Trying.

This was a trying day.

In more ways than one.

It was a day for “trying” on clothes.
It was a day for “trying” to hold back tears.
It was a day for “trying” not to hate what I kept seeing in the mirror.
Or “trying” not to hate anyone who’s ever made clothes in the history of clothes making.
“Trying” to stop thinking that I needed to quit eating altogether. To stop thinking that life was easier when I just never ate. Or never ate the RIGHT way.

It was. It was fun to shop. Everything fit. I had a closet and dressers and boxes and shelves filled with clothes that fit. I was known for losing a ton of weight- and keeping it off.

My life was predictable. AS LONG as I lived the same way. Every day:
Lots of lettuce (like a head for each meal). Lots of popcorn (1-2 bowls- BIG bowls a night). Lots of cardio (at least 1 hour hardcore or 2 hours of walking).
A change in a meal meant that I had to starve myself or put in extra time on the elliptical. It didn’t matter if my knees hurt so bad I thought they were going to collapse. It didn’t matter if I was getting lightheaded. It was my only choice.

BUT- now I have more Freedom:
My workouts take 20-30 minutes, and a bonus walk/yoga sesh as time allows. I go out randomly to eat with friends more. I eat at people’s houses now. I don’t need special meals. Way less food/exercise anxiety, dread, and trepidation. I no longer believe that one meal, or even one bite of food… or one workout is going to ruin my life as I truly once did.

And with any “freedom,” there is a “price:” days like today. As I tried on failure after failure in the dressing room, I began to hate myself. The mean voices started telling me that I suck. It doesn’t matter how much I can lift if I’m still unable to get a shirt over my hips. It doesn’t matter how balanced my eating is if I’m still buying clothes way bigger than I’ve had to in almost 14 years.

 

Total mindf***, and a deep seeded, gulity feeling that I should wear a shirt that says, “Yes. I’ve gotten fat.”

By the time I left the dressing room, I resolved that I would just have to go back to not eating. Back to killing my joints. Back to socially isolating myself. Back to food and exercise anxiety. So. Damn. Much. Fun.

NOT.

I’m “trying” to get my body right. Now I need to keep “trying” to make my mind to catch up. I haven’t loved the person in the mirror for a long, LONG time. Even at my skinniest I was still mad at the loose skin- the saggy, pouchy, stretch-mark-stained loose skin. I was mad at my gigantic legs dotted with varicose veins. I was mad that the scale would sometimes I gained a pound in a matter of an hour (yes, I weighed myself A LOT).

Now I am “trying” to take my life back.
First it was drowning myself in food.
Then it was drowning myself in scales and numbers.
And now? Now I think I’m finally trying to live my life.

Am I perfect? Hell no. NOT trying.
I mean if I was, I imagine I’d be like all the other moms in leggings on the playground. Because they definitely have it all figured out, right?

Finding Face

Having a baby is a GAME CHANGER.
Your identity is different.
Your purpose is different.
Your focus is different.
Your schedule is different.
Your shape is different.
Your relationships are different.
Your appearance is different.
Your interests are different.

Seriously. Everything changes. Some good, some challenging, some hard. But you don’t enter and exit the ring of motherhood the same person.

It’s hard to swallow and appreciate all that change. All that “different”. But it’s necessary and inevitable.

So what do you do when the dust settles and your left with pieces?

This is one of the hardest things I’ve encountered since we added a +1 to our family. Sleepless nights and getting the hang of breastfeeding and endless crying is rough, but they end. (Hopefully.) Your confidence grows, your nipples callous, and you figure that little person out.

But finding YOU again? That nagging longing relentlessly sticks around and tugs at you.

How do you figure this new YOU out?
Well… You keep trying.
Modify the old to fit the new.

I started with walking. I knew how well that calmed my restless heart. I added in reading while walking to change it up from trying to distract myself with TV every time. (Sometimes there is seriously nothing on and then 5 minutes feels like 5 days.)
Reading left an itch in me to start writing again. I’ve been a writer for several years, dating back to my crushes and broken hearts over a decade ago. At one time I was writing for 4 blogs. It became a chore more than a joy, so I stopped them all. Took the air out of the tires.

I started scribbling stuff shortly after the baby was here, but felt a strong desire to talk about my experience a few weeks in. I’m not the first to do this. I’m not the first to have my experiences. I’m not the first to share my experiences. But I am the only one who can tell the story from my perspective with my words.

If you’re a new Mom or going through any major change and the dust is settling, look around and gather your pieces. Listen to that little voice. Try to dabble until you find what fills your tank again (besides chocolate and wine). You owe it to yourself and everyone around you.

Happy Searching!