The Skinny…

For most of my 30-some-odd years I have been thin. It came naturally to me. As a young girl in grade school my mom would often take me to the doctor for a health checkup because I was so skinny. His questions to her were always the same:

“Does she eat well?”

“Yes. Quite a bit actually.”

“Is she active?”


“She’s fine.”

Whereas heavier girls were self-conscious about their weight, I was self-conscious about mine. I wore sweatshirts in the summer throughout grade school, junior high and high school just to cover my skinny arms. Slouch socks, luckily in style at the time, hid my extremely tiny ankles. I drank protein shakes in high school to gain weight and was actually a whoppin’ 92 lbs for prom because of them–not that I filled my dress out anyway. Thanks to my small weight, I only qualified for a trainer bra until college, and then only wore an AA (yes, they actually exist. They are smaller than an A). I wore little girls’ clothes because they fit better than the smallest offered juniors’ size. I couldn’t even donate blood.

So, ladies, the grass is in fact NOT greener on the other side.

By college, I put on my freshmen fifteen and actually became an appealing lady to look at (in my own opinion). I was healthier looking because of the weight I had put on. It wasn’t because I tried. My metabolism simply slowed a bit. I had no idea how to diet nor exercise, really. I ate what I wanted and was as lazy as I wanted to be. Still I was small.

My depression changed that for me a little. I would get heftier in the winter months because I was so melancholy and chose to literally feed my depression spells. Of course, the weight would practically melt off me by the time bathing suit season came around–without me even lifting a finger.

And naturally, after having a few pregnancies under my belt, my weight has fluctuated in my 30’s.

So, here’s the skinny…

I’m not. Not anymore. I haven’t been for quite some time. Try two years. Does this line up with my divorce woes? Yes and no. When the actual divorce started going down, I chose to feed my depression, disappointment–and whatever else we may call it–with food.  But my divorce has been final for a year and a half, so now that it’s all been said and done… why am I still overweight?

I could give about fifty lame excuses, starting with the fact that I’m practically clueless as to how to get into shape. Realistically, however, we can’t deny the fact that information on weight loss and health is constantly at our fingertips. Just Google it. Not to mention the fact that we’ve been taught since kindergarten that eating right and exercise is the key to a healthy lifestyle and a healthy body. Granted, I’ve had a few pregnancies under my belt that have abused, exhausted, and stretched my body–and to be honest, I’d love to run that course one or two more times before I hit 45–but many women have been able to trim themselves down afterward. Maybe not immediately afterward and they may not ever recover their pre-pregnancy body again, but they still look fabulous.

So again, I ask… why am I still overweight?

It all boils down to willpower and how badly I want to be cute again. Sure, some of you may be venting a few evil whispers under your breath at me as you read this. She’s so vain! How superficial can this woman possibly be?! What about what’s inside? Not the outside!

I reiterate. I want to be cute again.

I sincerely can’t stand to look at myself any longer… and I practically want to cry when I see old photos of myself as a thinner woman.

I’m not ashamed of my insistence that I was cuter when I was thinner. It’s the truth how I see it and that’s all that matters really–isn’t that what all the “inner-beauty” blogs are saying? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking the message of loving yourself for who you are and disposing the titles of hatred like “fat” or “chubby”. Those are great messages and I believe my blog has touched on self love several times. Truth be told, I feel that the message of wanting to be thin is painted as a shallow goal. Heck, I can’t begin to tell you all how many times on our beloved Facebook that I’ve seen a quote supposedly made by Adele saying: “…my aim in life is to never be skinny.”

Adele’s got it all wrong, folks.

What kind of crap message is that? Her perspective on this issue is quite distorted if you ask me. Not only is the singer holding a cigarette–and I’m a  trained, professional vocalist… it’s UNHEALTHY–but she’s toting this “better than the skinny” attitude. In case she’s forgotten, there are quite a few  skinny vocalists who could sing circles around this girl. Being skinny doesn’t make you talented or smarter. Neither does being fat. I refuse to wave a flag for either side in that respect.

I’m downright frustrated with myself that I have let my weight get this far out of hand. Am I being shallow about it? Maybe, but who cares? It’s not because I see what Hollywood or my peers expect from me, it’s what I expect of me. I’m better than this.

And I couldn’t have picked a worse time in my life to be overweight and out of shape. I’m single again; this would be the time to try to stay thin. My face looks super chubby in pictures, so I rarely update my profile picture on Facebook from a “good one”. I am asked (almost on a daily basis) if I’m pregnant. I usually walk into work double-fisted with large mochas from the local coffee shop… and boy they are good! My clothes are dumpy looking. I wear ruffles, scarves, and layers to make me look thin, when in fact the whole get up just makes me appear as a fat girl trying to cover her fat. I’m not fooling anyone. I suck my stomach in as much as I can without passing out, and even then I still “look pregnant”. And we all know you can’t suck in your butt and thighs. Again, not fooling anyone. Oh! And my thighs rub together, giving me raw welts. It hurts.

I secretly get jealous of perfect strangers (women), even my middle sister, that are able to wear fashionable clothes or can wear shorts without worrying that their butt is hanging down to the backs of their knees.

But goes beyond just physical beauty. It’s my health at risk too! I’m aging because of it! I broke my foot 2 months ago and probably because I was so out of shape while I was hiking. I stomp through the house because the weigh is so heavy on my legs. Not to mention the spider veins & cellulite I promote on my chubby legs. More recently, my hip has been out of joint and all because I was wriggling into a pair of jeans I should have retired long before now. (So no, it had nothing to do with sex, but go ahead and continue thinking that it did if it’ll make you laugh.) My feet are sore every morning when I step out of bed because of the weight they bear, still tired from the battle of weight the day before.

