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A fat girl comes clean

September 3, 2014 by Jana 37 Comments

I’ve been going back and forth for awhile about sharing this but after reading some great posts on other blogs, it made me realize I stand to lose nothing by sharing and also, I’d be a bullshit blogger if I didn’t write about things like this. So here we go. And please bear with me as I wade through all of this. I’m going to try and make it as coherent as possible.

Confession: I am fat.

To look at me, you’d say I’m not but I see the number on the scale and I see the size tags on my clothes, and all of it tells me one conclusive fact.

I. Am. Fat.

It’s not like this is something new. I’ve been overweight as long as I can remember, save for a couple of years in my earlyish twenties where I was decidedly not fat (and when I was a kid but I have no recollection of those skinny years). That came after months of hard work and dieting and when I look at myself in the mirror (which, quite frankly, I only do if I absolutely have to), I can still see that almost thin girl trying to get through (if that reminds you of what John Bender says to Claire when he learns her name, that’s totally fine because that’s what went through my head as I wrote it) but in reality, it looks like the fat girl ate her. And her friend.

To say it’s depressing is an understatement.

The thing is, I know it’s my fault. I know how to put a fork down. I know how to close a bag of chips or not eat 14 brownies or have that second serving of whatever. Yet most times, I choose not to. I used to think I didn’t know why but I really do. I just wasn’t willing to admit it before now.

You see, being fat gives me an excuse to hide from all the things that make me nervous: new friends, new situations, being on stage (which I have to do in NOLA at the conference I’m going to), having people look at me. Staying fat means I don’t have to worry about trying to be a published writer or pursuing any other big dreams I have. It lets me hide from being successful; if I’m successful, people have to see me and then I open myself up to all sort of criticizing and condemning eyes.

The worst of which are my own.

Because if you’ve ever had a conversation with me, you know I’m my own worst critic. I’m also my own worst nemesis and if anyone ever said the things to me that I say to myself, we’d no longer be friends.

I’m that vicious.

You should know that I beat myself up about how I look pretty much daily. It’s as natural to me as breathing. It’s so ingrained in who I am that I genuinely don’t know how to stop. I’m pretty sure if I were thin again, I’d still do it. You see, once you have that version of “fat you”, no matter how much weight you lose, you still see yourself as fat. Even if you have all the empirical data to prove otherwise, what you see in the mirror doesn’t change because you can’t reconcile the new you with the fat you. Not without tons of hard work and maybe even a little therapy.

And the thing is, I know I’m not the only one. I know there are plenty of women out there (men, too), who do exactly what I do every single day. And like me, their self worth is completely contingent on what the scale says in the morning or how a certain shirt looks or if our pants can fit straight out of the dryer. Which is total bullshit because I know I’m a good person despite my weight. I care about people and animals and I recycle and I call my mother. I’m fun. I’m intelligent. I’m moderately talented. I practice good personal hygiene. Yet when I look in a mirror, I don’t see that. I don’t see all the good parts about me. And all the women like me ignore all the other good, amazing aspects about themselves, too.

We just see fat.

It needs to change.

Because feeling this crappy every single day, not because of comments from strangers or husbands or friends, but because of what we say to ourselves, well, that’s pretty much the worst feeling in the world.

So for all the fat girls out there who are unhappy and don’t know where or how to start feeling better, let me be your guinea pig. Let me work out all the kinks for you. Let me do something about it and share the experience with you so when you’re ready, you can learn from my mistakes. And let me be your support because honestly? I get it. Even if it seems like no one else understands or comprehends what you’re going through, please know that I do.

Because we’re the same.

But this journey is more than just losing weight. That’s actually the easy part. The hard part is changing my inner dialog. I need to stop berating myself daily. I need to acknowledge that who I am is not dictated by how I look. I need to stop being so hard on myself and start giving myself compliments (and accepting them from others), even if I have a bad day or week or even month. I need to accept that I am more than my weight. I need to believe am a good person despite the fact that maybe I’m not ideal on a chart.

And even if I never reach some arbitrary ideal weight, that’s okay. This whole thing is about me learning to be happy with me. It’s not for anyone else. It’s only for me.

And if that’s a little selfish, then so be it. I have to live with me for the rest of my life.

You might only have to look at me for a few minutes.

Linking up with Kathy and Liz

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Confession: I’m not supermom

August 27, 2014 by Jana 28 Comments

This post was supposed to go live on Monday but life got in the way. Better late than never, I suppose.

The last few weeks I’ve done some parenting confessions and this week is no exception. I didn’t think I had so much to confess as a parent but clearly I do so we’ll keep this train rolling until it falls off the tracks.

