often happens when I just watch something (I put the Pulitzer wanna-be article aside, folks. Harry/actor needed my undivided) I started to feel a bit… peckish.

Ok, that’s not really true. I had a great dinner. I was totally full, actually. But I just wanted to munch, you know?

And then… I ate our kitchen.

If I’d had the chance, and it wouldn’t have been weird, I woulda gone next door (but only during a commercial break!) and eaten their kitchen too.

I am not even going to trouble you with the details of what I inhaled, but let’s just say that Cool Ranch Doritos were involved and I actually don’t even LIKE Cool Ranch Doritos. In fact, I would say? Not much of anything that I scarfed down last night (during the commercial breaks! Of which there were a lot! Unfortunately!) was really all that yummy. I dunno. Is a half of a hamburger bun smeared with honey, yummy? It seemed kinda pathetic, my bun, and all it’s honey.

Backstory: Wayyyyyy back in November I told you about some changes I wanted to make for me. Issues with health and food and my ability to procrastinate so hard on some things that it could be my own Olympic event where I could win GOLD. Which, if you think about it, isn’t so bad… a gold medal and all. But I wouldn’t ever get around to actually winning it.

So, November, I started to do a few things, reallllllly slowly:

  1. I started a running program again. It had been sorta willy nilly until then and did you know? If you try to run three miles willy nilly your thighs say things like, “I don’t UNDERSTAND why you are DOING this to me! This is just mean! Let’s stop right now.”  Thighs that argue? Never good.
  2. I tried to understand that I am actually really and for once and for all a REAL WRITER. Did I mention that BOOK TWO IS COMING OUT? I know. It shocks me still.
  3. I tried to understand food.
  4. And me. Me + food.
  5. Y’all. It’s complicated.

What I’m trying to say here is that I had finally gotten to the point where I needed to address some stuff in my life. And life, as it tends to be, made this hard.

(My husband would like to insert here that it wasn’t “life” it was ME. I make things harder than I need them to be. He says this to me once in a while and I roll my eyes at him and flounce out of the room in a huff. I would like to establish again that it was LIFE that did this to me, and my tendency to overthink and mull and perhaps worry a bit too much had NOTHING to do with it. Flounce flounce flounce. )

The hard truth of it was this: I had gained a heck of a lot of weight and I’m short and I was feeling rather awful about it all – both physically and mentally. You know the feeling. When you avoid reflective surfaces and your pants start saying prayers before you tug them on, and walking the dog makes you question why you have a dog.

Pair all that with this whole public persona thing that goes along with being an author of now TWO books (coming out in August, I promise. I did not make this up). = negative self talk and some really bad choices involving fried chicken.

Y’all. I have issues.

I know this comes as life-shattering news to you.

I think it all sorta stems from the being an alcoholic thing, but I want to tread lightly there, because far too many people in recovery get sober and then think, “Well then! Let’s fix ALL the things!”

No. Nope. NOPETY-NOPE, sober people. Slow down. Getting sober is hard enough.

But, I have some years in recovery, now. And it was time. My heart was telling me. And if I had learned anything in recovery it’s that when your heart says things like, “Dana? You are making yourself sad. Let’s work on this,” I have to listen.

And now it’s May. Seven months later. And last night I ate New Jersey. What can I say? I TOLD YOU I WAS MESSED UP.

I have, also, lost quite a bit of weight since November. I have found muscles again. It has been a process.  A long one. It has involved not a diet or a plan or rice cakes or any of that. It’s involved me trying to figure out me, and that’s not been a heck of a lot harder than eating rice cakes.

Progress, not perfection folks.

I am going to write more about this. I need to. I might even tell you what I did and why and how and all that stuff (people always want to know the ins and outs, and I get that). I just wanted to talk about it what I’ve been figuring out.

It has to do with understanding Enoughness. And yes, that’s a made up word but it’s my blog.

So, this morning, as I am sipping my coffee and contemplating a run with thighs that don’t argue back so much as they did in November, I thought I’d tell you one part of the journey that has finally, FINALLY  made sense to me. And it’s this:

When you eat New Jersey, you don’t have to eat the entire eastern seaboard too.

And you can forgive yourself.

And also? It’s a metaphorical New Jersey, so there’s thank God for that.

 

 

Oh and also? I’m just gonna leave this right here:

 

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I MEAN….IT’S UNCANNY.

