Self-Love in 2016.

When I've been neglecting loving my body for too long, it starts a revolution, rioting against my choices in three ways:  

1) a terrible complexion 

2) excruciatingly painful, long-lasting headaches

3) severe (like first trimester of pregnancy severe) sluggishness and lack of energy.

So when I woke up today to find a small, yet very defined pimple on my top lip (yes it is absolutely as attractive as it sounds), which went smashingly with the angry ones smattering my cheek, and was barely able to focus my vision before 8:00 am, and had to medicate myself around the clock for the 3 days prior due to a pounding headache above my left eyebrow....I realized it was time to re-learn a painful lesson.

I started working on body acceptance in 2009.  I wrote a blog post about living my life up until that point equating feeling fat to feeling ugly and inadequate.  I was done with that form of self-hatred and worked hard to find a place of love and acceptance for my body just the way it was, right then--without any changes.  I let myself eat what I want when I wanted to, and stopped the negative self-talk, replacing it with positive things instead.  

As my body shaming decreased, I found something interesting:  loving myself on the inside caused me to really look at what loving myself on the outside required.  

I began exercising--not to torture my body, but because I wanted to begin really taking care of it.  It became my daily form of Self Care, and the one hour each day I kept sacred as only for me.  I watched my body become strong and endure more than it ever had.  I grew proud of it, and felt confident about it, regardless of what size and shape it was.

In 2012 I challenged myself to a sugar-free diet for 40 days, in honor of Lent.  I honestly did not believe I could keep that challenge--I had zero faith in my own abilities.  Sugar had been a lifelong friend and addiction.  In spite of my lack of faith, I was able to go the full 40 days with only one tiny lick of my daughter's birthday cake frosting (which was gross by the way). 

What I found during that time was a powerful combination of emotional and physical positive outcomes.  My skin was clear, my usual nagging headaches were gone, my energy was sustained throughout the day....and instead of feeling deprivation through completely shutting down and controlling my sugar intake, I felt empowered, courageous, in awe of my abilities and more than anything....I felt self-love.    

My kids watched me going without sugar, Caleb especially commenting that he thought I was crazy.  I have never used the word diet, only talking about how I felt like sugar controlled me and that I knew it wasn't healthy for my body.  That I wanted to take care of myself, and this was a way I could do it.  

That 40 days started me down a path that I continued for several years.  

When my unexpected pregnancy with Claire showed up, I went straight to survival mode to get through that time and the stressful year after my pregnancy, where I could only function on survival instead of being thoughtful of what I ate and how I took care of my body.  

So here I am in 2016, with my lip pimple, headaches and exhaustion, ready to reprogram my brain after slipping back into old unhealthy, destructive and addictive habits.  

Today I'm on day 1 of being (refined) sugar free.  And I'm on day 1 of exercising.  This work is tough in all areas and takes me a while to actually enjoy it.  But I have also been down the road far enough to know it is completely worth it, and it's a healthy way to show my mind, emotions, spirit and body the love and treatment it deserves.

If anyone wants to join me, I always enjoy company.  Here's to the new year, and to self-love.

scattered.

It's getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore

I am sorry

I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are

You make it hard

Remember what we've said and done and felt about each other
Oh, babe have mercy
Don't let the past remind us of what we are not now
I am not dreaming

I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are
You make it hard

--"Suite: Judy Blue Eyes"

Crosby, Stills & Nash

aside from ben's school, there have been other difficult things going on in the past couple of months.  writing honestly?  my dad is going through his second divorce.  unlike my parents' divorce seven years ago, this one came as a surprise, and (also unlike the first one) was finished swiftly.  i know that how it appears on the outside isn't necessarily the truth of the inside, but my brother, sister and i were very surprised--and devastated.

after years of my childhood spent in an unwanted front row seat of a somewhat fractured and chaotic marriage, i found myself ready to see both of my parents start over--beginning with a new person, hoping this time would be different.  coming from a fragmented family made me peer through leery eyes as to what this new picture would look like, but i was willing to be open, and try.

what i found on the other side was the gift of getting to know some new really amazing people... most importantly, my stepmom.  brenda has this incredible capacity to immediately love and accept others, without judgment, question, or conditions.  because of her,  i was given the ability to heal pieces of my heart broken long ago, ones i thought could never be healed by another.

though i understood that this decision of divorce was made with a lot of thought and prayer, to hear that she and my dad were no longer going to be together terrified me.  truthfully, it still does.  i don't know what a fractured-family-from-a-fractured-family looks like, and i'm worried.  about my dad, about my siblings, about our relationships with those who have become a significant and important part of our lives for several years.

as i was driving caleb to school this morning, a song from my childhood came on ben's classic rock station on the radio.  i turned it up, yelling back to caleb, "i love this song!"  and started singing along.

immediately i was flooded with happy memories as a kid with my dad in the family car, beating his hands on the steering wheel like it was his own personal drum, belting out harmonies with a smile on his face as he sang these same words.


