No More NaNo

On November 1st, two things occurred. First, I contracted my first round of strep throat for the month. Secondly, National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) began.

NaNo, as it's known colloquially, is a writing challenge that began in 1999. The overarching goal is to write a 50,000 word novel between November 1st and November 30th. If you reach 50,000 words and get it validated by the NaNoWriMo software...you WIN. There's not really a prize, per se, you just get the satisfaction of knowing you've created a substantive piece of writing (50K is about the length of Fight Club or The Giver). And frankly, they're very laissez faire about what constitutes a "novel". There is a lot of freedom to write what you wish to write.

I've never written a novel, though I've halfheartedly tried to do NaNo a few other times. This year, however, I was struck with a really strong idea that I felt very compelled to put into novel form. In order to be more successful, I made a strong outline and kind of hammered out some details before the challenge began. I also joined the regional WriMo group, which ended up being a very valuable asset.

Waiting for Novemember 1st was tough. I felt like a racehorse pressing against the starting gate. Then, when the day finally came, my throat felt like it was filled with shards of glass and I had a fever so high I was shivering. I DID NOT feel like writing. For the entire first week, I limped along, writing when my Advil kicked in and lessened the pain. The regional WriMos had a chat group which I frequented that week. Veteran writers were kind and encouraging. The support that they offered kept the fire stoked within my writer's soul while my body healed.

The second week of the contest, I was hot. Words came quickly and ideas flowed freely. It was a beautiful thing! Though I was behind in my word count, I pressed on, chipping away at my 50k. By the 9th of November I'd hit 10,000 words (which is about 40 book pages). Meeting that goal was exhilarating. Buuuut, then I hit a wall.

My mentors on the writing forum encouraged me to just keep writing. "You can take things out in editing," they'd say. So, that's what I did. I tacked on a chapter at the end called "Process" and just did some free writing. That helped jumpstart more ideas for the novel. So, by the third week I was at 15,000 words.

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I attended my first "write-in". Basically about 30 writers from the regional group took over a local coffeehouse and wrote together for 4 solid hours. Being with people who share your art form can be very inspiring, even if you have WILDLY different styles. Sitting at a table with a steampunk author and a scifi writer, I tapped out 3,000 words, putting my total at 20K!!! That was so HUGE for me!! I was 80 pages into my novel....80!!! That's phenomenal!

Driving home from the write in, I felt a familiar twinge in my throat. Though I desperately hoped I my strep wasn't back, time revealed that it had, in fact, returned with a vengeance. (Just a side note, this was my 8th time contracting strep throat since Little Brother was born 5 years ago. I am praying that my ENT will take these defective tonsils out of my body soon.)  The second bout of the illness was brutal. The pain was worse, the healing was much slower, and again, I did NOT feel like writing. Though a few words made it into the novel, for the most part it still hovered around 20k...which is where it stayed when the competition ended yesterday, November 30th.

I didn't even make it half way friends. That's a bummer. BUT, I DID write TWENTY THOUSAND WORDS!  That's more words than I've ever written on one project. Things come up and stuff happens, such is life. I am so excited to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo in July and to attempt to get to 50k again next November (hopefully sickness free).

Sooooo, why am I including a post about a writing competition on this here mental health blog, you might be wondering. The craft of writing is extremely important to me. On Facebook I use the hashtag #writerssoul when I post a status about writing. It's completely and thoroughly true...I have the soul of a writer. Whether or not I ever finish a novel or get anything published anywhere, there is a longing in the innermost part of me to set forth words to paper.

All of this bullshit with anxiety and depression is redeemed by the fact that I can craft soothing words of hope for the benefit of other human beings (and ultimately myself). The novels I want to write center around struggles which are common to humanity. They are meant to help and heal. Writing is a precious gift and I am honored to make use of it to the best of my ability.

Photographed Fat

Like many mothers, I teared up when I read this article about moms being in pictures with their kids (click here for article). I vowed thereafter to be in more photographs with my family and friends, even if I didn't feel as lovely as I desired to feel. My chubby, smiling, face has appeared in dozens of group selfies and snapshots since taking that vow. Then, a few months ago I decided that my family should put on our Pinterest-coordinated best and have professional photos taken.

I wanted to look pretty in our family pictures, therefore I spent countless hours shopping online (the best bet for plus sizes) for a pretty dress that would be both flattering for me and easy to coordinate with the males in my family. When picture day came, I spent extra time doing my makeup and straightening my hair. However, neither clothing nor cosmetics can hide the fact that I... am a big 'ol woman.

While the camera was clicking I did not worry whether or not the pictures would make me look fat. I KNEW they would. That's my reality. I am a fat woman...and save for a few short years after college, I always have been. Because of this reality, the photographs did not reveal some secret shame for me...they just showed...me. The images showed over sized, corpulent, aging, graying, dark haired, dark eyed, confident, outgoing, beautiful, well-loved...Me...surrounded on each ample side by my precious husband and children.

Since this summer, I have endeavored to slowly increase my fitness levels. I walked my first 5k on my birthday and have plans to train and walk another on Thanksgiving. As I move into a more active lifestyle, my body might change. Or....it might not change very much at all...there are actually many very fit, fat people (click here, here, and here for some examples). What I appreciate about the photographs we just had taken is that they show who I am right now. In the Fall of 2015, this is what I look like...this is who I am. And, when the people in my life look back at these pictures 10 years from now, they will look into my plump face and remember the laughter, the tears, and the authentic life that we shared together.

The Reality of Mess

In the past I was under the assumption that people were afraid to be genuine because they feared that people might judge them and they would loses their popularity...like high school. I have recently discovered another reason why many people like to pretend that they have perfect, shiny, Instagram-able lives. While there may be a small group of people with whom it is safe to be "real" with, most people are VERY uncomfortable with mess. They may SAY that they value authenticity, but when faced with gritty reality...they get overwhelmed and suddenly want you to keep that shit locked deep inside...far far away from them.

I struggle with faith and family and relationships and energy and weight and the will to live. I feel that many people get very wary of me because my "struggles" aren't inspirational...there hasn't been a happy ending, Thankya Jesus, wrapped in a tidy bow, resolution to my depression. God hasn't miraculously delivered me from my illness. There is a strong possibility that I will battle depression and anxiety my whole life. People want to hear about the WIN...and I might not ever win. That's the reality.