My weight makes me extremely insecure about myself. No matter how much effort I put into a look–whether I’m trying to look cute, sexy, sporty, or professional–all I see and feel like is a fat, dumpy girl. I expect my boys and my boyfriend to be ashamed of how I look all the time, because I am ashamed of how I look all the time.

I don’t share this stuff lightly and I’m not fishing for sympathy, for I did this on my own. My hope is that others will read this and say, “Hey! That’s like me!” And if you are saying that, I say to you, “Today, is the start to a change in my life and I want you to join me in that change.”

No more enabling yourself. No more insecurity. No more shame. No more Caramel Popcorn or Ruffel’s Sweet & Smokin’ BBQ Chips!

The skinny girl has spoken.

I’m dieting. No fad diet. Not the 17 Day diet that my sister Jess has found success in. Not the low-carb diet that would absolutely kill me because all my favorite foods are completely forbidden in it. If you are anything like me, to have something totally off-limits to you, only spells failure. If I can’t have it or can’t do it… by God, I’ll have it AND do it. I’ll want it just that much more for the mad challenge. So, instead, I’m just cutting back proportions and guilty pleasures such as chips, mochas, margaritas, caramel popcorn,…. etc. I want to be thin and I’ll work for it, but I refuse to be downright miserable in the process. That’s no way to live.

I also started a 30 Day exercise class… which apparently is more of a 30 Day Shred.

All of this started today. So if you want to join me in this brutal journey, please do! I will be updating my progress as I go along. And just to be real (as horrific and ballsy as it is) today we measured ourselves and  these were my results:

Height: 5’3″

Weight: 150 lbs. (I weight THIS MUCH at the end of BOTH of my full-term pregnancies!!)

Chest: 37 1/2 inches

Waist: 37 inches (I knew a boob job would make me appear skinnier! Now I know why!)

Hips: 42 inches

Thigh: 24 inches

Bicep: 11 1/2 inches (and no, none of that is muscle.)

In one month, I don’t expect to look like I did in college or even before I had children… but I will feel fantastic and look fantabulous! And those around me will feel the same. They will love me no more nor less, but they will be happy for me.

Befriend me on at . We’ll do this together!!


The Virgin… Missy?

First a Disclaimer:

This Blog is probably rated R, so read at your own risk. It’s not intended to be filthy, but humorous, honest, and actually empowering.

Past and current “lovers” (for lack of better terms), there is no need to crawl under a rock and die yet. I’m not dropping any names or
“events”, “whispered sweet nothings”, or “sneezes”. (Yeah, I said sneeze.)

I was just telling my best friend yesterday that I wasn’t really inspired to post anything grande on this blog this week, so instead, I posted a short blurb about my latest writing project (“Releasing Kayleigh“) on my other blog, “I’m a Writer! When did that Happen?!”  I sincerely thought that by posting a vague update on my current inspiration for another book, I would complete that unwritten goal of mine to post every week. Nope. I woke up this morning dying to talk about sex!

Continue reading

An Independent, Independence Day?

Quickly approaching is my first major holiday and apparently, I’m going it completely solo. They call it Independence Day, and yet strangely, I don’t really want to be independent that day.

I have a few of my favorite holidays: Halloween, Christmas, Thanksgiving…. and the 4th of July. Looking over them, I realize that I enjoy the “kid-friendly” holidays the most. Maybe it’s my maturity level? Halloween, we get to dress up and eat candy – of course, I’m like a fat kid in a candy store when it comes to the horror movies. Christmas – TOYS!!! Thanksgiving is simply exciting because you’re with family and really, it’s a preview of Christmas – TOYS!!!! The 4th of July is to be filled with Sparklers, “ooohs” and “aaahhhhs”, barbecue, lake time, summer sun, parades…. and all of this is greatly provoked by children or friends.

Well this year, I have offered to let the boys be with the dad for the 4th because his family always has a big gathering in the countryside to shoot off a ton of fireworks. Plus, being a family business owner, it the ONLY day he has off. I refuse to hinder a solid relationship between my boys and their dad. That relationship is just as important as the one they have with me. Besides, I can spend the weekend before the 4th with my boys. I can spend the 4th with my friends….

Wait a minute. I don’t really have any friends.

I don’t want you to think I don’t have people to turn to, to talk to, and meet up with for lunches. I truly do! But for the last ten years of my life, I have had my husband, his family, my boys, and my family. The friendships I had acquired through the years were watered down to Facebook and Christmas cards. I no longer have girlfriends to have “Girls Night Out” with or to have weekend getaways with. Not that I expected to. When we settle down, we focus more on family instead of friends. The few friends we do keep are usually because they, too, are married and with kids about the same age as our kids. They all have families of their own now. Seldom do we actively stay in constant contact with our single friends with different goals and focuses.

So here I am, close to a week away from the 4th of July and no plans to speak of. Nothing to do. It is quite depressing to say the least. My children will be with their dad, my friends will be with their families. My family members will either do something with in-laws or with their family friends. I haven’t the foggiest idea as to what I will do. It’s not a romantic holiday, and yet I sense a loneliness if I don’t partake in some sort of celebratory event.

Do I ignore the holiday and call it an early night – sleep through its marvelous beauty and fun? Do I post on my Facebook wall that I haven’t any plans and want someone to take pity on me & invite me to their function? Or do I celebrate Independence Day independently?

This is the part of my journey that feels scary… and sad. But the last thing I want is pity because this was ultimately part of MY decision.