My lunacy and my wellness...

It is no secret to those who know me that I have never really been very comfortable in my own skin. I've gone through many, many stages in my life - much like everyone else - but that one thing has always been a constant. Be it among a group of close friends or a group of total strangers it seems I'm forever agonizing over something in my mind while holding a conversation...

Is this shirt clinging to my rolls? Can you see the bra bulge from this angle? Should I sit instead of stand? Can they see my eyebrows sweating or is that just for me to enjoy? My skin looks dry, I should've used a different lotion. Do I take my sunglasses off to seem more approachable? Why do I stand with my arms crossed?! Such a bully pose! Skinny jeans with these thighs - who do I think I am? Can I wear boots in May, is that weird? Why do I buy so many sleeveless tops? I shouldn't even be wearing them with these arms. I have carried the same bag for a solid year, people must think ... 

Stop right there. People must think... People must think WHAT??

I am a lunatic in my mind. Sometimes the lunacy comes out of my mouth but believe it or not I keep it to myself about 92% of the time. When I actually stop to think about what I'm obsessing/worrying about I quickly realize that NOBODY is thinking about any of this shit. Nobody is looking at my skin's moisture level. Not a single soul has noticed that I've carried the same bag for more than twelve months. No one cares a lick if I wear sunglasses or not. Granted, there may be people that have noticed my thick thighs, my un-toned arms and my springtime footwear choice BUT I am quite certain that after their glance they moved on with their life.

Ugh.

I have been this way since I was about nine. That is SUCH a long time to feel like crap about yourself. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I feel ugly and heinous all the time. I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT. I have moments where I feel comfortable/satisfactory. It is important to feel good in what I'm wearing - if I can do that then my day is pretty easy. If I stray and try to wear something that isn't "me" that's where I get into trouble. I think some of that junk stems from my watching episodes of What Not To Wear. I realize that most of what I choose to wear is a no-no. But ya know what? I'm a jeans and t-shirt kinda girl. Put me in a blouse and I want to light shit on fire. I can't conform. I don't want a sensible pant suit. I look like a dumpy snowman in sweaters, I prefer a sweatshirt. I own exactly one pair of "pants" and I've never worn them. I'm pretty sure I can get through the rest of my life wearing what I want rather than what style experts recommend for my "type."

I lost forty pound about two years ago and I still wear oversized clothing. I think that's just so deeply rooted in me but I am working on moving forward. Moving out of my comfort zone is done at a baby snail's pace for certain. I want so badly for my outer appearance to reflect how fit and healthy I finally feel/AM. I'll admit that still looking "out of shape" makes me feel unhappy. I've worked hard but I know I have to work harder. I've recently started a new workout schedule and so far it's a winner. Seeing and feeling results right away makes it so much easier to keep putting in that work. I've continued my clean eating lifestyle for nearly two years now. {Confession: I am addicted to gluten free pretzels but hey, we all have our vices. Wink.}

I'm a work in progress but I can tell you that I've never felt as good as I do now. I'm forty. I WISH I felt this way at fifteen. Or twenty-five. Or thirty-two. It's all about your mindset. When you are truly ready to make that change you go hard. If any of you are feeling stuck in a rut, out of shape, out of breath, out of energy, out of options - please message me and I will let you know how you can take steps to change that. My girl, Joanna aka GetRealGal, can and will help you. I promise you it is easier than you think to make these changes. You start small and you win big. Working on your wellness is always worth it.

xo

I'm wearing dresses... end of story

Dresses. Yup. I said I was going to wear them this year and I am going to ... come hell or high water.

I've always loved dresses...especially the pretty little sixties styles donned by Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby. I've just always pretended that I loved jeans and hoodies more. I am proud to say I have gradually evolved from the hoodie and I'm on to cardigans and jackets now. I realized that I feel one thousand percent better when I'm wearing appropriate apparel in any given situation. For years I was the girl wearing heels to the backyard barbecue. Or a black hoodie as a pitiful and embarassing attempt to dress up an outfit. I would have on a t-shirt and vest shoveling snow during a blizzard - no gloves, no hat - just a stupid vest and probably a double ear infection. I just didn't seem to care. But deep down I always wished that I had the body to wear the clothes that I loved. The trends and the pretty things. Who doesn't want that???

Well, this year I've adopted a new motto - F it. I am never going to be a size two. I'm not going to reach a height of 5'9" ... or even 5'2". My sprouting days are long gone and I am what I am. A stocky little shrimpo with hair that's probably too long for my age and pink shoes that are too young for me. What's that motto again? Right. F it. So my torso isn't very long and I have hips, my boobs are too big for my frame and my legs are wicked short. I'm wearing these dresses, end of story. I refuse to live the rest of my life worrying that people will whisper behind my back. Can you believe she's wearing that jacket?? She looks like a linebacker! What about that skirt?? Her hips look enormous! She shouldn't wear scarves - they just make her double chin look bigger. People may or may not say these things - I'm pretty sure it's mostly me who thinks about this crap anyway. Regardless, it's time to move on.