Whitewashing my narrative on social media, with the neighborhood mommies, and at Bible study has recently become a SUPER appealing choice. I hate it when I share something that's going on with me and people avert their eyes, go silent, and then change the subject...it's incredibly disheartening. (I do understand that, in certain settings, I am required to gloss over some things to remain socially appropriate...my casual acquaintances, PTA peers, and coworkers don't need to know my mental health business). I am gaining a new understanding of the temptation to fake a smile and say something benign so that I don't have to see people squirm in the face of the truth.

Unfortunately, my heart and soul are deeply committed to living my life transparently. Pretending that all is well in my world would be a lie I can't live with. I have mess. My family is messy. My relationship with my sons is messy. My relationship with God is messy. My convictions are messy. My emotions are messy. My mind is messy. Lord knows my house is messy. I am wholeheartedly grateful for those people who are willing to be in my untidy life (including my blog readers). But, honestly, I've kind of come to a point where I don't have energy to deal with people who are squeamish about the details of my reality. To the people who are upset and disgusted by who and what I am, I must say...this is, sadly, where we must part ways. Good luck on your journey...I mean that.

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 2

Watch This Video:

I have suffered from depression and anxiety for the majority of my adult life. There were a couple of short, severe episodes, but, for the most part, I was able to manage it on my own early on. As I said in a previous post, I tried hard to be honest with Mark while we were dating. However, when we were dating, I was happy and didn't really have a mental health flare up...at least not in front of him. That's one of those things that you can kind of keep to yourself until you live with someone. If I was feeling down, I'd just deal with it on my own time. I wasn't consciously trying to hide it from him, I'd just never had to share the day to day struggles of mental illness with a man. It came up in our premarital counseling, but he didn't really have any first hand experience with my depression and anxiety.

After we married and I went into the worst year of teaching I'd ever had, he was kind of blindsided by my obsessive thoughts and fits of anger and weeping. We both made the (incorrect) assumption that I would feel much better if I changed jobs. It was better, for a while...then I had my first baby. He and I discovered that my depression and anxiety weren't circumstantial, they were part of the fabric of my being.

Becoming a mother opened the floodgates. Mark has walked with me through severe anxiety attacks, pregnancy induced neuroticism, the strange emotional fallout from a miscarriage, two bouts of serious postpartum depression and one nervous breakdown. He has endured dead-eyed stares instead of conversation. He has had to talk me down from neurotic frenzies. He has picked up the slack with our home and family when all I could do was lay in bed or stare at a computer screen. While I have suffered, this man has suffered alongside me...and he'll likely have to do it again under other circumstances.

Through all of my drama, he has been kind and gentle. Even though I've made his life harder, he has been (for the most part) a source of encouragement and support. He doesn't really understand what I go through, but he cares about me and does not make me feel ashamed or guilty for having a mental illness.

Again, I feel the need to state that he hasn't done this perfectly...living with a person who has depression is hard. Melancholy and discontent can be contagious. Everyone has limits and I've blown past his a time or two, leaving him frustrated and irritated by my constant needs.

In our wedding vows we promised each other our "tenderest care...no matter what may lie ahead". The past 10 years have, in many ways, been formidable. Yet, my husband has continued to honor his wedding day promise (to the best of his ability) with grace and love.

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 4

Gather round and I will tell you the tale of a man, a woman, and a curse. Our story begins as the young couple attends their first date at a local restaurant. It is a noncommittal lunch date on a random Thursday. The gentleman has selected this venue, which is famous for it's delicious pies, because it is both close to his job and reasonably priced. After a pleasant meal and enjoyable company, the young couple leaves, vowing to eat another meal together in the future. Four months later...the restaurant CLOSES. 

The man and the woman continue to dine together...they even begin seeing movies and attending live theater...they go canoeing...they play miniature golf...they talk...they laugh...they love. Eventually, the man decides he would like to spend the rest of his life with the woman. He purchases a token of his affection and plans a date where he will ask her to be his wife. On the date, the couple decides to have dinner at a local Southwestern grill on the Country Club Plaza. After dinner the couple gets engaged. By the time they are married, six months later, the restaurant has CLOSED.

On a warm June evening, the woman, now a wife, is famished because no one bothered to feed her the day of her wedding. The couple is, once again, on the Plaza. Because the Plaza is such a popular destination for both locals and tourists, most of the restaurants do not take reservations. The average wait time for a table on this Saturday night is THREE hours. Starved, the couple decides to get a quick dinner at an upscale pizza chain restaurant...with immediate seating. There they enjoy strange, but tasty, pizzas.

Amused by this silly choice for a wedding night meal, the man and his wife decide to make it their annual tradition. For eight years they go to this moderately priced pizza restaurant on their anniversary. On their ninth anniversary, the couple decides to do something different for a change and they do not eat weird pizza for their anniversary dinner. Three months later, the pizza restaurant CLOSES.  

The establishments wherein the couple celebrated the most important milestones of their relationship... all CLOSED. Dear reader, you are free to draw your own conclusions. But as for us, the couple from this tale, we are making our dining choices VERY carefully these days. If the restaurant where we plan to sup on our tenth anniversary closes, we take full responsibility...it is.. our curse. 

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 3

I married the wrong person. 

Say what!?!?!  

Yup, my husband is, in a lot of ways, the wrong man for me. 

I'm a big, loud, extreme extrovert.

He's a mild mannered. midlevel introvert.

I feel and understand hundreds of nuanced emotions.

He's got, maaaaybe, a dozen emotions.

I'm an enthusiastic teacher and creative writer.

He's a buttoned down software developer. 

I'm from a family that talked openly about tough topics like sex, drugs, mental health, and the general messiness of life.

He's from a conservative, formal, and private family. 

My mom almost always worked.

His mom mostly stayed home

I'm a first generation middle class woman who is used to counting the pennies in my bank account.

He's from a solid middle class family where money wasn't usually a source of worry . 

I'm the daughter of a Jesus-movement- house-church father and a lapsed Mormon mother who both agreed that personally knowing God was just as good as (maybe even BETTER than) going to church.

He was born and raised attending conservative evangelical churches.

We are REALLY different, sometimes painfully so. These glaring disparities have been the main sources of conflict in our marriage. Whenever one of these differences comes crashing into the forefront, I sometimes wonder if I could have found a man who was a better fit for me. Maybe I could have married a man with a more developed emotional vocabulary. Maybe I could have married a man who thought more deep, soulful, poetic thoughts. Maybe I could have married a man from a more similar family and financial background. (I'm sure my husband wonders sometimes if he could have, maybe, found a better match than me too) Maybes are dangerous to a marriage. That's why I am so thankful for this very important piece of advice we received when we were in premarital counseling. 