I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are

Something inside is telling me that I've got your secret
Are you still listening?
Fear is the lock and laughter the key to your heart
And I love you 

in my memory, i could see my young father, probably around the same age as i am now.  he was full of music and corny jokes, even amidst the havoc in his life.  i imagine that he visualized his life in his 60's as a time of stability and calm, watching grandchildren grow as he retired and looked forward to hobbies, traveling, and family barbecues.

right after we learned of the divorce, he spent a couple of weeks with us here.  through him i saw such a strong desire to feel hope again that was palpable.  it was difficult to know how to help or what to say.  i was also working through my own complicated feelings, but because i love him and wanted to be supportive, i tried to put those on the backburner.  i wanted to tell him everything was going to turn out alright for him, but i was no longer sure.  i worried he would sense my hesitancy, so i hugged him and told him how much i loved him, and that he could come back whenever he needed.  as i watched him drive away, i felt hollow.

after dropping caleb off this morning, i sat in the car in our driveway and continued listening to the song that reminded me of my young father.  the tears came, and i let them.  i cried for what has happened, for all he has lost, for his present day that looks so unlike what i'm sure he had idealistically pictured his story to become, for the choices he's made in this life that require him to start over yet again.

Tearing yourself away from me now you are free
And I am crying
This does not mean I don't love you, I do, that's forever
Yes and for always

I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are
And you make it hard


between this and the roller coaster of ben's school situation, the month of january shook me up, leaving me feeling separated and tossed into the wind to be scattered around.  the month of february helped me find and gather my scattered pieces, and march is already helping me to patch myself back together, preparing for wherever the wind tries to carry me next.

embracing the possibility. {on miscarriage, fear, and faith}

"no more kids during grad school!"

i think i've spoken those words more than a hundred (or a thousand?) times since 2009.  i look back on the year leah was born, and if i could draw a timeline of my life, that space would have tiny grey clouds hovering over it, with intermittent downpours of rain.  emotionally i disappeared.  it was a tough one, and i lost myself, not emerging from the gray-ness of it for quite a while.

"no more kids during grad school!"

was what i used as my platform, until the day when two pink lines surprisingly showed up without my wishing for them.  and i was terrified, but accepted what was and tried to smile.  following those pink lines came the pregnancy with what felt like unending months of nausea and unable-to-keep-my-head-up exhaustion followed by a house whose underbelly possessed mold that made my children and i beg for mercy as they vomited and i coughed up blood.

"no more kids during grad school!"

i continued to say, though the months with newborn june are some of the most precious i have ever encountered thus far.  i consider her my Gift for living through the most physically taxing year and not succumbing to negativity when i could feel it pulling from all sides to take me under.

"no more kids during grad school!"

i say this now still, and with fervor as we know our future for the next year or two is so muddled and unclear.  not only that, but one important thing has been missing:  the desire for another.  but, this is normal for me.

i have been content from the beginning--if we only had caleb, i would be content.  only caleb and leah, i would be content.  and now with the three, i feel the same, completely content if this is our family unit.  my problem is that my lack of desire is not necessarily an indicator as to whether or not having another child is what is best, because i'm certain that my fear (of pregnancy, labor, colic, and lonely days and nights shouldering most of the responsibility on my own, and another little body to tend to, just in general) is partially what brings about my contentedness.

and yet.

months ago, i knew something was off.  i felt strange--more drained than i was used to, more sore.  i didn't take a test because i didn't want to know.  it feels awful to type those words, and i'm worried who might be offended but i want to write honestly.  so, i waited.  two more weeks went by and i still refused to make anything official.

then, during one week that was already overflowing in stress, i felt it.  pain in my abdomen that doubled me over.  sitting, standing, or laying, i could not find relief.  i don't take a lot of medicine normally, but was unable to function or perform just the daily activities, so i took something, but even that didn't provide relief from the pain.  this went on for 2 days, accompanied with other details of miscarriage i will exclude here.  i didn't say much to anyone, because i hadn't said anything to anyone of the possibility of being pregnant.  only ben and a couple of others knew, and i preferred for it to stay that way.  it was still just an assumption of what was going on.

during that week, i wrote this.  like i mentioned, it was a stressful time.

i think what surprised me most was the feeling of relief.  then, the feeling of guilt piled on top of relief, because what type of person feels relieved about this?  i am surrounded by those who have prayed and would do almost anything to have this, but i am relieved?  

i wrestled with the words selfish and ungrateful, pushing them away with my acknowledgement of the blessing and miracle of life, and of the love i have for my children.  i knew if i could, i would bless everyone who had a desire to have a child with one.  i don't understand why those desires are granted for some and not for others, as much as i didn't understand why the desire was lacking inside of me at this time.

i know others who have felt connected from the start, only weeks or mere days of just knowing.  i have heard them mourn the loss of the connection they loved and had felt so sure of.  with each pregnancy, i struggle to feel any sort of connection--even up until my new baby is placed in my arms. it is then the feeling of an undeniable bond of love from God for this new soul overcomes me and i can't imagine being apart, even for a moment.  but when i'm pregnant, it all feels like a surreal dream or figment of my imagination, and i struggle to feel connected.

this was one of my main purposes for staying silent.  i wasn't sure how to talk about it without sounding cold or callous, though i didn't feel either of those.  i can only describe it as calm acceptance of what is, and the knowledge that my fears of "no more kids during grad school!" had been temporarily washed away.