This week, I confess that I stopped trying to be supermom. As in, I don’t even try anymore. I turned in my cape and shield. And I’ve never been happier.

When my daughter was born, I had this notion in my head that I’d be the mom I’d been brainwashed to believe that I should be. I’d lose all the baby weight really quickly (ha! That’s a cruel ass joke. We’ll be diving into my weight issues in the next few weeks), I’d always look put together, my house would look Pinterest worthy (or whatever it was called in 2007, right after my daughter was born), I’d cook healthy meals, I’d be the classroom volunteer, and I’d be able to balance everything. My kid would always look supercute, I’d be organized, and I’d do all these fun crafts and projects and I’d look like the type of mom you read about on all those “I’m a perfect mom and you wish you were like me” blogs.

Which was insane of me to think. I am not that put together. If I got 2 of those done on any given day, I succeeded. But I had put so much pressure on myself to be the perfect mom that it led to some not so healthy behaviors, both physically and mentally. I’d beat myself up daily that the house was a disaster or I forgot to do laundry (again) or we had to get takeout (again) or I was a hot mess when I left the house. And we won’t even get into the mommy guilt about putting my daughter in daycare.

Actually, yes. We will.

>>>steps on soapbox<<< My daughter was a daycare kid. I had to work because the income I was earning far exceeded the cost of putting her in daycare. My family needed that money to, you know, eat and survive, and so I worked. I felt guilty for awhile, mostly as a result of people trying to make me feel like shit about it. Then I realized they didn’t live my life and if they weren’t willing to pay my mortgage and other bills, then they had no business spewing their opinions at me. Also, I LIKED WORKING. I liked earning my own paycheck and not relying on someone else and getting out of the house and engaging with other adults and using my working brain to be something other than someone’s mother. So I let that guilt go. And if you’re in that situation, you need to let it go, too. No one has any business telling you what is best for your family. If they try, politely tell them to shut the fuck up. >>>steps of soapbox<<<

I think letting the mommy guilt about daycare go was the first step in realizing I’ll never be supermom. I was never going to be the mom that devoted her entire life and existence to her kid. And I was actually okay with that. And becoming okay with that meant that I could come to terms with my other perceived shortcomings.

Accepting my shortcomings as a parent actually made me a better parent. Because now, instead of focusing my energy on the unimportant things, I could focus on the important ones. For instance, I stopped worrying about whether or not my daughter looked cute and trendy all the time. There were, and are, some days when as long as her clothes are clean and free from holes, I don’t care what she wears. So I confess my child will never be a fashionista or catalog model on my watch. But her clothes fit and are seasonally appropriate and I keep them in good enough condition to pass them on to others.

Here’s another mommy point to deduct–I have no interest in being part of the PTA. As in, I genuinely don’t care and will not join. It would just frustrate me and take time away from everything else that is exponentially better than joining the PTA. I don’t feel the need to be that involved with her school, and by opting out of that commitment, I have time to help with homework or volunteer when I feel like it instead of being obligated. I can enjoy her little concerts instead of working them and I can preserve my friendships by not harassing people for money.

I know it’s trendy to do so because clearly the more you share, the more you love your kid, but I do not overshare my kid’s life on social media. I know “good moms” post every little mundane detail about a kid’s life on Facebook or Instagram or whatever, and I do share the big stuff like losing a tooth or the first day of school or the training wheels coming off her bike, but the every day stuff? Nope. I don’t need to share every picture of her being cute or every snarky, crazy comment that comes out of her mouth. There are moments I like to keep for myself. Call me selfish, call me private, say I don’t love her enough to brag about her all the time. Doesn’t matter to me. Her life doesn’t need to play out on social media.

And we already know I’ve given up on having a perfectly clean house. My interior decorating skills are shit, my crafting skills are minimal at best, and I have really given up trying to look at all decent on a daily basis. I figure as long as I get a shower every day, I’ve won. When you take all of this into consideration, not a super mommy do I make.

I’m sure I do some things that people perceive as overachieving. I like to make cute food crafts for her on special occasions. I bake and decorate her birthday cake or cupcakes every year. I plan semi-elaborate birthday parties (her birthday is in December and I refuse to let it get lost in the shuffle of Christmas and Hanukkah). I have her places on time. I remember and stick to commitments (and please don’t give me this “oh, you only have one. It’s so much easier for you” nonsense. My parents had 3 of us and I learned this behavior from somewhere). I cook dinner most nights and I pack her lunch every day. But I don’t consider most of this overachieving. I consider it being a responsible adult.

We can discuss that if you’d like.