Everybody Marries the Wrong Person. Isn't it that the most pessimistic things you've ever heard? At face value, I agree that it's terrible advice. There were some men that I dated before my husband who were not just wrong for me, they were BAD for me. Marriage would have been a giant mistake for those relationships. 

Marrying my husband was, however, a wise and healthy choice...but...it wasn't a PERFECT choice. For instance, we have had seasons when we argued about our family roles. We have cried about hurtful miscommunication. We have had the same intense financial discussions over and over and over again...and gotten nowhere. Aaaand...I may or may not have locked him out of our bedroom when he forgot Mother's Day this year. So, I may have done my best to choose a good spouse, but inevitably our idiosyncrasies and character flaws caused conflict, confusion, and pain.

At it's heart, the Everybody Marries the Wrong Person tenet is designed to help married people frame their differences in the reality that ALL people are imperfect. ALL. Every person comes into marriage with diverse life experience and incongruent expectations. Every person has the capacity to be a little selfish and relationally lazy. All humans are a complex mix of awesome and awful. So, my husband is not perfect for me....but neither is Thatguy Overthere. Thatguy and I would have a whole new list of delightful things that make our relationship challenging. Trying to find a better match outside of the marriage would only be trading one set of complications for another set of complications with a different person. 

That's why I am SUPER glad that we decided to base our decision to get married on the things we had in common on a heart and soul level. So, we may differ in our upbringings, financial philosophies, or church culture, but at the core of our beings, our partnership makes sense. 

We BOTH love Jesus and desire to do our best to know Him and serve Him faithfully.

We BOTH value community, friendship, and family over career and financial gain.

We BOTH value authenticity and honesty.

We BOTH value humility, kindness. and generosity.

We BOTH agree that a parent's job is to raise children who will grow into good adults. 

Knowing that, at the heart of our marriage, we are headed in the same direction, makes it easier to overlook our more superficial differences. Knowing that, at the center of our relationship, we have good and honorable intentions makes it easier to forgive offenses. Knowing that we're both imperfect, messy, complex, contradictory, human beings, just like everybody else, makes it easier to keep our hearts from wandering over to Maybe. 

(Disclaimer: Sometimes people find themselves in toxic and abusive marriages...this blog post is NOT intended to apply to those sorts of circumstances. If you are in a physically or mentally unsafe relationship I urge you to find a safe place and to enlist the help of trusted mental health professionals to walk with you through your individual situation.)

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 5

When my husband and I were dating and preparing to get married, I was a little nervous about his ability to be a good dad. He's the youngest child in his family and all of his cousins are around the same age as he is, so he never really had an opportunity to be around little kids. He had never even held a baby until after we were married. Mostly, I was concerned because sometimes people who are very cerebral don't have awesome people skills...which you kind of need to raise little PEOPLE. Thankfully, all of my concerns were unfounded. He's been an amazing father since the beginning of our parenting journey...even talking and reading Dr. Seuss books to our unborn child.

When we had babies, my sweet husband gave bottles and changed diapers. He took middle of the night feedings on the weekends. He helped with tummy time and played "flying baby". He carried them on his shoulders so they could see a parade. He was the boss of bath time. In fact, when postpartum depression had me crumpled in a heap on the floor after Big Brother was born, my husband calmly and confidently stepped in and nurtured our baby in a way I was not able to.

Now that our sons are older, he wrestles and plays tag with them. He takes them to the park. He joins in their Lego video games. He prays and sings silly songs at bed time. He helps with homework and Cub Scout projects. He corrects and encourages them. He models responsibility, strong character, and good communication.

Of course, he does not execute his role of fatherhood perfectly. Sometimes he loses his patience...gets annoyed...gets tired. But, even when his humanity bubbles up, our sons know that they are completely and unconditionally loved by this man.

It has been my honor to share the role of parenthood with such an outstanding man.

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 6

After doing a Q and A with my husband, I decided it would be fun to get my sons' take on dating and marriage. They both have some very definite ideas about relationships...and we very DEFINITELY need to do some education in the ways of wooing before they are old enough to date.

Big Brother (BB) is nearly 8 years old. Little Brother (LB) is 4 1/2.

What do people do on a date?
BB: Go out for food. Anything besides kissing.
LB: Dance, eat cake, sing songs.

When is it OK to kiss someone?
BB: Probably, like, your last date.
LB: At 8:00

What does it mean to be married?
BB: You have to do a lot of hard work in the house.
LB: You dance and eat cake and kiss your lips.

How do you decide who to marry?
BB: You see if they play sports or something. You buy a ring. When it's the right time on your date you say "Will you marry me?"
LB: Kiss someone. Kissing is a good way to marry someone.

What is the right age to get married?
BB: 24
LB: 10 because that's a grownup age.

How long have your parents been married?
BB: 9 years
LB: 8 marrieds.

What do your mom and dad have in common?
BB: Cleaning. Kids.
LB: Dance, hug, kiss their lips.

How are your mom and dad different from each other?
BB: Mom plays sports. Dad does computer stuff.
LB: You don't have the same hair. Also dad's a boy and you're a girl.

What makes daddy a good husband?
BB: He can help you with computer stuff.
LB: Cuz he loves you.

What makes mama a good wife?
BB: You like to have fun.
LB: Cuz you love ME!... and my brother.

What do you have to do to have a happy marriage?
BB: Like each other.
LB: The kids need to be still.

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 7

He Said:

1.  How did you meet your wife?

I met Tiffany through our church Sunday school class. She was already attending, and I switched from my parent’s church to there, where my brother was going

2.  What was your first impression of her?

My first impressions of Tiffany were that she was nice, smart, easy going, and easy to talk to.

3.  Tell about your first time saying 'I love you'?

I don’t recall the particular time. I know I wanted to be intentional about it, waiting until it was true and special. 

4.  What do you love about her?

I love her sense of humor, affection, intelligence, sense of fun and adventure, style, and beauty.

5.  Describe your wife in 5 words.

Smart, caring, fun-loving, outgoing, unpretentious.