before my pregnancy with june, and since then, we've been doing what we can on our side of things to prevent.  we jokingly said we were going to name june Three Percent, because those were the odds we had been facing when i held the positive pregnancy test in my hand.  it was obvious to me that i was clearly not in control of this situation, as much as i wanted to be.

last week, i found myself in the same boat.  drained and nauseous, sore and hyper-sensitive to smells.  i was on a work trip, and began counting backwards in weeks, my suspicions mounting.  once the idea was there, i just knew.  there was no denying it.

while i was away i was receiving daily updates from ben about his school situation, regarding whether or not he was going to be allowed to apply for next year's internship.  i could hear in his voice he was devastated and frustrated, and hadn't really wanted to tell him over the phone anyway, so i waited to say anything.

once i was home and he and i were alone to talk, we both tried to wrap our minds around what this meant for our family.  we fell asleep holding hands, a reminder we were in this journey together.

on saturday afternoon, the pain hit, one i had felt once before.  it increased as the sun went down and i lay in bed trying to find a comfortable position.  i told ben about it and saw the worry on his face.  in the middle of the night, i was woken from the pain, and more.  i knew then it was official and lay back down.  the next 24 hours were miserable, and i stayed in bed as much as possible.

after the worst was over, i rose again, ready to face the emotions i expected were awaiting me. but like before, i only felt calm.  ben admitted to me he was sad, that the idea of another sweet little baby turning into a most-likely outspoken toddler turning into an excitable child was something he was looking forward to, though he also knew how difficult it would be.  i agreed with him, the idea of it all sounded wonderful.  it was the getting there that held my heart in the place of fear.

then, i was silently reminded of my theme for 2013, eradicating fear in my life.  if fear is what is holding me back from this opportunity, is it enough of a reason anymore?  this wasn't a new job or a big move, or making myself sing a solo in front of a crowd.  could i really take a leap of faith this big?


i do not know the answers, yet.  i do know i needed to write about these experiences, if only to hold myself accountable--the words a tangible reminder of a promise i made to myself. maybe the beginning of this year was only preparation for getting me to the place at the end of it where i could let down my wall of "no more kids during grad school!"

and instead, embrace the idea of giving up control ruled by fear, leaving me open to beautiful possibilities.

north carolina, day 6....on Bakers Mill Road.

we left the beach to head back to durham, and had a few hours before we were meeting others for dinner, so we decided to take a stroll down memory lane and drive past the group home we had once managed.

we passed the Food Lion, where we used to grocery shop with the teenagers, and shopped at the mall where one of the clients ran away from me for a few hours.  that was a terrifying day, let me tell you.  i had to get security involved to help me find her, and was panicking with the thought of the phone call i was going to have to make to her mother, telling her that i couldn't find her 10-year-old daughter.

once she was finally found, she knew she was going to lose all of her privileges when we returned to the home, so i had to endure an hour long temper tantrum, standing among a crowd of strangers all fresh from Christmas, innocently enjoying their day off, while she screamed curse words at me with mucus running down her nose and into her mouth.  as firm as i tried to stand during that afternoon, and as calm as i attempted to look, inside i was shaken.  

we kept driving, passing the elementary school we had visited for reasons no one should ever have to visit an elementary school.  as we turned down Bakers Mill Road, i was brought back to the different life i had lived. i had driven up and down this street more times than i could count, the wheels of the group home van rolling over the pavement as we went to and from one therapy appointment to the next, tensely gripping the steering wheel while taking one of the clients to the hospital, going to church and praying for them to make it through the 3 hours without losing it, on our way to one of the schools to pick up a teenager who was expelled for attempting to kill the vice principal with a stapler {true story}.

we pulled up to the house, which was now just a home for a family.  i wanted to run up the stairs and throw open the front door, inhaling to see if the scent that used to turn my stomach was still there, to see if the piano she had stood and jumped on while screaming the F-word was still there, to look for the patch-jobs on the walls from the multiple holes that had been punched in them were still there, to see if the office door with the glass squares that had been broken while i was just inches away was still there.  i wanted to see if the upstairs bedroom that had become a sanctuary for my then-family of 3 was still Bracing Blue, the color ben and i had loved so much and picked out together.

i wanted to know how life could be lived differently in that home-- without the anxiety, stress and fear i had attached to it.  i wanted this house to lose its power over me.

i held my hand out of the window, taking a picture of the brick and the green with my phone.  as we slowly drove back down the tree-lined street, i thought of the last time i had looked at the house in the rearview mirror, finished with our year contract, already a day behind schedule from a faulty moving company, frantic to get on the road and taste the peace of just our family again.

this time as we drove i only felt content. i knew how much i had changed from those experiences, from that year, and i realized as we turned off of Bakers Mill Road that the memories i had were just that now.  moments of my life, not what defined it.  i had kept the good with me, and left the hard and traumatic within those walls.

the house that was no longer a group home had already lost its power.

we arrived at dinner, meeting up with our bosses, co-workers and friends--part of the small group that helped us to not lose ourselves during those 12 months.  it was so great to get caught up on the changes that had taken place in the 5 years since we'd last seen them.  i remember the loneliness--i had no friends outside of them, no social outlet, aside from them.  i'm grateful for their support, the kind that can only come from someone who has lived that life.  that was the year i started blogging, desperate for a way to reach to the outside world.  