 

I will now start referring to myself as, Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Momsie.

Has a ring to it, no?

Flounce, flounce, flounce

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Insert Motivational Quote Here:

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*Taps mic*

Hello? Hi. Hi there. I’m Dana. Your motivational speaker. So….  How’s everybody doing today?

I’m here today to tell you more about The FABULOUSNESS THAT IS NOVEMBER and light a fire under that tired-out soul of yours.

If, that is, your soul is actually tired. Perhaps it’s all shiny and ok. Mine was not, so here I am.

This morning I walked the dog and and did some sort of nonsense called Fitness Blender, where sweet and annoyingly chipper Kelli tells me to squat, and I squat. Sometimes she adds kicks to the squats and this makes me feel all flair-ish, so there’s that.

The weather was cool and foggy and I BLASTED this song while I walked sweet Hosmer. All rather simple things.

But I have to tell you, Hosmer was so GRATEFUL for a walk. (He’s grateful for anything, really. My days with him are a regular immersion in furry gratitude. Case in point: He is currently sitting on my feet looking at me with such adoration he basically has become his own emoji.)

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Picture is blurry because dog moving. He keeps trying to come in to lick me.

Also, I have worked on THIS:

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This is not life shattering, I know. Every month, I get out my felt tip pens (all the pretty colors!) and I plan my month. I used to color code it for children and adults and all… but then I realized pretty much all of it sorta morphed into all children all the time, because they consume my life, so I just use colors that make me happy.

Also, I draw turkeys really badly.

But, I guess what I’m trying to say is… (*clears throat, attempts highly motivational voice*)

IF YOU PLAN TO PLAN, YOU’LL FAIL TO PLAN.

Oh wait. No, other way around. (*clears voice again, all the while realizing that motivational speaking might not be my jam*)

If you fail to plan… you can plan.. to fail? Right? That’s it, right?

Right?

We’re only on day 2, people. Progress, not perfection.funny-pictures-cat-does-not-think-plan-will-fail.jpg

Lose Weight in Five Easy Steps!

Ok. Just lied. There are not really Super Easy steps for weight loss. Gotcha there. I doubt I could even tie my shoes in Five Easy Steps.

Nothing comes easy. Especially the good stuff.

Or, as my dad usually says, “Life is hard. Get over it.”

Generally, working out to get in shape is, you know, work. It’s one of those sweet sayings that one should cross-stitch on a pillow:

I Could Lose Ten Pounds Today But To Do That I’d Have To Cut Off My Arm.

I know. Kinda grim. Stay with me. It can only go up from here.

So, it’s January. You know what that means, right?

Gym memberships are OFF the CHARTS. Like, everyone and their dog (or in this case, cat) got up, got off the couch, and decided, once and for all, it is time to GET IN SHAPE! Woo hoo!

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And… then, we start to slide into February.

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And before you know it? This.

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By the way? There are a heck of a lot of pictures of fat cats on the great interwebs, y’all. Total time sucker. Fat cats are my spirit animal.

Anyway. Here’s the truth of it. I have not been at my best weight in about a year. Or maybe two. Or seven. Something like that. I have a small issue with perception. I think I’m totally hot.

Well, I am totally hot. But I also think, I am totally in shape  (which I’m not). Could be because I like to wear what we mommies call: “workout gear” a lot. This means: Hoodies and sweatpants. On some days, a bra. There is a lotta give in sweatpants, y’all.

As for the no bra thing? I just do that to keep you guessing.

In reality?

Well, I could post another picture of a fluffy cat that is big-boned, but I think I might have hit my max on that.

This year has been awesome. My book, Bottled: A Mom’s Guide to Early Recovery was published by Central Recovery Press. I got to travel all sorts of places to talk about the book. I even got to be on tv! And I had good hair! It has been awesome.

But along with all that awesome has been a crazy schedule and some hard-core (not the abs kind) stress. And for me? Stress  = cheese.

I am tired. And lately, my body is having a conversation with me that just isn’t working anymore. It goes like this:

Head: Ok! Let’s tackle this day!! Let’s do this!

Body: You go ahead. I’m tired. There’s some cheese in the fridge. I’m gonna head that way and I’ll meet you over at the “this” you keep talking about later.

Head: Impossible. You and me, kid? We’re in this together. Otherwise it gets weird.

Body: Cheese.