6.  What do you remember about the day you got married? 

I remember that it rained in the morning, which is supposed to be a good sign, and then cleared off. We had pictures groomsmen and bridesmaids pictures taken in front of the church. I had lunch with my family in church kitchen. I wandered around alone for a bit in empty parts of the church contemplating the decision and commitment, being nervous and excited at the same time.

I remember waiting for her to come in to the sanctuary and being so happy to see her, then sharing some time together before we finished our pictures before the ceremony. I remember focusing on her during the ceremony and being happy to be marrying such a wonderful, beautiful friend. 

7.  What is your happiest memory with your wife?

My happiest memory is of all of the fun adventures that we go on as a family (our honeymoon in Vail, our baby-moon in Des Moines, trips to Deanna Rose, hay-cations at Mojeji Ranch, various festivals, events, and outings around town).

8.  What has been the most difficult thing about being married to Tiffany?

The most difficult thing has been knowing how to help with/handle Tiffany’s depression.

9. What advice would you give to a man who is about to get married?

Find a woman that you enjoy spending time with, someone who can be your best friend through thick and thin.

10. Where do you see your marriage in 10 years?

I see us continuing to have even more fun together as the boys grow older, being able to do more with them since they’re more capable and more without them since they’re less helpless.

She Said:

1.  How did you meet your husband?

The first time I met him was at a Sunday School Super Bowl party at his brother's house. I was totally enamored with another guy, so we didn't spark up a relationship that night. 

2.  What was your first impression of him?

I kind of thought he was a snob. He didn't really talk and seemed to be annoyed by all of the small talk. 

3.  Tell about your first time saying 'I love you'?

I think it was on my 23rd birthday. He bought me pink roses. After my party, which was at his house, we were making out hanging out. Suddenly he said, "I don't know what pink roses are supposed to mean, but, I love you." I, of course, told him I loved him too. 

4.  What do you love about him?

I love so many things about him...his laugh, his smile, his very laid back personality. But most of all I like that he is hopeful. He has a deep down feeling that things will work out. I love that. 

5.  Describe your husband in 5 words.

merry, uncomplicated, nurturing, cerebral, capable

6.  What do you remember about the day you got married? 

A lot of people get cold feet. But, after our rehearsal, I was completely CERTAIN that I wanted to marry this man. Because of that, the wedding day was free to just be. It rained in the morning, which my grandma told me was good luck. I remember focusing on my vows making sure to listen to and mean EVERY WORD. I also remember being really hungry. Apparently, no one thought the bride needed nourishment between the hours of 8am and 4pm. 

7.  What is your happiest memory with your husband?

This is probably lame, but my favorite memories are of us laying in bed together (getting ready to go to sleep...not "in bed" together ya dirty worms) and laughing like maniacs about Misheard Lyrics, Autocowrecks, or MentalFloss. 

8.  What has been the most difficult thing about being married to Mark?

He does not just say whatever is on his mind, he has to think it ALL the way through. So if we are fighting, I spend a good deal of time just sitting and staring and saying "Just say SOMETHING." Sometimes, I tell him earlier in the day if there is something we need to sort out...that way he can think about it and know what he wants to say. SOOOOOO frustrating. 

9. What advice would you give to a woman who is about to get married?

Ugh, I say this all the time, but it's just so true...Getting married is a lateral move. In the Christian culture, marriage is put on this weird pedestal...like when you get married you get to move up a rung on the ladder of life. This is simply NOT true. Marriage does not cure loneliness. It will not fix your self image. Whoever you are now is who you will still be after you say "I do." It's not a promotion...it's a lateral move.

10. Where do you see your marriage in 10 years?

Awe man, in 10 years we'll have teenagers! I hope that means more freedom for our marriage. Maybe he and I can go places and do things again...like the olden days! 

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 8

Have you ever attended live theater? You know when the sets change or the actors suddenly take flight across the stage? When those things happen, most people are swept up in the magic...blissfully suspending disbelief. I, on the other hand, see all of the levers and pulleys behind the tricks. Being Miss Analytical Mind 1981 (disclaimer: not a real title) makes me a great problem solver...but it makes me a terrible girlfriend. I am not a romantic...AT ALL...I see through the smoke and mirrors of the fantasy. To me it's just a bullshit way to spend extra time, money, and effort on something that isn't real..which is why my marriage proposal was perfect.

I knew it was coming. My man had already called my dad to ask his permission to marry me...we'd talked ring designs...and he'd scheduled a special date. On the night of that special date, I got dressed up in the new outfit I'd bought for the occasion (very bridal) and waited for my ring. And I waited...and waited. It was 30 minutes past the time he'd planned to pick me up. Because he was generally very prompt, I got concerned and gave him a call.  That's when he told me, he had called me earlier in the day and left a message telling me that he'd come down with influenza and had to cancel our date. Grrrr. I was all dressed up and ready to get engaged. But, I put on my big girl pants brought him some soup (and then went over to my girlfriends' house for chocolate and sympathy).

A month later, after he had recovered, he took me out to the Plaza (the fanciest part of the city). At the movie theatre, we saw Finding Neverland...which was a sweet, wistful film. We were nearly the only people in the restaurant that night. The Christmas lights that covered the buildings twinkled magically all around us as we strolled through the streets. It was all very romantic.

Several times, my man stopped and fumbled around in his pocket. Each time, a HUGE herd of people came rushing past us, causing my introverted sweetheart to think better of it and try to find a more secluded place to ask for my hand. Finally, it just got too cold to keep walking and we headed back toward the car...unengaged.

Back at the parking garage, I was buckling in and putting take away food boxes under the seat. As I raised my head I saw a little white box with a giant diamond ring in it. All my man managed to say was "will you marry me?"....no build up, no sweet talk...just straight to the point. I said yes and that was that.

And that's the story of how I got engaged in a 1995 Toyota Camry in a parking garage on the Plaza.

That building...the one in the background...that's where it all began!

10th Anniversary Countdown: Day 9

“We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” 

― Joseph Campbell

Watch This Video

This is one of the MOST accurate descriptions of being a young, married couple with little kids, ever set to music. Romance isn't even on the radar, people. It's surviving layoffs...making the best of ruined plans...paying bills you didn't plan for in the budget...sneaking intimacy into the small window of time between your children going to sleep and you collapsing, exhausted, into your own bed....all to the soundtrack of screaming children, barking dogs, educational children's programming, and incessant text alerts.