which brings us full circle, i guess....blogging about when i began blogging. it's funny to me how life can do this, showing you shadows of yourself just from a drive down a familiar street and dinner with familiar faces.

our last night in north carolina was a meaningful one for me, and the perfect way to end our visit.

north carolina, day 3. the wedding.

the wedding was beautiful, and fun.... and yes i cried.  i couldn't help it!  the song that played when carmella was walking down the aisle was absolutely beautiful.

also?  i looked like a complete fool walkingslashdancing up the aisle.  we were asked to "get our hips into it" and i tried my hardest to get my groove on, but my attempts were ridiculous, and ben has the video footage to prove it.  oh well.

carmella's husband and all of the family there were so warm and welcoming to us, we felt like we fit right in.  i love that, and made a conscious thought to myself to work harder to be this way with others.  after the wedding everyone danced, and ben and i were no exception.  let me say, we did not have the moves that everyone else seemed to have, and we laughed at ourselves the majority of the time.  but we let go, and it was fabulous.

after the reception, we took off for the beach!



here, are the pictures from the wedding.

north carolina, day 2.

we woke up late, got lost several times trying to find a place to eat, ate breakfast when everyone else was eating lunch, and started on our 2 hour drive to make it in time for the wedding rehearsal and dinner.

i read to ben, one of our favorite things to do together {or was on our pre-kid road trips}, and couldn't stop staring out of the windows at all of the green.  i know i've vented quite a bit about life in arizona, and i've searched--and found--beauty here, but my soul needs green.  i felt myself coming more alive just being close to it.

we were excited to see carmella again, she was our right-hand lady at the group home, who was there with us from beginning to end.  we honestly couldn't have made it through that year without her, she brought a hilarious sense of humor mixed with a no-nonsense attitude and by the end of our time together, we considered her family.  i was so honored when she asked me to be a bridesmaid.

after the wedding rehearsal, ben and i split up--me going with the other bridesmaids and carmella to get our nails did--ben joining the groom and groomsmen for a movie.  then we drove back to our hotel and went to sleep.  pretty non-eventful, but a fun, relaxing day nonetheless.

an offering.

“Behind every flinch is a fear or an anxiety - sometimes rational, sometimes not. Without the fear, there is no flinch. But wiping out the fear isn't what's important - facing it is.” 

― Julien Smith, The Flinch

a few nights ago, i had a dream.

the fact that i can still remember it in detail is nothing short of miraculous.  i've been so sleep-deprived lately that the second my eyes hit the pillow i'm out and don't recall a thing that goes on between the hours of being still and when my eyes are forced awake by my children and daylight.  with this one, i could almost hear my subconscious whispering to me that there was an actual point of it, and i needed to focus and find its significance.

it was the same scene, over and over again.  i was walking down a dark street with two loved ones who continually changed throughout the dream, but each time i felt comforted by their presence.  we turned toward a small building, climbed a few stairs, and i unlocked the door.  i can still hear the keys jingling as i type.  inside was a small, dark foyer, with a short hallway that led to another door, obviously to another person's apartment.  to the left was a long staircase, leading up to where i knew the door to my apartment would be.

at first glance the dark foyer looked empty, but when i began to walk toward the stairs, i saw movement come out of the shadows of the small hallway on the right.  it was a grey wolf, lean with hunger, its shoulder blades protruding as it steadily walked toward me, yellow eyes glowing and never leaving my face, its mouth open in a snarl.

i was terrified.  and so, it seemed, were the two with me.  we ran screaming from the building, slamming the door behind us just as the wolf lunged for the doorknob.

suddenly i was transported back to the beginning on the street, walking again toward the apartment building.  this time i knew the wolf was there waiting for me.

each time i relived the scene in my dream, i would try something new.  i'd pick up a stick along the way before i reached for my keys to open the door, prepared for a fight.  or make a break for it and run for the stairs as fast as i could to escape the wolf.  the scene would play out to just before the wolf could catch and devour me, then it would immediately cut, and start over again.

each time, i was abandoned by the two people accompanying me, fleeing out the door to leave me to my own devices.  sometimes they were friends, sometimes they were family members, sometimes they were ben and another, sometimes they were my own children.  i changed roles; cowering to be protected, then wrapping my arms around to be the protector, then searching for an ally to team with me.   the emotions i felt with the scene vacillated depending upon who i was with, but there were two that remained constant, regardless of the changing details:

fear, and panic.

have you ever been able to watch other parts of your dream continue, even though you're not physically there, like you're watching a movie and you've just become a character in it?

as the dream went along, i could see myself and the two people with me enter the apartment building, then see them run screaming out of the front door, leaving me standing inside.  they would scream all the way down the front steps, stop, turn around, and silently wait.

without my character in the dream knowing, i realized they were part of a plan--a test, for me.  they walked through the door knowing the wolf was there waiting.  they also knew the wolf was actually someone in disguise.  in fact, it was someone i loved deeply.

i didn't know this, however, and became increasingly frustrated as time and again i found myself back out on the dark street, approaching what seemed to be my apparent doom with the wolf.  i couldn't find a way out of the puzzle and started to suspect, even while still in the dream, that there was a lesson i was supposed to be learning.  a way out of the repetitive.

after opening the door time and again, finally something clicked and i knew what i needed to do.