 

Lately I have been wanting a change. I miss running. I do run still, but not consistently, and not with any passion. I miss feeling strong. Feeling fast. I miss the simple joy of it.

Let me introduce you to my friend, Jill McKay. I met Jill when I spoke at the Whole Women’s Weekend this past summer. She is a fitness coach,  and I am going to be working with her for the next months or so to try and get my mojo back.

Head: Did you hear that? We’re gonna get our mojo! And then we’re gonna tell everyone about it! It’s called accountability! It’s awesome.

Body: What is this mojo you speak of? It sounds like a drink. The one with the mint.

Head: That’s a mojito and it used to mojo you up all the time. But, now, you drink seltzer and lime. We don’t mojo with substances anymore, remember?

Body: Ok. Can’t I just have some cheese?

Head: MOJO IS NOT BEHIND CHEESE. BACK OUT OF THE FRIDGE.

Jill is a wellness warrior. She has a heart for women who are desperately searching for their mojo, and she is helping many of us find it. Mojo doesn’t really have anything to do with cheese. More on Jill later, but I am going to include this link to her New Beginnings series on her blog. I love it because her goals are VERY similar to mine this year. And, there’s a journal in there, and that is my favorite mojo-tracker ever.

If I write the word “mojo” again I think I might break this post. It’s a funny little word. Like, “qualms.”

Yes. I have no qualms about saying the word “qualms.”

Ok! Well! I think we’re about done here. I’ll just excuse myself to get some more coffee, before this post turns into Words with Friends. Lacking focus today. Could be the cheese.

Click here to read Jill’s post on doing These Two Things for our health. You’ll be glad you did.

Oh, and also this. Because. He’s not fat. He’s fluffy.

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Hey! did you know I wrote a book? Yep. Click on the pic if you would like to know more!

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I’d Like to Schedule a Meeting. Click Reply.

Linking up with Kate Motaung over at Five Minute Fridays today!

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I’m sitting on the floor on my bathroom. I have two boys, and one husband. Therefore, the floor is not the best place to be. The bathroom has a door, however, and for the most part it is shoved shut.

Except my cat, somehow, manages to get in here now. And he is staring at me, as cats do, all up in my face. Like somehow this staring business is going to make me get up and get him a smelly kitty treat.

I am not. I am going to stay right here.

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I am crying a little. I am also wondering where my waist went. It got, um, disappeared. I had just returned from a shopping trip where I had bludgeoned myself with changing room! bright lights! mirrors all over! dresses that seemed right and then when I put them on they turned into impossible cloth torture devices! a horrible feeling of “who are you kidding” malaise!

I was tired out by all that. So, the bathroom.

Also this: my children. The sweet little babies were whining so much this afternoon that I thought maybe they were, like, training for some sort of whining tournament later.

This was PULITZER whining. This was whining that could get you into the FRACKITY-FRACK WHINING OLYMPICS.

As I sat on that bathroom floor, with my cat all mouth breathing on me, and the linoleum screamed “Ebola! Plague! Disgusting! Clean me, now!!’ at me, I kinda hated my life.

Remember when you didn’t have children? The children that took your waist? Remember that? You used to read the freaking newspaper, woman. On a Saturday morning. With coffee. In BED.

I realize that I kinda hate everything.

And then, the cat came a little closer. Always one for barging through social boundaries, he leaned on me. And something kinda happened.

I leaned on him.

He purred. And I put my hand on his warm little head and I remembered something:

I am supposed to pray when I get like this.

And then, Jesus, who is always here with me, even in my bathroom of despair, said:

“I really think it’s time we get together. I’ve been trying to call you into a meeting all morning! Will you please reply?”

I sniffled.

“We can’t meet here. It’s like, gross. And I’m a mess.”

Jesus, always one for barging through all social boundaries, sat right down next to me, amidst the fur and germs, and said,

“I can do mess. Let’s meet. Right now. Before you switch over to doom and gloom forever. And then, let’s just keep meeting, like this, all day. Ok?”

He reminds me of this every day. The cat is sometimes His messenger. I know, it’s a cat. But for right now? He’s a Messenger from God. With fur on.

Why yes, I am wearing a tutu. It compliments my eyes. And yes, that is a furball photobomb in the background.
Why yes, I am wearing a tutu. It compliments my eyes. And yes, that is a furball photobomb in the background. She’s such a diva.

Cast all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you. I Peter 5:7