It's only recently I've been able to embrace this insanity as meaningful and fulfilling. Marriage and family are NOT at ALL what I expected...but that doesn't mean they aren't good. So, you want to know what it's like to be married for 10 years...it's just life, man.

10th Anniversary Countdown- Day 10

In a few short days my husband and I will celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. 10!  A decade! 10% of a century! To celebrate this milestone, I decided to do a series of blog posts that are honest and authentic about marriage. There are a lot of things people don't tell you about being married...good things...funny things...challenging things...impossible things. I feel that withholding our stories from other people is unfair and unkind. So, I'm going to let this blog do what it does and share "the good, the bad, and the gray area" of being married.


COUNTDOWN: Day 10

As I reflect upon my nearly ten years of wedded bliss, I have this recurring thought...who in THE HELL let me get married when I was only 23 years old!!! This decision was permanent, final, forever...and I made it when I was a mere child! Yes, I had graduated college. Yes, I had a career. Yes, I lived on my own. But, 23!?!?  What did I know?!

I certainly didn't know my husband on a deep, intimate level. We only dated for 8 months before becoming engaged. Because we are Christians, we chose not to cohabitate or engage in...uh...sexual congress before marriage. That meant I only knew my groom-to-be through the dance that is dating.

Dating has been equated to a job interview. I get that. You try to present your best self, have correct answers, and seem extraordinarily appealing to your prospective spouse. Thankfully, the man I chose completely lacks guile. He was as honest with me about himself as he was able to be under the circumstances. So through dating, I was able to determine that he was a kind, generous, wise, helpful, faithful, brainy, strapping, nerd of a man...most of the things I was looking for in lifelong mate.

During the dating dance, I tried my best to be honest (well, honest-ish). In previous relationships, I had either adapted myself to highlight the qualities that my gentleman friend admired or had projected a persona to protect myself from rejection (sometimes a mix of both). In doing this, I wasn't TRYING to be dishonest, I just didn't know myself very well at all. But, I knew THIS man that I was dating was a potential keeper.

Because I didn't want to bait and switch him, I was very deliberate about being myself around him.  For instance when he disclosed that he was into Christian techno music, I wasn't all, "Oh, how fascinating! Tell me more about it." Instead I calmly and gently said, "You're a weird man and I would prefer not to listen to that genre of music when I am around, it grates on my nerves."  When he told me he didn't drink, I didn't say, "Oh yeah, me neither. I'm no godless heathen!" I was honest about my beliefs about moderation. I forced myself to give real answers even when it would have been in my best interest to pretend that I was a perfectly Baptist, well adjusted, genteel, young woman.

Even though we were both dedicated to honesty (though, there were some eleventh hour disclosures to be sure), there are things you CAN'T know about another person until you live with them. There are weird familial norms, gross habits, and annoying quirks that can only surface when you are in close enough proximity to no longer be able to be on your best behavior.  And as much as living in close proximity can reveal...adversity is the force that most efficiently compels the "real" you show through (more on that in another post).

But, because I was so young, I was not well acquainted with the "real" me. So when rough stuff happened, I was just as surprised at my brokenness as my husband was. I knew that I had some issues, but I honest to God did not know how deeply the dysfunction ran in my heart and mind. I was also surprised when I handled things with grace and ease. There were some unknown strengths within me that turned out to be vital for my marriage to work...I didn't know they were there because I'd never needed to use them outside of marriage.

I also discovered, sometimes the "real" me is kind of a fluid concept. Yes, there are always core values and deep convictions that are unchanging, but many of my preferences and gray area beliefs have shifted according to wisdom, life experience, season of life, and just a simple change of the mind.

There was a vast sea of things that I did not know when I was 23 years old. Here's what I did know...I knew the best way to choose a mate was by the strength of his character. I possessed enough wisdom to pick a kind, generous, wise, helpful, faithful, brainy, strapping, nerd of a man. Maybe I did know a thing or two when I was 23.

The Roller Coaster

Deciding to go on my first roller coaster SOUNDED like a good idea at the time. "It'll be great! It's something I've always wanted to do." I said to myself (I was in my late teens when I rode my first roller coaster). So I took my brilliant new idea, got in line, and I WAITED for what seemed like an eternity. While I was waiting I had a multitude of thoughts racing through my brain ranging from naive excitement to utter boredom to sheer horror.

As I approached the front of the line, I could already feel my stomach start to squeeze in fear. I desperately considered running down the chicken exit and forgetting the whole thing. But, seeing as I had already invested nearly an hour of my life in the line, I decided to go through with it...whether I wanted to or not.

Finally, the coaster car rolled up. I shoved myself into the hard seat and fastened the bar close to my body. Already starting to hyperventilate, my ample ribs painfully pushed into the heavy bar with tremendous frequency. This was NOT fun. The ride hadn't even begun and I was regretting my decision.

With a unceremonious jerk, the car began the steep climb up the first hill. I relaxed a little. "Maybe this will be Okaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy!!!", I screamed in my mind as we abruptly fell from the top of the hill down to the first turn. While I was being whipped around on this marvel of modern physics, I was bombarded with nausea mixed with delight. How could one ride simultaneously produce in me both terror and elation?

Before I could even sort out which emotions were which, the ride was over. The heavy bar lifted, freeing my panicked lungs. I stepped out of the car onto shaky sea legs and shuffled over to my friends who had been waiting for me.

"How was it?!", they demanded enthusiastically.

"It was awesome!" I replied.

NOW...WATCH THIS CLIP! 

NOW....GO WATCH THE WHOLE MOVIE because, in my opinion, the movie Parenthood is the most accurate portrayal of what it looks like to raise a family. It is honest, funny, frustrating, and poignant.  


Over the years, many other writers have used the "Parenting Is A Roller Coaster" trope...today I am joining those legions. If there was a better or more accurate metaphor for what it feels like to be a mother, I would use it. But, as it is, this theme park attraction is almost a perfect analogy for the paradoxical emotions that I experience within parenthood.

Seriously, though, becoming a mother was a lot like my first roller coaster ride. I decided that I wanted to try for a baby. Then there was a long, boring wait where I had a weird flood of mixed emotions...excitement, trepidation, longing, anticipation, joy, reverence.  I had made a choice and no matter how fearful I was of giving birth, that ship had sailed and there was no choice but to go through with it.Then there was this calm build up followed by a headlong plunge into an insane  life with kids.