i walked up the stairs, this time with one of my nieces on one side and a nephew on the other.  my hand trembled as i turned the keys.  the door creaked as it opened, spilling a small patch of light from the street lamp outside onto the dark floor.  as i took a step inside, i told my niece and nephew they needed to leave, i needed to do this alone.  they silently turned and walked out the door.

i was so afraid that my breathing became shallow, my heart beating so loudly i could feel the pulse in my head.  i took another step toward the darkness where i knew the wolf was waiting for me, my legs shaking as i walked.  i could hear the sound of the its paws scraping lightly on the floor and the low growl from its chest as it approached.  two yellow eyes were only a foot away from me, staring.  i wanted to scream, run, or do something besides stand there, but i couldn't.  i was paralyzed in fear, knowing it was going to kill me.

the wolf opened its mouth again in a snarl, and leaned back into its hind legs as if it were preparing to spring.  i winced, but my feet did not budge.  instead, i slowly raised a trembling arm up toward its open mouth.  it was not done as a surrender, it was an offering.  i knew i was going to face pain like i had never experienced before, and as terrified as i was of it, i knew i needed to lean into it instead of run away or try to fight it.  i knew there was no other way.

the wolf looked at me one more time before focusing its gaze on my extended arm, widening its mouth and chomping down.  in the dream, i screamed.

as it bit me, the wolf's form suddenly changed.  the hair on its body disappeared, turning to peach colored flesh.  paws became hands and feet, legs and arms lengthened.  and a human face began to appear while still sinking its teeth into my arm.

i realized as i watched this transformation happen that i couldn't feel pain.  i gasped as i began to recognize who had been disguising themselves as the wolf.  the lights in the apartment foyer turned on, and all around me i heard applause and cheering.  i looked around and saw my loved ones there with me, smiling at me as they clapped.

once the wolf was completely gone, the person stood and embraced me, wrapping their arms tightly as they said softly in my ears, "you did it!  i knew you could.  i'm so proud of you."  i smiled and leaned into them, hugging them back.

i had passed the test.

then, i woke up.

shedding the weight.

{one of my new favorite treats--frozen fruit in almond milk}

about 8 years ago when we were living in rexburg, my friend andrea, my mom and myself went to a few classes offered for BYU-Idaho's education week.  our curiosity was peaked by one that was specifically targeted for using the gospel to help with weight loss.  we sat down in the back of the classroom, opened up our scriptures and notebooks, waiting to hear the secrets of dropping pounds that the speaker would bestow upon us.  

within 5 minutes, we were each looking at each other, snickering and rolling our eyes. 15 minutes into the class, we quietly snuck out of the back doors.  once we were out, we started talking about how ridiculous the lady teaching sounded, directing us that when we desired to eat a cookie, to reach past the cookie to pick up our scriptures and "feast upon the word" instead, asking ourselves, what am i hungry for?  how can i fill myself up spiritually and emotionally rather than physically?

feeling she was quite possibly insane, we dismissed the 15 minutes of her lecture.  

when mama wants a cookie, she's gettin' a cookie!  i thought to myself.  sidenote:  sometimes i call myself 'mama.' 

well,  i get to eat a piece of humble pie, pun intended.  one made of leaks and kale and other leafy greens.

because today i am 30 pounds lighter than i was at this same time, last year.  

i didn't do this with pills, or surgery, or an addiction to green tea or caffeine.  it has come off slowly, sometimes the scale going back up before it's gone down again.  it started when i decided to finally do something about my addiction to sugar.  it was something i can say i really REALLY didn't want to do, because oh how i love my sugar.  it's been my best friend for...about 30 years or so.  but my best friend was only offering me outside comfort and immediate gratification instead of long-lasting nutrition and deep-down fulfillment.  

so last march, i decided to go off of refined sugars for 40 days.  i wanted to do it to prove to myself i could.  i have never touched alcohol, smoking or drugs in my entire life--the main reason being that i didn't want to put something into my body that could control me.  where i could wake up the next day and not remember things, or have details become fuzzy...that thought scared me.  not to mention i had raging addicts on both sides of my family, i knew i was probably predispositioned to head down the same destructive path.

and yet even without those other substances, i realized i was an addict of the worst form--the one who was in denial--feeling i was the exception to the rule.  i could walk the line, eating whatever i wanted, whenever i wanted to without repercussions.  in fact, diets made me angry and i stood in judgement of those who were perpetual dieters.  i didn't want to live that way, constantly depriving myself of the things i wanted in order to have a smaller waistline so i could feel better about myself.  i wanted to either love and embrace my body just the way it was, or to have an amazing body and lightning fast metabolism because i just did, like some of the friends and family i had around me.  like a 2 year old with a temper tantrum, inside i was yelling it's not fair!   to prove to myself how unfair it was, i ate sugar wherever and whenever i wanted to, and lied to myself that it was all in the name of "loving and accepting my body" when it really never was that.  

the truth is, i just didn't want to admit i was out of control.  

but last year, i had a moment when something inside told me that i had been fooling myself all along.  maybe before that moment i hadn't been ready to see it, ready to admit that i had a problem.  