Here’s the thing. I know I’m a good mom. I don’t need to live a Pinterest ready or be an overachiever in order to prove it. And neither do you. We’re all just trying to do the best we can. So if you need to hang up your supermom cape, go ahead.

I’ll clear a space for you.

Linking up with Kathy and Liz

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Friday favorites, volume 16

August 21, 2014 by Jana 22 Comments

I am so off my Friday posting game it’s ridiculous. I had a good thing going, posting and linking up with Amanda every Friday but then…I just stopped. I need to get back into a routine which hopefully should happen next week when my daughter goes back to school. We actually had back to school night yesterday, and while I am insanely disappointed she isn’t in class with her friends, I absolutely adore her teacher. She’s going to be a great fit for my kid and I’m excited to see how my daughter will progress in her class.

You know what I am not excited about, though? The horrible sunburn on my back. I took my daughter to the beach and, not realizing just how much time my Casper the ghost colored back would have in the sun, I neglected to put sunscreen on and now I am paying for it. It hurts so much. I couldn’t even wear a bra the other night and I have huge boobs so it’s a not a pretty sight when my girls aren’t locked up. But we have tons of after sun lotion so hopefully I won’t peel since I’ve been using that. I guess the moral of the story is this: use sunscreen even if you think you won’t need it. Because peeling skin is only fun if you can reach it.

And now, it’s Friday Favorites with Amanda.

Favorite song

The title of this song is “You Call Me a Bitch Like It’s a Bad Thing”. It’s by Halestorm. That’s all you need to know before you listen to it.

12 things I don’t do as a parent

August 19, 2014 by Jana 46 Comments

This week’s confessions are inspired by this post from Babble and this post from Amber at Airing My Dirty Laundry.

I will most likely never win Mother of the Year.

Here’s a small sample of why.

I lose my temper, I feed my daughter Chick Fil A probably more than I should, I’ve been known to curse in front of her, and occasionally, I’ll tell her to talk to Siri when I want to stop answering her incessant and endless questions. I admit to looking forward to a few hours silence when she has cheer practice or school or a play date and I definitely will run errands in the evening and pretend it’s a vacation.

I’m not even remotely ashamed. In fact, I’ve written a whole post confessing that some things I do might make me a terrible parent.

Consider these confessions a balance to those. Or maybe not a balance but an accompaniment. Depends on how you want to look at it. I think there might even be an overlap or two.

That’s fine.

Let’s get to it. As a parent, I don’t:

Have a panic attack if she gets hurt. Cuts, bruises, scrapes and their ilk are all part of childhood. Not every injury is cause for a freak out session and if I’m panicking, how can I expect her to calm down? Right. I can’t. So I stay calm and put a band aid on it. She’ll heal.
Lose my shit if she stains her clothes or gets too dirty. Like getting hurt, it’s a part of childhood. Kids are messy, filthy little things and my child is no exception. Watching her eat certain foods is revolting, and it’s no wonder her clothes eat, too. I also don’t buy her such expensive clothes that if they get a stain, it’s worth getting angry. I just throw some Shout on it and move along.
Let her win. Losing is a part of life and she needs to learn to do that graciously, too. It’s all part of good sportsmanship, especially now that she’s older and needs to learn those lessons. Lest you think I am a heartless bitch of a mother rather than just a terrible one, there are plenty of times she legit kicks my ass. I am seriously overmatched in Birthday Party Monopoly.
Play Barbies. Or have tea parties or play dress up or create elaborate scavenger hunts or do a whole lot of playing in general. I’ll do crafts, play board games, take her places, and once, I let her give me a makeover. But I am not a get on the floor, play Barbies kind of mom. I did it once and it was terrible. I don’t care to do it again.
Watch everything she does. If I spent my days responding to all the “Mom, watch this!” shouts, I’d get even less done. Which is hard to imagine. But I can’t stop my life every time she wants to show me how she can spin in a circle or do a cartwheel. I know that shit. I’ve seen it eleventy billion times. I watch the important stuff. But sometimes I just have to say no to the little stuff.
Give her control of the radio in the car. Or the TV in the living room. We all live in this house. We all drive in the car. She is not the only one, and quite frankly, most of her taste in entertainment sucks a fat one. She has a few gems (seriously, iCarly is freaking funny) but for the most part, it’s all terrible. It’s hurts my ears, eyes, and soul to watch or listen to it. So I make her share. She needs to be more well rounded anyway.
Keep an immaculate house. I’ve confessed all my dirty housekeeping secrets before but it bears repeating. And while we’re at it, my house doesn’t look Pinterest worthy. Or even ready for company. But it’s comfortable and clean enough and I’d rather spend time and money on trips, days at the beach, and making memories than cleaning. Having a clean, perfect house is not a priority and quite frankly, it is too damn stressful. Plus I have a kid and pets and a husband and cleaning up after them is about as sensical as shredding cheese with a nail file.
Wait on her, hand and foot. Last time I checked, she wasn’t royalty and I wasn’t hired help. As such, she can clean up after herself, put her laundry away, get her own snacks and drinks, and do chores. Without being bribed.
Like all of her friends. Have you met some people’s kids? Yes? Then you know that some of them are huge assholes. I cringe when my child is friends with one of those kids, and I cringe even more when she hangs out with them. The thing is this, though. They’re not my friends. I don’t have to like them. And I will tolerate them. Until they do something I can’t tolerate. Then the gloves come off (not literally. I will simply forbid my kid from seeing whenever possible).
Live vicariously through her. This is her childhood, not mine. It is not my place to force her to make up for all my shortcomings or unfulfilled dreams and wishes. It would be wrong for me to do that, and would take away all of her independence and ability to make her own choices. She needs to figure out for herself what she likes and doesn’t like.
Think she’s perfect. I am the first one to admit that my child fucks up. She cops an attitude, she doesn’t listen, she makes mistakes, and things are sometimes her fault. She is not free from blame during fights with friends, she messes up in school, and she’s not always the superstar. Does she do the best she can? Most of the time. Is she amazing in her own way? Absolutely. But is she perfect? Nope.
Call her my BFF. Remember when Steph wrote about how she didn’t marry her best friend? Well, I didn’t give birth to mine. I am her mother and that trumps being her friend. It is a role that needs no other definition. Quite frankly, it creeps me out when a parent says her school aged child is her BFF. Really?! That can’t possibly be healthy. I love my daughter and would do anything for her. Except call her my best friend. Because in addition to the creepy dynamic, it puts way too much pressure on her. Which isn’t fair.