Without the roller coaster metaphor, there are few ways to describe the extreme contradiction in how it can feel for me to go through life as a parent.  It's the best/worst, most exciting/boring, fulfilling/thankless, mysterious/common, enlightening/frustrating role I have ever undertaken. Instead of feeling all of this mommy guilt for the times when I don't feel great about my kids, I am embracing the metaphor. Parenting is all of those things...and it's over faster than I can process it all. But at the end of the ride, I can look back on it and see, that even though I had a wild blend of the good and the bad, as a whole...it will be the best thing I've ever done. I like the roller coaster.

Happy Mother's Day!

Hyper Drive

Well hello strangers! It's been a little while since my last blog post...a few people have asked me why I am not writing as often...this post will serve as a multifaceted answer to that question.

The foremost reason that I have backed off of the blog is because I have been working a TON. I am a substitute teacher and this year has been heavy on teacher training, so my district has needed a lot of subs. The teachers are requiring so much training BECAUSE the district went 1 to 1 with technology. This means that every child and teacher received their own laptop or tablet for school use. Substitutes did not get any new tech. So, I am working more often...in an environment that has no computers for me to use. That really puts a strain on my ability to write during plan time, which is like a free hour in my day.

Secondly, I began this blog during a really acute mental health breakdown. While I will probably always wrestle with depression and anxiety, the immediacy of my needs has lessened. Like many writers, I do my best work when I am feeling my worst. Pain is, unfortunately, inspirational.

Lastly, I am going to take a moment to bring you into mi vida loca. Um...I haven't been writing because...it's Spring. I have written before that my mental health is super cyclical. Mostly this comes up in the Fall and Winter because I have spikes in anxiety and depression, which feel oppressive to me. Well, now we get to talk about what a Spring cycle looks like.

In a word, spring is...frenetic. I get REALLY hyper. Now, I realize that many people who live in a temperate climate get a burst of energy when Spring comes. For many people, Spring means coming out of the cold winter months and enjoying the warmth and work of a new season. It means that for me too...times A THOUSAND.

One day, when the bitter temperatures subside, I just wake up and feel AMAZING! I have all of these ideas and plans. I talk fast and think fast and have an overabundance of sparky energy. I want to do ALL THE THINGS!!! I think I CAN do anything! Wind me up and watch me GO!

The Spring can be ultra productive for me. But...it can also be just as harmful as my Fall/Winter depression. Primarily, my brain is "writing checks my body can't cash." Even though I feel uber capable, I still have a finite amount of physical and emotional energy. So, I will start a giant house project and about halfway through, my brain and body can't take it anymore. Because of my personality, I can't just quit and leave it undone. Therefore, I have to push myself past reasonable limits in order to complete the task.

In the same vein, since I am feeling better than I am used to, I think I can take on new responsibilities and put more activities on my plate. The vast majority of the harmful decisions I have made can be traced back to a Spring frenzy. In Spring I think, "Hell yeah!" By, September, when I am curled up crying in my bed, I am now committed to do something that is WAY beyond my capabilities and it often makes my mental health situation worse.

Just like my depression, I might not be able to prevent my Spring frenzy, but I can manage it. I have been aware of my Spring cycle for several years now and have talked with my therapist about safeguards for this season. The very first line of defense I have is internal processing. Before I commit to something, I have to ask myself if I can REALLY handle it or if it's just the hyper talking. Then, I have a handful of people in my life who I can use as sounding boards. For the most part these people are close family and friends. I just tell them what I am considering and if they have even the slightest hesitation, I usually choose to forgo the idea. That might sound like I am giving them too much power, but history has proven that there is a window of time each year when my judgement is impaired by copious amounts of optimism.

So, in conclusion, between logistical circumstances, improved mood, and Spring frenzy...my blog has been a little bare. But now that I have written a blog post on why I am not posting very often lately, I have ALL THE IDEAS for blog posts and you are going to get like, three, in the next few weeks...thus ILLUSTRATING the Spring frenzy.

Homesick

Today I have an unfamiliar twinge in my heart. My daydreams are flooded with nostalgia. . I'm sad...not like deep down, depths of my soul sad...but bittersweet tears of the memories of yesteryear are finding there way to my eyes this day. Tonight I am returning back to the only neighborhood that has ever felt like home to me...and I don't get to stay there...I am homesick.

You see, nearly six years ago, I left the town I had occupied for eleven years...my personal record. Before I moved to The Metro, where I currently reside, I was an Army brat. I went to nine schools in twelve years. I lived in thirteen or more different homes (mostly apartments).  "Home" was always my dad's hometown. We were "from" Central Kansas...even when we lived in a foreign nation. But I didn't KNOW this place. I hadn't lived there since I was a two year old. So essentially, wherever we lived, there was some far away, nearly mythical place where we were "from".

In the grand scheme of life, I understand that "home" is wherever the people you love are. But, I had never known a geographical place inside and out until my family moved to an older suburb in The Metro my senior year of high school. It was there I knew the names of my hardware store cashier, talked at length about life with the cake decorator at my grocery store, and saw various and sundry stores open and close and change hands. I could say, "Man, remember when that restaurant was a video store!" or "Wow, when we first moved here this giant Big Box anchored strip mall was just an empty field!" 

In this part of town I knew three or four ways to get to where I was going. I knew who had great Christmas lights and whose kids had a lemonade stand every Saturday. This little suburb is where I shared an apartment with my family...then with just my sister. It is where I met my best friends and my husband. It's where we bought our first house...had our first dog...and had our first baby. I just KNOW this place and have a deep connection with it. It's home. 

But, around the time my Big Boy was a year old, my husband and I felt compelled to move from the aged suburb we had started our marriage in to the urban heart of our metro-area. There were many reasons we wanted to change locations, but paramount were our desires to invest our lives in a neighborhood and a school system that needed some love.  

Because we are Christians, our first objective was to find a church who had the same heart for the city that we did. After a short search, we found one! When I read their "values" page on their website, I wept because I couldn't have written my values more beautifully. (They've since reworded the values and made them more concise and less poetic, which is a little sad to my writer's soul.) In this new church, the main messages were "God loves you!", "Because God loves you, you can love others!" and "Move to the city!".  We desired all of those things, so latching onto God's love, we sold our little 1950s ranch house in the suburbs and moved into a giant Victorian house in the city. 