i made my announcement publicly, wanting witnesses to help hold myself accountable.  those 40 days were surprisingly easy and surprisingly hard.  easy in the way that i realized i actually could say no to my best friend without feeling guilty.  guilt became replaced with empowerment.  the hard part was realizing just how addicted i actually was.  there were days when i would see something sugary in the cupboards or on the counter and i would obsess about it.  i could not get it out of my head for hours, sometimes days.  then i would get mad again, realizing just how much it was consuming my thoughts.  

and the ironic thing is?  when the obsessive thoughts got really bad....i reached for spiritual or emotional outlets.  whether it was through prayer or calling a friend, or emotionally investing more into my kids and husband.  by reaching out in this way, i found myself on the other side of obsession. i also did affirmations and wrote some of the most emotionally difficult blog posts during this time.  

so i guess that lady in rexburg knew what she was talking about so many years ago.  during the 40 days i lost 8 pounds.  

after it was over, i celebrated with a homemade chocolate chip cookie i had frozen and saved for myself for just this moment.  i didn't want to have to live completely without sugar for my entire life, but instead wanted to find a way to balance it without letting it take control of me again.

since that time i have done another 30 day sugar fast, for the same reasons as the first time.  to keep myself in check after my willpower lost all power during the holidays.  

i still love sugar, and still consume it, but it's in much smaller quantities and i'm constantly checking my emotional state when i'm eating it, searching to see if there's something else i'm avoiding while replacing it for a quick fix of physical satisfaction.

so i'm sitting here, typing this, 30 pounds lighter than i was this january of last year.  i can now see how much losing emotional weight coincides with the losing the physical. the emotional weight came first--fighting to gain control over my thoughts, actions and addictions, becoming vulnerable with not only myself but also publicly, continuing to work on codependency and self-worth issues with loving affirmations and positive thoughts.  

the shedding has taken both emotional and physical work, but today i'm sitting in jeans that are 4 sizes lower than what i was this time last year, and like myself a lot more too. the emotional shedding came first, and in my personal opinion is the one that matters most, because i was healing from the inside out.  but honestly, both feel amazing.

packed.

it's only monday and this week is already going by too fast.  is that even possible?  maybe it's my tendency to pre-stress about what's ahead, wanting it all to go smoothly.  a lot of good things, but just a lot, coming from someone who likes to run a low profile most of the time.

we're starting caleb in baseball tomorrow and we're all pretty excited about it.  this is one sport that might come easily for him, we play a lot of it in the backyard and he's great at hitting the ball....we'll see how the rest goes.

leah's birthday is on wednesday, and that day is packed full, starting with a field trip with her preschool to a dairy farm, then taking she and a couple of her friends to the aquarium, then dinner, presents and cake with the family.  the only thing she's put in a request for is dolphin cupcakes for her field trip and a my little pony cake for her party.  i think she's on a secret mission to cramp my brilliant idea of a store-bought birthday.

thursday i'm going to meet up with some family for lunch, and then somewhere in between these extra things along with the usual, i need to do laundry and pack because on friday afternoon i fly out to the lovely city of provo, utah!  i'm so excited about the weekend, to spend time with my sister and to meet my new nephew {who is doing much better, home from the NICU last week}.  i'm using allegiant airlines, which i initially thought was going to be so much less expensive...that is until i had to pay for my seat both ways and all of the luggage i'm bringing with me, it sure added up quickly.  sneaky.

anyway, here are a few more pictures from a rainstorm a couple of weeks ago.  we've had more rain this winter than i can remember since we've lived here--and a snowstorm last week!--and the kids {and I} have been in heaven.  our backyard turns into massive puddles and i spend most of my time trying to keep june from lapping up the water on the ground like a little puppy.

my goal to get through this week and keep it all together is to get to bed at a decent time.  is 11 pm decent for anyone else?  for me it's nothing short of a miracle.

i've been up late every night for the past 3 weeks or so working on something that i'm excited about, but won't share yet.   there is something to the "out of my comfort zone" theme for 2013.  so far it's pushed me to do things i normally wouldn't have the hootspa to even consider, let alone actually DO.

karaoke, for one:

{singing "somebody to love" with clancy.  the expression on my face here kills me, it looks like i'm in pain, i'd like to think it was taken when i was belting out a high note and just really 'getting into it.'}

yep, it happened.  i was terrified, even though i was singing to a bunch of drunk people at a bar at 1 o'clock in the morning who i knew i'd most likely never see again.  i was still terrified.

which just reminded me that i've never written about my weekend with rachel and clancy!  so like me...sigh.  another time, i'm supposed to be in bed in 28 minutes and need to wrap up this random post.

wishing you a fantastic week!

finding the worth of a soul. {on mormon feminism and wearing THOSE PANTS!!}

I grew up feeling unequal and unworthy.  Feeling less than.  

Was it unequal specifically to men?  No, the inadequacy I felt had no boundaries, did not differentiate between race, color, gender, religion.  It was all encompassing and all-consuming.  

I have mentioned before that I also grew up believing that God's unconditional love did not apply to me.  That somehow I was missed, skipped over unnoticed, or did not deserve it.  I mention this again to talk about a different aspect of the places of my life--specifically in my LDS religion--where this idea and belief was affected.  