And now you know all my dirty parenting secrets.

My parenting style isn’t for everyone and it certainly isn’t trendy. But my kid knows that she’s loved, safe, and well cared for.

And it works for me.

So I’m clearly doing something right.

Linking up with Kathy and Liz

Friday favorites: volume 15?

August 1, 2014 by Jana 11 Comments

How the hell is it August? Wasn’t it just June like yesterday? No? Well, that’s okay because August means school starts soon and while I love my daughter, if she doesn’t get out of my house, I’m going to lose my mind. And is it wrong that I’m already planning what I’m going to do the first day she’s back at school? (Pedicure and nap, if you were wondering.)

That said, it’s time for another round of Friday favorites except I don’t know exactly what edition this is because I have become an blogging slacker as of late (and I apologize to my blogger friends for the lack of commenting I’ve been doing. I can’t get my shit together long enough to write a comment). So I’m picking edition 15 because it seems like a good choice and maybe an approximate value. Math has never been my strength.

Favorite song

Rise Against, Audience of One. There are not enough words for how much I love this song. I feel music the way some people feel paintings or poetry and this song brings out all the emotions for me. It’s not a life changing song but it definitely changes my mood each time I listen (also, I love that it’s one of those songs that about one thing but it can be interpreted to mean so much more)

Favorite frugal find

I am in the midst of a makeup bag overhaul and when I was cleaning out old lipgloss, eye shadow, and the like, I realized I had 6 MAC items that desperately needed to go. Enter MAC’s Back To MAC recycling program where if you return 6 (or more) eligible items, you get to pick out a free item (lipstick/gloss, eye shadow, or something else I’m not remembering). I purchased new lipgloss recently but I definitely needed an eye shadow refresher. And I got one. For free.

Favorite book/TV thing

Rick Springfield, “Jessie’s Girl” singer extraordinaire, wrote a memoir. So of course I have to read it. And I picked it up from the library yesterday. Along with some others:

I have no favorite TV thing this week because quite frankly, I’m pissed with TV. More specifically, I’m annoyed with On Demand And Netflix. Because none of them are showing any of the episodes of any show I need to catch up on. Complete first world problem but that’s okay because Ebola is no joke and I’ll take no new episodes of The Following on On Demand any day.

Favorite internet reads

So many good finds on the internet this week (and weeks past. Big ups to Pocket for being a great place to store these posts so I can use them). Like this post on Mashable about 90s song that are darker than you think. Some I knew, some I didn’t. Or this post on how to quickly travel through all 50 states (if I had a bucket list, this would be on it). Or if you need to waste kill some time, take this quiz, Which 80s Cartoon Are You? (I got Muppet Babies, which, given my Muppets obsession, is perfect). You can also check out this post I wrote on Monday detailing promises I made to my friends without kids.

Favorite quote