We've continued attending this church.  We've built good relationships with our neighbors. We've jumped headlong into the school system. But, I still work in the suburb we left. Our parents and siblings still live in that suburban neighborhood. I shop and go to the doctor/dentist/hair salon in that suburb. So, I really feel like I live in two places.  And until recently, I've mostly been fine with it. 

Last year, our church (which has grown to be INSANELY large) has planted a church...LITERALLY...LITERALLY in the suburban neighborhood where we used to live...like BLOCKS from our old house. When I heard the new location for the church plant my heart clenched. Why? Why would God ask us to move when He was planning on planting a church that loved the city RIGHT in our old backyard? Why did I have to move miles away from my family and my work? Why did I have to leave the neighborhood that holds my record for "longest town lived in EVER" Frankly, I don't know. I have some spiritual suspicions about the move...but nothing I know for certain. 

Tonight, after I leave work (on the same street as the new church plant), I have to roll back into downtown, pick up my kids, and come back down to The Suburb for a meeting at the new church...the church that I KNOW used to be a school, but closed ten years ago...across from my old grocery store...down the street from my doctor's office...a church that I am not part of...and am not sure why. I'm hesitant to go to that meeting tonight. I'm probably going to cry. I miss my home. 

Hey J-J-Jaded

"Inside of every cynical person is a disappointed idealist." -George Carlin

In yesterday's (very good) sermon about race and The Gospel, our pastor described what it looked like to get burnt out on social justice. These burn outs are people who have labored and labored to bring reconciliation and peace to the people around them and have seen NO fruit. Not only have they seen zero results from their anguish, they have, figuratively, "had their teeth kicked in". He described this group of people as "cynical". That concept resonated with me...HARD.

Do you know what happens when you take a tenderhearted idealist and toss her head first into the gritty reality that is our world? It hurts her...frustrates her...grieves her. Being the Nerdy-Nerderson that I am, I looked up the definition of cynicism and felt it wasn't QUITE the word I would use to describe the soul-sick, faithless, hopeless, pessimist that I have become. No, the best term I could find that encompasses the nothing-left-ness of my heart is...jaded.

Of course, I didn't really realize this truth until it was presented to me objectively. I would have said that, like everyone else, I am a realist...and reality is cruel. On some level, that has to be true. But for someone whose life purpose has been to be a consummate helper, I think that reality somehow just SEEMS meaner. When the standard is for everyone to get along...for all people to feel valued and valuable...failure FEELS magnified.

It's taken a while for me to get to this point of full scale jaded-ness. I've been knocked down a healthy handful of times. Until Foster Failure, I had at least attempted to limp along. After I burned out as an inner city teacher, I was still able to muster up the strength to keep my toe in the world of education as a substitute teacher. After I went on several short term foreign mission trips and saw that we were NOT helping, I was still able to move to the heart of my home city, believing that I could make a difference with my life. After our we disrupted our first and only foster placement...I.just.couldn't. Everything hurt and nothing made sense anymore.

After Foster Failure, I cut everyone off. I literally snapped back into the safe walls of my own home. I stopped seeing my friends. I loathed going out...especially if I had to meet new people...especially any new person who might NEED anything from me. For the last three years, I have barely done more than the emotional minimum to sustain my life.  For whatever reason, that event took me from wounded idealist to full blown jaded...especially with regard to my faith.

I've been on shaky spiritual ground for three years. I mean, I've always been a little soft on being disciplined enough to read my Bible and carve out time to pray on a daily basis. But for the last three years I have been actively ANGRY with God...felt BETRAYED by God...and TERRIFIED to engage with Him because I am afraid He will CRUSH me again just to teach me another life lesson. I don't think I can handle it. So in an act of self preservation...I've cut Him off too.  

When I became a Christian, it wasn't after long, labored studies of comparative religions. I didn't research all of the theological and historical minutiae of the faith. What happened was, the Spirit of God whispered to my heart and I responded. Something OUTSIDE of me, called me into relationship with God. Yes, I CHOSE it, but I feel like it was what is called "irresistible grace". I had the freedom to walk away but why would I WANT to. The voice that spoke everything into existence was 

calling out to me. My soul knew His voice, so I believed. And...I believe still. It has been anguish to believe something to be true...but be too wounded and afraid to live in that truth.

I don't desire to be bitter and cynical. It's not a "pleasure from pain" kind of situation. I hate it and it's obvious to anyone who knows me well that it isn't my natural inclination. At the same time, however, I'm not sure how to both long to love people and nurse the intense grief that comes from the rejection of that love. I don't know how to both surrender myself to a God that I am CERTAIN loves me and walk with Him on a path that I am CERTAIN will destroy my heart. Because I don't know what to do...I've chosen to do nothing. That...I think...is the essence of being jaded. Wanting to care and being petrified to do it. 

This Body of Stress

This week has been quite emotional for me and my family. We have experienced two deaths within the span of only five days. My heart has been flooded with memories, sadness, and grief. My little brain has persisted under a barrage of logistical tasks and preparations for getting myself and my family through two funerals. In general, I'd say that I am managing my emotions and stress in a healthy way...yes, I'D say that...but my body tells a different story. This flesh that I occupy has a ridiculously low threshold for stress.

Every time I am presented with an ounce more stress than I can handle, my teeth clench, my shoulders tense, my muscles ache, then I either get a raging cold or an intestinal bug. And it might be a little bit of an overshare, but in the last few years, even my cycle gets all goobered up by any amount of stress...which is a delight, let me tell you. I have wasted about a dozen pregnancy tests in the last two years. The only thing that really helps combat these "illnesses" is sleep. But, who wants a wife, mother, or friend that just sleeps all the time like a big sloth?

As with my mental health challenges, I can trace this all the way back to my childhood. When I was little my school nurse diagnosed me with a "nervous stomach". Looking back on it now, it was just a kind of genteel way of saying I was a stressed out kid. In high school I went through a battery of tests because I was having the painful symptoms of an ulcer. Of course it didn't occur to me that my extremely rigorous class and extracurricular schedule were probably more than I should be handling. During every holiday break from college I was plagued by a persistent, nasty cold/flu....EVERY one. As an adult, I feel like I am sick ALL of the time. Like...ALWAYS sick. I feel a little like a hypochondriac...except I have actual illnesses.

It makes me feel weak and ashamed to have a zero ability to handle stress. Who the hell gets sick from the normal rhythm of life? Me. That's who. I am not really sure how to combat this problem. I see a therapist, am on an antidepressant, and try really hard to manage the trouble of the everyday in healthy ways. What else can I do?