My religion is thick with culture.  One of my friends in high school was not Mormon and I remember his religion being the topic of conversation once, or maybe twice a year.  On Christmas and then occasionally on Easter.  This wasn't because we weren't open to talking about it, but more because these were the only times he would actually talk about attending his church.  As a young girl, I couldn't grasp the concept that religion did not mean giving of your entire life to dedicate to it.  Sundays were sacred and focused specifically on God and Jesus--whether it was attending a meeting to talk about Him, or following up those hours after the meetings to listen to music about Him, read articles and books written about Him, and spend the day thinking and doing as He did.  And it didn't stop on Sundays.  Throughout the week I attended family activities, meetings, and group service projects.  What I'm saying is this: as a Mormon, the religion becomes a way of life.

I also grew up fearing God.  Don't get me wrong, I think a little dose of God-fear can do a soul some good, but I took it to a place of unhealthy.  I was raised in a very black and white world:  don't consume alcohol, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't have sex before you get married.  No rated R movies, don't date until you're 16, and moderation in all things.  Forgive 70 times 70, turn the other cheek, strive for perfection.  Wear skirts to the knees, one-piece swimming suits, and no swearing.  The list continues on.  I believed that if I--or anyone that I associated with--went against any of these rules, that it meant they were bad.  Naughty.  Rotten to the core.  The black sheep.  

And that...obviously...I, or they, would be disappointing God and he would no longer love or bless the sinner if there was any sort of rebellion against any of these expectations. I remember consciously thinking this about myself or others around me if we strayed, even just for just a small fraction of time.  

I know that this way of thinking is what fed upon my already planted seed of shame and unworthiness. Combined with other circumstances in my life, it is what created the perfect storm to attempt to squash the thread of self-worth that I was so desperately clinging onto, destroying it to become almost obsolete.  

When I finally came to the end of my frayed, self-deprecating rope, I had the choice to dig myself out.  But that meant truly finding a self-worth that was not built upon the often dangerous and even more often--faulty--opinions of others.  It was a heart-wrenching process, and caused somewhat of an identity crisis for a while.  

There has been a lot of talk of Mormon Feminism around these parts lately.  Now there is a growing number of women who are ready to show their feminism by wearing pants to church on Sunday.  From what I have read and researched, it appears there are many Mormon women who feel they have been dealt with unjustly, and they are tired of it.  They are demanding equality!  Respect!  For someone to finally stand up and say they have worth by allowing them to bless, ordain, hold specific callings, and pray over a pulpit!  To band with other women who feel this way and not feel alone anymore!

And, from what I gather, they want to see tangible results, not just hear someone say it.  But for it to be proven to them, in the form of:

-being able to hold the priesthood, along with other callings that are currently only held by men of the church
-going on a mission for a full 2 years instead of 18 months, and being allowed to leave on that mission at the same age as the young men leave
-feeling supported when they choose to work outside the home instead of rear children
-not feel labeled as a failure if they are un-married or child-less
-being allowed to say a prayer over the pulpit during General Conference
-balancing the budget between male and female extra-curricular groups and events so that it is the same amount for both sides

I know there are countless others, these are just the main points I've heard/read repeatedly.

Now.  I can't recall any specific times in my life where I have actually felt from another member of my religion that women are not worth as much as men.  I didn't have a traumatic experience where I was yelled at and told that I was less than by a male member of my ward.  I didn't look upon men in callings of authority as above me and all other females.  I just didn't.  

I understand though, there are women who have had those experiences, and I don't take them lightly.  I don't say, "just get over it" to them, even if I haven't felt their specific pain.  Pain is pain, and should be treated as such, regardless of whether I deem it pain-worthy or not.  

I have been in many situations where I was told by both actions and words of an individual that I was not worth much.  Not directed toward all women, but me in particular.  So I know the feeling, I know the pain, and I know what it does to someone's spirit when they actually believe the lies of their worth that are told to them by someone who is inflicting hurt.  

But what I feel about this Mormon Feminism wave, that seems to be gathering more and more force as it continues to progress, is this:

no one can define your worth for you except for you and God.

And whether or not you're granted the priesthood some day, or your mission is extended 6 months, or you're praised for your career choice outside of the home, or there is a parade thrown for you with every single member of your ward attending because you're unwed and not a mother, or you get the phone call from one of the higher-ups, requesting for you to pray during the Spring Session of conference next week, or you get to go on a boating excursion with the new and improved budget....

Those things may provide a temporary relief from your pain, but it will not cure it.  

I have come to know this in a very personal way.  Because it didn't matter how many times someone told me I was beautiful.  Or how many times someone's actions or words said that I had earned--and deserved--their love, or the various ways that I was shown and told that I was good and did have actual worth, 

those good experiences did not cure me because I did not believe it.

I chose to instead believe the ugly lies and thoughts and actions of the imperfect people who told me the opposite.  But guess who's fault that was?  Not the abuser's, not the disgusting pig of a boyfriend, not the teacher's or the bishop's or the prophet's....

It was mine.  My choice to believe it.  My choice to let it fester inside, and build and cause anger and bitterness with tentacles that reached and created,

a victim.  

Which in turn, led to a great struggle.  The tiny slice of my self-worth that was still in there, the last shred of my dignity began to fight this self-loathing victim.  It scratched and screamed and clawed and decided to finally DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT TO MAKE SOMEONE SEE THAT I HAD WORTH!!