I have bought four new dresses so far this year! I haven't worn any of them. In my defense it's been too cold... and two of them are sundresses... and I can't reach the zipper on a couple so I can only wear them when Gregg is home! Shut up, I'll wear them soon. And you'll be the first to know.

the one about working out ...

You were wondering when this would come up, weren't you? I've toyed with writing this post at least a dozen times over the past few years. I always talk myself out of it. This time, however, I've decided we're going to get into it. And a lot of you (ladies) are going to agree with me. Here we go...

Exercise. Middle fingers UP.
I can't stress enough how much I don't enjoy exercise. I just don't like it. I don't like lacing up my ugly sneakers (they're really not that bad looking, I just feel heinous in sneakers). I don't like setting aside time that could be spent doing other things (most likely cleaning which has already been done to satisfaction). I don't like sweating or lying on the floor doing ab workouts while my asthma creeps up making me feel disgustingly out of shape. I don't like staring at the wall, pounding feet on a treadmill. I don't wear cutesy workout gear or get all jazzed and smile like the dopey lady in the video. And I do NOT go to the gym. I throw on various combination outfits of black and gray, I stand in front of the television in my bedroom, turn the ceiling fan on high, do what 'the lady' says for thirty minutes, kick my stupid sneakers off and immediately shower. And THEN I feel fantastic.

Yes. Only thirty minutes. Get over it. I just can't commit to anything longer than that and have the routine stick. I've tried it all. Believe me. I've been steadily exercising since I was in my late teens. I have to. I'm 5'1" and built like my Great Aunt Rosie. (No offense, Rosie, you were a lovely woman and a helluva good cook). I will confess that after I had the miscarriage (I had exercised during the first trimester) I didn't do a thing during my second pregnancy. Try to tell me that's not healthy. I'll knock your teeth out. After having Scarlett it took me almost four months before I could do much of anything (due to the C-section recovery). When I started back up I started slow. I rotate twenty different workout routines. Interval training mostly. Aerobics/cardio, weights, toning and stretching. They're only a half hour, true, but they get the job done. Sure, I'm not shedding pounds but I'm not gaining them either. I remain seven pounds less than I was before my pregnancy.

Just yesterday I noticed how tired I've been feeling. I thought about it for a minute and realized that I had slacked a bit on the exercising over the past two weeks. I had just been a good mix of busy and lazy. But man, could I tell the difference. It is amazing how my energy plummets when I'm not faithful. I'd much rather just do the damned thing than feel sluggish. So I continue to fight the lifetime battle.

Most of you are probably surprised to hear that I do any physical activity at all based on my overall appearance. (That sentence is going to piss off my husband - sorry, babe). It's not much of a secret that I have image issues. I'm the one that will bitch you out for tagging me in a facebook photo if I haven't given the thumbs up. I'm incredibly sensitive when it comes to horrible photos. I am constantly cropping out my arms, my forehead and my torso and forever moaning about my double chin. Hey, what can you do? I am willing to bet that 82% of you readers are almost as obsessed as I am. (I suck at math so we're not actually going to calculate that).

I don't know that I'll ever be satisfied with my appearance. I do know that I'll always have to workout in order to keep the rest of Auntie Rosie at bay. Overall, I'm incredibly thankful to be healthy - that's really all that should matter. And all the bitching and moaning about the lunging and squatting just comes with the territory. It's just always going to be that way. I'm never going to hop out of bed, hear the birdies chirping in the sun's warm rays and say, "I'm gonna go for a jog!"
*It is worth noting that if I should ever do that, it's a pretty good sign that I'm having a stroke so react appropriately.

My uniform

My intentions are always good. I approach the closet with a hopeful albeit naive mindset. I'll find a cute outfit for tomorrow. I can wear those jeans with those brown boots and that striped shirt with the turquoise necklace and a single, silver, bangle bracelet with my gray bag. Simple task, right? Well, that idea is blasted away as quickly as it came to me. I do reach for these pieces, I do try them on together and (to the layperson) it DOES look okay. (So I'm told). But what the "layperson" sees and what I see are two very different images. For instance, my husband will say, "it looks fiiiiiiiine" or "YES! I like it - I already told you that!" ... but clearly he isn't looking in the right places. He simply sees a curvy, short girl in an outfit. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII see so much more than that.

one sad robe

Yes, robe. {As I typed that word I thought it looked so funny I had to second guess myself}. I don't know what it is about them but I just HATE robes!! I always have! It makes no sense. They are snuggly, warm, cozy, fluffy, soft ... should be a no brainer. But for some reason I have always had an aversion to them. Maybe I'm remembering my father's old 80's black and royal blue robe that looked like it was a second away from bursting into flames. Or maybe the classic cliche 'lady on the front stoop with rollers in her hair bending down to snatch the early morning newspaper' has turned me off. I don't know.