Lenten Fast 2015: Facebook

We belong to a church that is not super specific about the Lenten fast. It's always been my understanding that I could choose to forgo anything that gets in the way of  my relationship with God. In the past I've given up sugar, screen time, and unsuccessfully tried to fast from complaining. This year I'm choosing to give up Facebook for Lent.

The internets like to make fun of people who give up things like Facebook for Lent. Well, the internets can sit on a tack! As an extrovert who was a stay at home mom for many years, I've come to depend on this website VERY heavily for human interaction. I am definitely going to "feel the sting" of being removed from my beloved social media site and spiritual growth is likely to happen.

Why Facebook: It's for my own good. First, I can't seem to stay out of trouble on this website. I try REALLY hard not to comment on people's controversial timeline stuff, but try as I may, I still often end up in trollish debates with a person who is a friend of my friend. In real life, I would not give a rat's ass what that friend of a friend thinks about my opinions...but put it on Facebook and I care a great deal. Secondly, I tie my worth to how many "likes" my statuses and blog post receive. Not always, but too often to be healthy.

The way that I interact with social media in turn effects my mental health. I get all worked up. My deep seeded need for approval and validation bubbles to the surface and I am miserable. No website should make me feel depressed and anxious...it's ridiculous. God has placed a holy soul in my inmost self, good brain in my head and wonderful, encouraging relationships in my life. I let a stupid website come along and completely invalidate all of that.

What it is: 

• Very simply, I cannot go on Facebook from 9:oopm on Wednesday, February 18th until after Easter service on Sunday, April, 5th. There are no times when I am allowed to log in and check my timeline...just not.at.all. The plan was to deactivate my account so that I wouldn't be tempted. However, I use several sites which require me to log on using my Facebook account. I don't want the drama of creating a bunch of new passwords and logins. To help myself stick to the fast, I plan to remove the app from my phone and put a super short timer on my laptop (so I can still tap into the account if I need to sign onto linked websites)

• Because I primarily share my blog via Facebook, I still intend to use it to that end. When I do a Facebook share, I don't really go onto the site, I just send the link to my timeline via blog page. Because I don't have an opportunity to see or interact with people's timelines, I'm going to allow it. 

• I've let people in my life know that they can contact me by email or text.

What it ain't:

• I am not intending to circumvent the fast by building up my Twitter account or whatever the hell else there is by way of social media. 

• Pinterest will be allowed because I don't really use it as social media. It's more of a Google search shortcut for me. No drama. Just recipes and home decor. 

In undertaking this fast, I am not trying to say that Facebook is evil. It's neutral. The way I sometimes use it, it can be harmful to my heart. I have allowed people that I don't know to injure me on a soul level. I have allowed people who are meant for relationship to define my ultimate worth, God should be affecting me on a soul level...He should be determining my worth.

Lent. It's a thing.

But You Said You Didn't Believe In Dieting?!?!?!

I don't believe in dieting. Let me say it again, in my experience, dieting does not work. Science agrees. Statistically 95% of people who lose weight on a diet gain it back and often the pounds come back with a few friends. Between 2002 and 2003 I lost 100lbs on a popular diet. The weight crept back on and now I am heavier than I've ever been...and frankly heavier than I am physically comfortable being. The diet industry is an INDUSTRY. They could care less about my life and my health, they just want muh dollas.

Though I have flipped the middle finger to society's rules about weight and the health care industry's obsession with linking health and weight, I do think there is a number on my scale that says, "hey lady, we need to pay a little more attention to what we're doing here". I currently don't feel comfortable in my body.

I briefly thought about running back into the arms of the program that helped my lose weight a decade ago (geez I am old), but then I decided I didn't need the stress of conforming to that plan. Because, as we know, I have to be VERY protective of my stress level and where I spend my emotional energy. My mental health is of paramount importance to me. So, I just decided to look at the calorie amount that was suggested for very gradual weight loss in a woman of my weight class. After peeking at a few sources, I settled on a number and downloaded a tracker.

So yes, I am counting calories, but please hear me and believe me when I say I AM NOT ON A DIET. The amount of calories I am allotted each day is generous. For me, this exercise in counting calories is not about coming in under and feeling smug or feeling guilty for going over. It's really just about mindfulness. For example, through tracking, I have realized that I drink about 300 calories a day...that's more than 10% of my daily calories. It's more than it should be. Through tracking and mindfulness I also continue to observe that the ONLY time I get out of control with my eating is 4:00PM...it is a a struggle EVERY day!

I am following parts and pieces of various healthy/allergy dietary guidelines...but not subscribing to a "diet". My naturopathic doctor put my on the Blood Type Diet, so I don't eat a lot of red meat or potatoes. Little Brother is allergic to wheat/dairy/eggs/peanuts/soy, so most of my grains, out of necessity, are gluten free. We no longer keep much dairy in the house using either rice milk or almond milk. But, I have a husband whose doctor encouraged a Paleo-style diet, so those of use who aren't allergic DO eat eggs. So, while my food diary looks like a weird mish-mash of Top Ten Diets, it is comprised (mostly) of whole, real foods.

After being on the diet plan 10 years ago and eating a whole host of unwholesome, chemically altered, preservative laden, science experiments, I can't stomach buying "diet" food again.When I touch a fat free cookie on my tongue, it tastes like grainy chemicals. Nasty. So, if it isn't real, I am probably not eating it (again, mostly...everybody needs some cheez-its every now and then). That's not dieting, that's mindful eating.

So what's the end game? Well, I tell you what it ain't. I have no intention of making a weight loss goal. I have never been thin and I will never be thin. That's not fatalistic thinking, it just IS. Even after my big weight loss I was a plus sized woman. I have a big skeleton (yup, I just played the big boned card) and am not built to be slender. I have the bones of a strong, sturdy woman. I don't care about getting "down" to a certain size.

I just want to see the scale move down. I want to stop eating when my stomach is full, even if there is still food on the plate. I want to be able to move my body in the way I wish. I want to feel comfortable and sensible. That's it. There are no numbers. I AM NOT ON A DIET!

PS...I really like that article on diets that I linked to in this post. I particularly like what it says about trauma and adverse childhood experiences. I wrote a post about it in 2013 (here). I think that weight is a complicated matter and simple calories in calories out glosses over the root causes of overeating.