When really, the only person who needed to see it and recognize it, 

was me.  

But it worked. This soul-wrenching temper tantrum.  In an extremely painful way...it worked.  I was brought to my knees, and found myself begging God to help me see my way through it and start to truly love myself for the first time.  To rid my spirit of the shame and loathing, to rip the tentacles from my heart and thoughts so I could see a glimpse of clarity for the first time in my life.  Looking back now, almost 3 years down the road from then, I am no longer

a victim.  

The great thing about choosing, even if at first you choose unwisely, you can always change your mind and choose a different path. 

Truthfully, for a while I did have to separate my way of thinking from the culture of my religion.  I didn't stop going to church, but as I walked through the double doors, I began shedding the skin of the little girl who believed she was unworthy if she made a mistake, or didn't live up to the "potential" of what the culture told her she needed to.  The imperfect culture and imperfect people of the church truly give it such a bad name, and a hard reputation to defend sometimes. 

As I shed that skin, my heart ached to find a world inside of this religion that was no longer black and white, right and wrong, good and bad.  Whether it could be defined as "gray" or not I don't know, all I knew was that I wanted to be able to see past another's actions and find their worth, regardless of their choices, because I needed so badly to see my own.

And I believe that I am finding it.  I am a member of this church because I believe in its principles, its doctrine {including all of it, that depicts our different responsibilities as men and women},and that deep-down, underneath all of its layers of imperfection...is love.  My testimony of its truth has never been more solid, and continues to grow daily in its solidarity. I no longer care whether someone comes to church as a homosexual individual, a pot-smoking individual, a pornography-addicted individual, a Mormon feminist, an unmarried individual, or a two-piece bathing-suit-owner.  Let them come and sit by me and know that I love them and am not there to judge them or burn a scarlet letter into their chest, just as much as I'm not there for their approval..... or for the male leader's approval, or for my husband's approval, or for the relief society president's approval. 

I am not there for anyone's approval,

only to worship my God.

I no longer live my life for anyone's approval.  The small and seemingly insignificant choices that I make daily, and the larger, more life-altering choices that I make in the grand scheme of things are made because they are what I believe is good for me, and bringing me happiness.  They're no longer made out of shame or fear.  

My worth as a child of God has nothing to do with which responsibilities I do or do not hold, or which callings I do or do not serve in, or whether or not I wear a dress or pants to church.  

God speaks to me now-- daily in fact, if I am listening.  There has been a peace that has come into my heart I have never had before, and I have become a vessel of his. I believe I would be this regardless of my gender, even regardless of which church I belonged to. I believe I would still have the potential to reach this as long as the way I am living my life is inside of truth for me.  As his vessel, when I am open and in tune, I have had the ability to reach those who have been unreachable.  I have had the ability to hear His words meant for others and have Him speak through me.  I do not need to lay my hands upon their head to know it, the words have simply been spoken to me to speak to another.  I also know that when there is no priesthood authority close and I am in need of His voice, or His blessing, or His comfort, I can kneel down and ask for the powers of heaven, and it will be there.

I know not everyone is at this place in their life, and maybe this movement is going to be a piece of getting them closer to achieving it, who knows?  

I have taught, and continue to teach, my children about the "fairness" game.  If they are constantly comparing themselves to another--feeling "less than" and yelling about how this isn't fair or that isn't--I teach them this feeling has nothing to do with anyone or anything outside, but only from the inside.  Insecurities, comparison, jealousy....they all spring from a lack of self-worth, when you really get down to it.  

So I guess what I recommend is asking yourself, while pulling on your church clothes this Sunday, one leg at a time is....

Is this just a cry for someone, anyone {even if it's for yourself}, to recognize and finally acknowledge your worth?  

I don't know....I can't speak for those planning on doing it.  I could be way off base here, and I'm open to the idea that I might be.  Maybe it really is just about women wearing their pain on the outside instead of the inside.  To prove to themselves that they matter, that their pain matters.  But if it were, why does church have to be the forum for that? I definitely have written about my own individual pain, and found outlets to talk about it and own it and show it and mourn it and I didn't have to read it over the pulpit in testimony meeting.  I didn't call my offenders to the forefront and demand change.  As I changed, and healed, the need to bring about my idea of justice and balance and equality to those offenders faded.  It was no longer needed, because I no longer defined myself from the opinions of anyone but me and my Father in Heaven. 

That doesn't mean that another individual's way of working through something is wrong. You want to wear pants?  It's going to help ease your burden, heal some of your wounds?  Then go right ahead.  And I think if I had read an article where one lady had done it and what it signified to her, and how it helped her overcome something, I would be standing up and applauding for her.  It just feels strange that the women who feel this way seem to be unable to voice it individually.  Why the need for a big group support moment?

It just feels like it's more than about being vulnerable and you've been through hard things and you're no longer afraid of showing it on the outside.  Because I believe deep down, that if that's truly what this was about, I would be able to feel that and run to start putting on my own pair of jeans.  But it's coming across to me more like a situation where there's safety in numbers, and hopping on a bandwagon, and proving something, which then eradicates the vulnerability aspect in my eyes and makes me question the sincerity behind the intent.  

I feel like if you really do already know your worth, you don't need to do or wear anything to prove it to someone else.

And I know that, because I have lived through it.